Hello my faithful fans. For those who are reading this it means you arent boy-cotting my long haitus. And for that I thank you. UnfortuantlyI cannot promise that I will update this again anytime soon or if at all. The truth is I'm not very pleased with how I've executed my writing style. But for those who have remained faithful I will try.

That being said, I will promise that if another year goes by without you seeing my chapter 11 the I do promise to give someone my vision of the story and let them do with it as they will. However there is a catch. I might not like this particular brain child, and I might neglect it but that does not mean that I will give this story and my tentative plot line to anyone. when and if that year comes and I give this story away i want to give it to an individual who has roven themselves to be a good established writer. In other words, write a story to show your worth. Its kind of like a fanfiction resume.

Of course right now this is all hypothetical.

Any way this next tid bit has been collecting two years. I decided I should at least let this little guy fly free if this is to be my last entry. But I have faith that it wont be. Hopefully.

If I do continue with this story please know that eventually I will probably edit and extend the earlier chapter as I have changed my writing style just a bit since last we met.

Here's to hoping you will like it, please enjoy.

The first thing that Wally was aware of when he first woke up was that he was hungry. In fact, that had been exactly what had woken him up. The growling and clawing of his starved stomach had rivaled the pain that he was now feeling everywhere. His knuckles ached from the constant flow of abuse they had endured. The breaking, healing, and then re-breaking again that they had been repeatedly subjected to left him with stiff hands, and tingling fingers. His legs hurt from the lengthy amount of running he did without any water. The muscle twitching and spasming in preparation for the monster cramps that were sure to come. And his head... could he get the number on the truck that had hit him? His head felt like it had been on the wrong side of a semi-truck collision. It pounded with an undefined rhythm, rising to different levels of high intense pain to numb and unfocused thrumming's. Despite these pangs his stomach was by far the worst.

He could only survive so long on the speedster formulated supplements, and using them always had their repercussions. Like the fact that you have to eat almost immediately after the affects wore off. Otherwise, his metabolism would kick start and begin a vicious cycle of eating its self. His chemical function would break down everything it could find in his body, no matter how necessary those body parts might be. Wally had only had the extreme displeasure of experiencing this once before. What he remembered was riddled with anguished screams, and a white hot agony that had overwhelmed him completely before he had blessedly passed out. But the memory always caused a cold shudder to run through his body as phantom pangs made its-self known in his times of reflection.

In comparison to such memories and in light of how Wally was feeling, the effects had worn off ten minutes ago.

He groaned pushing himself into a sitting position, wondering where the hell his team was with his order of every freaking dish in the world. Usually Rob and Artemis were right there shoving a chicken leg down his throat as soon as he came too. Though he didn't like nearly choking to death, it was better than starving to death... and right now he wasn't choking.

Something was wrong.

Of course as soon as Wally focused past sitting up, and thinking about food he saw just how wrong things really were. His lovely abode consisted of four grey walls. They were painted in a shade that was not only devoid of any liveliness, but also threatened to keep its inhabitants in a bored dazed as its bleakness tried to remove any resilience from them. The door that had sunk its dark claws into the gray facade was the only thing that rivaled the wall's despairing aura as it held no promise of escape or freedom. A plain stainless steel table stood a little ways off from Wally in the center of the room. Its structure spoke of secret intentions as the young hero suspected it had a sinister nature to it. One that caused pain and tears to come from its victims.

In Wally's food deprived brain he thought it was more accurate to call it a potential torture platform, than it was to call it a place of eating. The last thing that this charming arrangement had was the cot that Wally was currently resting on. It held no special features, or double meanings which made Wally slightly relieved as he took a moment to ponder his situation. Either Rob had changed his mind on living arrangements and had moved them to a military base, or the team had gotten captured by S.H.I.E.L.D.

Wally groaned again, knowing that it was most likely the latter of the two that had happened. Now not only was he starving, but he was a prisoner aboard some creepy ship where his detainers probably didn't have enough food for a speedster.

That was just great. He'd always figured he'd die in his line of work, but death by starvation just didn't have the pop that he had been hoping for when it came to his demise.

His stomach growled again, and Wally whimpered in pain. God why is this happening?

Then for a brief moment Wally's head seemed to hallow out, a sudden warmth spreading through it before the feeling disappeared altogether. For the first time since waking up Wally smiled. His grin took on a sinister look as a feeling of satisfying reassurance took hold in his heart. The mind link was starting to come back up. Maybe there was hope yet.

And then SHE walked in, Squashing what was a moment ago a burning pillar of hope to a dwindling pile of smoky embers as her very presence dominated the small space. SHE was a total babe. Good figure, easy on the eyes, even the short hair was working for her. But her eyes, despite the warmish smile she sent his way, were cold and calculating. They were the eyes Batman had when he was happy.

Which was never.

"You're up." She said, her voice portraying her mannerisms in the two short syllables. She was quick, fast, and efficient. Wally was going to add this woman onto his list for Batman's possible future spouse.

"Duh." He kept his reply short not wanting to give away anything unless he had to. Who knew that Robin's constant paranoia rubbing off on him would be a good thing? Despite his current position, however distasteful it might be, he still managed to sound like a badass. Though really he was just glad that he was able to talk with out his voice breaking.

Instantly any smile she had possessed was gone. And she moved over to the table that took residence in the middle of the room. "We have a few questions to ask you." she said taking a seat at the table. "Would you please join me?"

But what Wally really heard was...

"You are the only one up, therefore when we ask questions you answer them. You don't play, you don't lie, you don't stall; and you may come out of this alive. I'm not asking you to come over. I'm telling you. Resisting would not be wise."

Wally gave her a shaky smile, feeling the effects of his accelerated metabolism in the worst way. "Sure thing Ms. Sunshine." Wally silently cheered when her eyes darkened menacingly. If she got angry she was more liable to slip up. "But first I need some grub."

She didn't scowl which Wally was thankful for, and a little impressed at the level of stoic she had achieved. Instead for just the briefest of moments rage flitted across her features. It was Dark and it was cold, but they quickly hardened again, becoming blank slates of glass. All of a sudden Wally was feeling very scared. But he didn't let it show. He simply stayed on the cot he had been sitting on since he woke waiting for her response.

"I'll see what I can do." She said, not making a move to do so.

Which lead Wally to think she either wasn't going to get the food or they had cameras watching them right now therefore someone already knew. It was probably both.

Wally sighed, gingerly making a move to stand up, only to collapse back down panting. The woman frowned, before getting up and coming over to examine him.

"What's wrong?" She demanded, grabbing his wrist to check his pulse. Only to find it racing at an alarming rate. She let out a curse as her hand went up to her ear piece to call for medics. But Wally stopped her.

"Wait! It's always that fast, it's how I am. In fact it's actually a little slow, because I'm starving to death right now."

The woman stared at him disbelief showing across her features, and Wally sighed.

Well he would have if his stomach hadn't suddenly knotted causing him to gasp instead.

"I... Have a high ma-metabolism. So I have ... to eat more than the average human...Like all the time otherwise... this happens."

Understanding flitted across her features and she called off the medics instead ordering enough food to stabilize him. And as soon as the food got there Wally showed no restraint and tore into it. When he was done he looked pleadingly at her. But she was already sitting at the table a file in her hand.

"You answer our questions and you get more food." Was all she said, the cold outer layer though was a little softer and Wally was willing to answer whatever she asked though it might not be the truth exactly.

"Fire away." Wally said taking a seat across from her.

"Name."

Okay not exactly a question but whatever. "Flash Boy."

Her eye brow rose. "Real name."

"Humpty dumpty." Wally said with a smirk.

She pursed her lips in frustration. Her eyes momentarily rising to the right corner of his cell. A questioning look on her face. She probably thought he didn't see it because it was there and gone so fast that no one without special training would have caught sight of it. Wally however had seen it in perfect and speedster suspended clarity.

He almost laughed. Obviously something had been in the food. Possibly a truth serum, but his metabolism that had been killing him before was now protecting him from selling all of his teams secrets.

Perfect.

Wally leaned forward, trying to play the cool criminal that he saw way too often on TV. The kind that was insidious, but yet freakishly smart who took it upon themselves to educate the heroic detective about their fiendish plot. Strangely it felt fun, and Wally mentally frowned thinking that he had been spending way too much time with the rouges.

"Obviously my name isn't humpty dumpty, but you're not going to get much more on that from me. And your little serum won't work on me. Fast metabolism, remember?"

Wally leaned back, fighting the urge to giggle. "But you can call me humpty if you'd like."

The woman only glared. "Agent Hill." This time Wally did giggle, extending his hand in a friendly gesture. Agent hill ignored it.

"What is your purpose here?"

Wally let his hand drop; straight and narrow was this woman. "I'm afraid, Agent hill, were here to take over this world and cause genocide."

It was almost comical how wide her eyes got, if it wasn't so sad that she believed him. Gullible much?

"Whoa, chill. I was totally messing with you. But I'm afraid that it's classified."

Agent hill went back to frowning. "And why is that classified. How is that classified?"

Wally put his hand up in surrender. "Hey I don't make the rules. He does." He knew how much of a loony he sounded like but that was kind of the plan.

"And who is this 'He' you speak of."

And for the topper..." A higher power."

Hill's frown deepened. "A higher power? You mean like god?"

Wally nodded. "Yeah pretty much. His position is above my pay grade, and I really don't have the balls to go head to head with him on a good day."

The agent sputtered. "You talk to him?"

Wally smiled at her, but it was mostly because he thought she was an idiot. "Don't you?" He asked innocently, an eyebrow raised for dramatic affect.

For a moment the two just stared at one another. The action similar in likeness to a classic cowboy duel. Eyes squinted at one another, and lips were pursed in a grim line anxiously waiting for the other to make a move.

With a smirk it was over.

"I talk to my commanding officer everyday Kid Flash."

Wally simple stared gapping like a fish. He was only able to stutter out half sentences, and even those were garbled signaling his extreme state of shock and confusion. "What-? B-but how?"

The woman's smirk grew. Thus, taking her to a level beyond frustrating, and too knowing than what would be deemed possible.

"We have eyes and ears all throughout the city. Your names, or rather your aliases, were unveiled to us as soon as you and your friends started communicating verbally."

Wally's eyes grew, but before he could even manage an indignant squawk Agent Hill pressed on.

"This leads us to believe that your green friend is a telepath, and is the source of your communication. A source that we have taken measures to restrict." She paused here as if to wait for confirmation, when Wally said nothing she went on. "You are obviously some sort of mutant, as are two of your other friends, be advised that we will be taking measures to restrict your abilities as well. But until then I advise you to talk, and help you and your friends out."

It took a moment between listening to Agent Hill's dark speech (threat), and picking his jaw up off the floor for Wally to erase any and all plans involving any powers. Instead he straightened his shoulders in defiance and set his glare on maximum hoping that his body language came off in a loud and clear, Screw you!

Apparently it paid off.

"I'll take that as a no." Agent Hill sighed, a genuine sound of frustration and disappointment. "Fine, we'll play this your way, but remember this: you aren't from around here, and therefore your commanding officer has no power over you, he can't force you to carry out order that you don't want to, we can help you. We are not the bad guys. We're the good guys."

Wally scoffed at her ignorance, but other than that kept his mouth shut. It seemed like these people were under the impression that the team was being forced into this life when in all honesty they had all chosen this life.

The agent gave him a sad look before collecting herself to take leave. Discreetly Wally got ready to make a run for it.

That is until all plans for escape came to a screeching halt with one simple and terrifying threat.

"Try to escape and we will not hesitate to take out your friends."

Oh yeah, these people are TOTALLY the good guys. Wally thought as he walked back to his cot, throwing himself down on it just as the steel door slid shut with an ominous hiss.

Despite the strictest orders for the Avengers to be contained in separate cells, and stripped of their weapons the same could not be said for Dr. Banner and the brute of the younger group. They were weapons. The two presented a threat just by breathing, and for that reason both were contained in the cell specifically made for the Hulk. Though the cell didn't offer any kind of confirmed death to the Hulk it provided the helicarrier with a quick and effective way of getting the Hulk off of the ship. It might have been risky putting the two together in the same cell, seeing as one could attack the other and both would be lost; but Fury would have rather have lost two nuisances than his whole crew.

Slowly Brown eyes opened, groggy and confused, but not seemingly surprised at the arrangement the owner found himself in. Bruce Banner, after all, was a genius. Instead the scientist simply took a brief look of his surroundings, his gaze momentarily pausing on the unconscious teen on the other side before he dejectedly slumped against the glass of the holding cell, determined to sit there motionless. He sat there wallowing in his guilt searching for some way to redeem himself, or better yet, erase the memory of the event completely from his mind.

He sat as brief flashes of the Hulks rampage ran across his mind. It was like some perverse horror film, made by his hands, his anger. Screams from young voices echoed in his head. Anger, anguish, and terror heard in every utterance. A blond haired girl pushed aside violently. A blur of yellow tragically intercepted. Worse yet, a pair of wide masked eyes pleading, no begging, for release. Begging to be granted the right to breathe. The small body frantically searching for purchase as green fist squeezed too tightly. Bruce squeezed his eyes shut, wishing that if he willed it hard enough he would forget. But he memory played on as his gamma enhanced hearing picked up on the faint cracking of ribs and the echoing sound of wheezing. Until finally movement stopped from the little form, and the eyes remand. Control came back to Bruce, and the Hulks hand released its captive, but it would seem it was too late as the boy did not move . . . did not breathe.

In an agonizing manner Bruce raised shaking hands, looking at them in the most disgusting of views. To him they were not just hands, they were deadly weapons – and not the cool kind either. His hands had once held so much potential to help people. He had once been able to offer cures to diseases, and help widen the horizon in research areas referring to gamma radiation. Now with these hands, ones that he shared with the other guy, all he could see was the blood of a young boy staining his white pigment with an invisible red. His aspirations had all come true, but at the price of becoming a monster. Shaking with a repressed sob Bruce dropped his hands and just sat there hating himself more and more with each passing second. Mourning the loss of his innocence and his humanity.

He continued to drown in his misery until the sharp inhale, and whispering shift of his cell mate snapped him into focus. Carefully, carefully, Bruce made his way to the resting teen, not wanting to startle the boy into consciousness and risk getting into a fight. That would NOT end well for either of them. Finally Bruce managed to get to the boy's side, and with equal caution, and shaking gentleness, he turned him onto his back. Unfortunately, despite Bruce's efforts to not disturb the boys sleep, blue eyes flew open as soon his back hit the floor. Blue and brown met for a moment before Bruce was facing a snarling teen and was being pressed painfully into the glass wall of the cell face first. A stomach lurching jerk resulted from the forceful movement and the teen fortunately let the doctor go.

"What?" Was all the boy could come up with as he at last took in his surroundings.

Wincing Bruce rubbed his already bruising neck before providing his cell mate some further explanation. "Were aboard helicarrier, this is one of their more effective cells. We will probably-"

"NO!" was the interrupted reaction he got before the younger charged toward the wall of the cell with a raised fist. Strangely Bruce's was reaction was similar.

Racing forward Bruce managed to tackle the teen to the ground. "You can't touch the glass! You do and we go down the hatch and fall thousands of feet!"

The teen threw Bruce off, eyes roaming wildly around the cell, hysteria clear in the teen's voice. "I won't be put in a pod again! I won't! I-I refuse to be locked up again!"

Though instead of attacking to cell, the teen merely began to pace as if trying to come up with a plan to get out. Brown eyes softened at the teen's obvious distress and shaking form, a feeling akin to empathy swirled in Bruce's heart and somehow gave him the strength to momentarily cast aside his own hardships in favor of helping the kid.

"Hey . . . Hey kid, why don't you come over with me and have a seat?" Bruce asked kindly as he took a seat himself.

The kid paused in his pacing obviously trying to decide if he wanted to sit with Bruce or not. For a moment it looked as if he was going to refuse, but with a weary glance to the glass walls of their prison he gave an exasperated sigh and sat down in front of Bruce. His posture so uncomfortably straight that Bruce nearly winced.

"Relax." The scientist insisted.

"How?" he asked. Though it sounded more like grunt.

Bruce smiled encouragingly, at least he hoped it was encouraging, if not friendly. "Talk to me, It will help to keep your mind off . . . off of other things".

The teen stared at Bruce for a moment before extending a hand "I'm Super-Boy."

Bruce's lips crooked to the side gently as he extended his own hand. Tony would love that name, especially since it went so well with his moniker, super kids.

"Bruce Banner," he gave a polite nod. "That's an interesting name you have there."

Blue eyes glowered at him before another weary glance was directed to the surrounding walls and then firmly planted their gaze on the carpet that laid beneath them.

"It was the first name ever given to me. I didn't really have a choice in the matter. Not that I should be telling you that."

Bruce felt the stirrings of curiosity fill him but reminded himself to respect Super-Boys privacy.

"No you probably shouldn't. At least not if you want to, but Super-boy I promise you that I am not the bad guy here. No one is. We all just wanted to talk to you and your friends; and offer you some help if you needed it."

"You guys have a funny way of talking then." Super-boy dropped his head into his hands before wincing and bring his head back up. "And painful. I haven't ever felt this beat up before… not even in training."

The last part was mumbled and most likely not meant to be heard. But Bruce heard it nonetheless and felt a pang of guilt.

"Yeah sorry about that, I guess you're not used to getting beat up? Pretty strong for you age considering that you went up against the Hulk and you're still alive." Bruce cautiously reached out and felt around for broken bones. Blue eyes watching him all the while.

"I guess you could say that." Super-boy said vaguely.

The two settle into silence. Though the silence was not a tense one, as was often seen shared between two enemies. There was a guarded feeling in the air but it wasn't awkward. That was until Bruce felt around the Youngers ribs and got a quiet hiss in response.

"Bruised ribs." He muttered and the teen looked at him annoyed as if to say 'No Duh'. He followed the look up with a grumbled sentence that sounded too rough and jagged for someone so young.

"They were still broken when I woke up. They should be done healing within an hour. Though sun light would be nice to have."

"So you're like a plant? If you get sunlight you get stronger, what happens when you don't have a lot of sun light?"

He got a hardened look "That's none of your business" The boy growled.

Bruce nodded acknowledging the fact that he had overstepped boundaries. Silently he chastised himself. He's like a scared animal, go slow.

"Sorry, do you want me to wrap them till they're fully healed?"

"No it wouldn't be worth it"

"Right of course . . ." Bruce breathed out, his sentence trailing off as he realized that he had no more information or comfort to fuel their conversation. He wasn't Tony who could constantly babble, or Steve who could offer advice and wisdom to others. Even when they didn't realized they needed it. He wasn't snarky or witty like Clint or Natasha, he was simply awkward Bruce Banner who was always enthralled in the sensation that was science. He was the guy that always had ideas floating in his head and always had some random fact to give out. Unfortunately Bruce doubted that this young man would appreciate science babble despite his apparent need for a distraction from the walls surrounding them. So Bruce took a deep breath and took a leap of faith hoping that this wouldn't lead to their exiting the helicarrier from thousands of feet in the air.

"Soo, Super Boy . . . Why is it that you don't like cells?"

It was dumb, yes Bruce knew it was dumb to ask such a question. Especially since it did the opposite of distract the kid from what was bothering him so much, but Bruce felt that if he could find out why being imprisoned had such an adverse effect on the kid he could establish a connection. Obviously being in a cell was a bad experience for anyone, but Bruce had a sneaking suspicion that it was so much worse for this boy then any of the other kids, and if not, if being imprisoned was just as horrible an experience then Bruce needed to know why. The scientist in him demanded to know, and so despite the tensing of shoulders and the sharpest of inhales Bruce pushed on.

"Are you claustrophobic or . . . or did you have a bad experience?" His voice was gentle, talking to him as if the kid were made out of glass. And by the shaking of the kid's body he knew this was the right approach.

Super-boy let out a humorless laugh, the sound just as shaky as his body, while he ran a nervous hand over the back of his neck. "In our line of work cells are always a bad experience . . . but no I'm not claustrophobic."

"Then what happened?" Bruce inquired, straining to discreetly earn trust while not being too pushy.

Blue eyes that reminded Bruce of the winter sky, looked at him searching for an ulterior motive but saw none. With a brief biting of his lower lip and an exhale of air the kid spoke.

"I'm Sorry, but I Can't tell you."

And just like that the room lapsed back into silence, which was better than the alternative, but still as gut wrenching an outcome as a fight would have been. At least now Banner knew there was a chance for the kid to open up to him, it just wasn't going to be right here and right now. So he just sat there with the kid offering his presence as comfort.

This went on for a while, occasionally Super-boy would send a glare his way. Almost as if he wanted Bruce gone, but just before he would redirect his gaze bake to the brown carpet a glimmer of something would flash in that glacier stare. It almost looked like . . . appreciation. Every time the kid looked up it was there, and Bruce felt proud that he had been able to put it there. But alas all good things must come to an end, and their comfortable silence came to a screeching stop when Super-boy's head shot up and the thankful glimmer was gone. In its place now stood fear and worry, lots and lots of worry.

"Where is my team?" he growled. His mood doing a complete 180 from the calm he had just been.

"Excuse me?" Bruce asked baffled at the sudden ferocity.

"My team. What happened to them after you took me out? Did any of them get away? Were any of them badly hurt? What happened to my team?"

Super-boy's questioning was relentless, and of course demanding. Unfortunately Bruce wasn't entirely sure how to answer. So he responded with a hesitant:

"I'm not sure."

That was obviously the wrong answer as Bruce now found himself very well acquainted with the floor and was now struggling to stay calm.

"Start talking!"

"Super-boy I don't know! It's not me who's in control when the hulk breaks loose! I only remember bits and pieces!"

"Then tell me what you do know! Did anyone escape?"

"No!"

"Was any one injured?"

Silence met the question now, as Bruce struggled to remain calm. He could feel the rage bubbling up in him, but at the same time he felt his insides turn to ice. Bruce couldn't answer that, and didn't want to. But the younger male was stubborn, as he shoved him harder into the floor.

"WAS ANYONE HURT?!"

"Yes! Yes, your teammates were hurt."

The kid snarled out what sounded like a "who" but Bruce wasn't quite sure. So He started talking any way. "All of them were hurt. I don't know how badly. I- I'm sorry."

Finally Super-boy let him up. Bruce took the opportunity to quickly sit up rubbing his wrist and then his neck that had been savagely pinned as he faced his interrogator. Though he didn't dare look him in the eye. Shame diverting his eyes to the red emblem on the kid's shirt.

"How badly could they be hurt?"

Bruce shuddered at that tone. It sounded so deadly, so lethal that Bruce knew silence would not be allowed. So he made the mistake of making eye contact with the teen, thinking that Super-boy at least deserved that much, and he immediately regretted it. He could see, beyond all the snarled threats, and past the flippant attitude laid a worried and scared child wondering if his friends were going to all be there when he got out of this cell. A child that Bruce found himself wanting to protect, but as much as it hurt to see this, and as much as Bruce wanted to prevent more angst for all of the young heroes he found he could not lie to this kid. Especially when he was responsible for the damage done.

"Most of them should be alright." There he could do that, he could refrain from telling the whole truth, so long as he wasn't asked.

"Most of them?"

But of course Super-boy had to ask. A grieving sigh escaped the scientist mouth before he continued on with what he could remember.

"One of them, the one in Red. He was the last to go down. I remember that much, I remember him the most. He fought pretty well. And he was smart but . . . the Hulk got him."

"How. Bad?" His voice was strained with repressed emotion, blue eyes growing larger in childlike fear.

Bruce sighed again and broke eye contact with the kid, gathering courage and buying time. After a minute though he had to go on.

"Super-boy, he may not even be alive."

This time the response given was not out of anger, frustration, or a startled awakening. Instead it was filled with a fear that came from the depth of the soul and caused the body to feel as if it were being compressed into unbearably small parts while being torn apart at the same time. It was a sound that hinted to confusing hurt and dizzying worry, and Bruce felt a lump lodge in his throat from the sheer emotion of it.

Super-boys response was simple, since he himself was simple. In fact it was only two syllables long. But the emotion around it made it ring out forever in the surrounding cell.

"Robin!"

"Hehehehehehe Hehehehehehe Hehehehehe."

The sound started off softly, no louder than a whisper. It raised the question of if it was even a sound, if it was really out in the open for all to hear or if it came from the twisted imaginings of its in habitants mind.

"Hahahahaha! Hahahahahahahahaha! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!"

It was louder now. No longer was it a phantom chortle, but a symphony of joyous, dark squawks. Played simply for the sake of hearing a voice, for hearing his voice. For everyone wished to hear his voice, everyone likes to smile.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Laughter now echoed off the stone walls of the sources enclosure, floating out into the dimly lit hallway and traveling down the bleak corridor to the guard just turning the corner to patrol the next wing of the asylum. He shivered in fright when he heard the sound, casting a fearful look down the isolated wing, the one with only one single prisoner, and then promptly hurried off to fulfill his other duties. He did not want to find out what had caused the lunatics recent outburst of sickening giggles.

In truth there was no reason behind the laughter, it came forth for the sole purpose of bring the joyful sound to pale ears. For the Joker loved a good laugh. According to him he was the life of Gotham, he was to die for.

Perhaps that what he found was so funny, or perhaps he was reminiscing of a time where he was allowed to have fun, and had been able to put a smile on everyone's face.

His laughter grew even louder, impossibly so, as he writhed in his white jacket, struggling to breathe as his last escapade floated into mind.

The scene came into focus, like an old silent movie, the images shown from an invisible projector behind his deranged eyes. His last playdate before being caught. Oh, the fun he had!

And then the audio turned on.

Horrified screaming had turned into gleeful, and uncontrollable laughter. As he proved once again that his fun was the best kind of fun. Who needed to peeled grapes for life like eyeballs when you could simply scoop the real things out of a lazy blond pig?

Apparently batman preferred the grapes.

He also seemed to prefer painting with paint, instead of sweat, tears, and blood. No matter; he had no taste, no sense of fun.

But the birdie on the other hand, Birdie knew how to have fun. And he always brought out the best reactions in the Bat. Yes, Joker liked the Birdie.

Birdie knew how to sing so beautifully. It took a while, but after a few stabs from Uncle Jay that lovely song would start filling the air. Hahaha, and Birdie broke in just the funniest ways. A crow bar to his knees, a bat to his head, a hockey stick to his feet; it all ended with the same crack, Crack, CRACK!

Joker sighed sadly, suddenly missing his playful little bird. He couldn't wait to play games with him again, he even made up a new song for the next time he saw him, something he could sing to Birdie when he was all tuckered out.

"One, two, Jokers coming for you."

He started softly, just as he had with is laughter.

"Three, four, try to lock your door."

Giggles bubbled up from his throat.

"Five, six, He's gonna' beat you with a stick . . . seven, eight, oops Batman came too late. . . Nine, ten-"

"My, what a lovely song."

Joker snapped his head to the right, following the sickly sweet voice that had originated from the cells corner. His eyes landed on the sickly grey, and childlike features of a certain lord of chaos.

"Klarion!" Joker squealed like an over excited toddler. His trademark laughter slipping through without a conscious thought.

The witch boy smirked in greeting. "Hello Joker. Say would you like to have a little fun?"

Green eyes lit up with joy at the mention of fun, but then darkened to almost black in suspicion.

"What's the catch, pretty boy?"

Klarion simply shook his head and uttered a series of disappointed tutts, which sounded odd since his young appearance wouldn't normally allow for something like that. "There is no catch, I just want you to have fun, to play, and cause beautiful chaos while retrieving a few. . . Misplaced guests of mine."

Joker's permanent smile widened. "No Catch?"

Klarion laughed, the sound bubbly, light, and wrong. "No catch, I even have the perfect play mate for you." He paused then, tilting his head to the side as a vicious grin split across his face. "Besides a certain bird will be there."

Joker shot up, instantly intrigued at the mention of his favorite person. "Hahaha, untie me and let's go."

The Cheshire grin on Klarion's face grew impossibly wide, his black eyes twinkling in satisfaction, before his image wavered and then formed into a swirling red portal. "I'm afraid you'll have to come to me to get that unfortunate jacket off of you."

Joker nodded, letting out a chorus of laughter as he struggled to his feet. With each step he took the laughter grew louder and darker, until finally he was inside the crimson portal. It slowly started to close, shrinking in tiny increments before disappearing in a wisp of crimson smoke. But just before it vanished altogether a soft melody floated out, its sinister echo dying in his previous cell. But not before filling its atmosphere with a sense of dark foreboding.

". . . Nine, ten. Birdie never plays again."

And that was chapter ten. I appreciate any reviews given, and again I thank you for your patience. Hopefully we will meet again. If not at least know that one day you could see a book written by yours truly. I have been improving on my english and working on a book that I think could really go far in this world. But then again I am young, and hopeful. A duo that everyone know spells diaster.

Please dont be shy and talk to me. I might not always reply but I promise I do read every single one of your reviews.

I hope to see you all again!

JJ