Fanfic: Batman and Joker Catch a Train

Batman and Joker Catch a Train
A Fan-fiction By Chongchen Saelee

It’s near sunset in Gotham City and at Gotham Train Station, the miserable Gotham citizen rat passengers were scurrying on and off the grimy, rusted, piss-stench cars, just getting off of work or headed to work, going home, dropping off the molly, off to see a cheap hooker or two, the usual.

Gotham was never a quiet, peaceful city. The cold, dry, midnight blue air always seemed to be filled with gunfire, police car sirens, some pimp and his whores arguing about money, babies crying, and doors slamming in shadows where doors couldn’t possibly exist.

There was a commotion in one of the rear cars of the high-speed train, and as usual, Gotham City Police Department would respond late or not at all, even if someone was bleeding to death and the police dispatch center lit up with calls. As the sun finally turned dark purple and crept into the dark horizon of Gotham’s cityscape, the crowd was murmuring and surrounding a colorful scene in that rear car.

The music started, blasting from some crudely duct-taped smartphones attached to amplifiers, and the sound of kazoos and exploding party poppers filled the crowded car as the train screeched into motion. And from within the mass of Gotham passenger rats came a distinctive, falsetto, almost hawk squawking laughter, a purple suited, white face-painted clown, with green unkept hair, and a smile that seemed permanently fixed to his plasticky face. He was juggling, doing pratfalls, telling humorous raunchy jokes, and was so charming, even the dripping snot-nosed children with the dirt smeared faces were laughing their little faces off, tugging their tired disheveled mother’s coats for a quarter to give to the clown.

“Here you go, mister, a shiny quarter! I like you!” Said the doe-eyed, cherry cheek child to the purple clown man.

“Oh-ho-ho, so generous and such good taste for your age, you sweet cherub, you!” The crazy clown snatches the coin with uncontrollable hostility from the boy’s tiny outreached hand and pretends to pocket it, only to throw it over his shoulder and continuing his antics. He seemed distracted as though panhandling wasn’t his main purpose being there.

It would take a mere 15 minutes for the high-speed train to make it from this side of Gotham to Gotham City Harbour. That would be more than enough time for the fireworks display.

The Gotham citizen rats erupted in applause as the purple suited clown man was doing a silly handstand and clapping with his feet for his finale. They were poor, but they showered him with cash and coins to show their appreciation, but he still didn’t seem to even notice it. It was like rain falling on a sad clown who had no umbrella. Except this guy couldn’t frown, and his eyes never blinked, only a manic piercing stare into nothingness.

He flipped back up onto his feet and brushed off the money from his shoulders like it was a nuisance.

“Thank you! Thank you! I’m glad you all enjoyed my show! There might be another in 15 minutes! Please stick around for an encore. The name’s Joker! The clown prince of crime!” He pulls out a colorful, cartoony long shafted pistol and poses as if he were a villain on a wanted poster. The crowd erupted in laughter.

The lights in the car start to flicker and…

Clink! BOOM!!!

The trains emergency brakes screech on as sparks from the metal track rain past the windows horizontally. The rats scatter and scream. Joker unusually remains calm and poised, raises his pistol and starts randomly firing into the crowd, wounding whoever, whatever. It’s not like you could tell by looking at his face what he was thinking.

The side of the car was in flames where the mounted bomb had exploded, and the train was speeding fast to Gotham City Harbor.

The rats have all seemed to abandon this dimly lit car, sprayed with blood and bullet holes, dead and dying strewn about here and there, looking like a bloody orgy just happened. Joker nonchalantly walks to a seat where an old man was bleeding out from three bullet wounds in the back and kicks him over, steals his seat. Joker presses his temple against the bloodstained window and looks longingly out at the streaks of lights and shadows passing by, he’s waiting for someone. Joker taps the window with the smoking barrel of his color gun a snippet from Strauss’ Die Fledermaus. His eyes start to sparkle as though it triggered somekind of emotional response. Cartoony bell sounds and springs played in his head as he imagined Tom and Jerry pounding each other with giant yellow mallets.

Then, against the full ghoulish greenish yellow moon, the silhouette of a giant monster bat soared into view, cutting across the hard mechanical lines of the dark skylines, like the open hand of the devil reaching down from the dark clouds.

“He’s coming for my soul! The bat-devil!” Joker whispers with glee to himself. Joker eagerly reloads his pistol, his hands shaking with excitement, licking his lips like a hungry dog.

The Batman has emerged from the shadows for his night patrols. He is Gotham’s Dark Knight, the protector of the weak and rotten rodents of this crumbling city. He is the physical manifestation of the pain, sorrow, anger and things unholy that flowed through the yellow piss blood of the city. The irony was monsters like The Joker cut open wounds on Gotham City and monsters like The Batman would mend the wounds by making another cut to distract from the pain. The city would eventually heal, but would have horrible scars to show for it.

The Joker throws his feet up onto the neck of the now dead old man and reclines, flipping through images on his taped-up smartphone as though he’s looking at baby pictures. In the smartphone screen, there is a crude drawing made in Microsoft Paint of his evil scheme.

1) Infiltrate Gotham City Train car and create a lovely scene to lure in Gay Bats
2) Take a selfie with all the “tired” party attendees
3) Keep the audience in suspense as the flaming train heads straight to Gotham City Harbor where a pile of explosives is rigged to blow up the entire harbor when the train arrives there
4) Laugh and point at crispy Batman crawls out of the wreckage
5) Fly away on a purple and white striped sleigh with green reindeer and grab a pizza

Joker literally pats himself on the shoulder as his mad scheme seem to be going along flawlessly.

Meanwhile, Batman has already pieced together Joker’s predictable plot using his high tech forensic analysis artificial intelligence micro-computer. Batman has called into the Gotham City Harbor Train station supervisor to clear the area as it is rigged to blow. And there is no time to grab the Bat-Jet to remove the bombs!

Batman is gliding towards Gotham City Harbor Train Station with his bat-glider. He calls Gotham Police Commission Gordon to warn him of Joker’s latest terrorist attack on the train station.

“Gordon. Batman. Joker rigged Gotham Harbor Train Station to blow! Trying to intercept now! Do what you can.” Batman HATED Commissioner Gordon as he felt burdened to do Gordon’s job for him.

“Batman, this is Commissioner Gordon. I got the calls. I have my best men headed to the train station now! How bad is it?” Gordon responds over the secret encrypted channel.

“Very bad.” Batman scoffs at Gordon’s stupid response.

“Do we have much time til it blows?” Gordon asks.

“You have less than 10 minutes to clear the area. I’ll do what I have to do to balance out the situation.” Batman says.

“You better not do what I think you’re going to do, Batman!” Gordon pontificates.

“Then come and stop me, you useless old man!” Batman screams into his micro-communicator, offended. He shuts it off.

“God damn it, Batman!” Gordon screams into his cel phone, as he speeds down the pissy Gotham streets in the passenger side seat of a police cruiser with Detective Bullock driving with a heavy foot on the gas pedal.

“More bloodshed, Jim?” Bullock looking grim and concerned.

“Yeah, Harvey. Yeah.” Gordon goes solemn and silent for the rest of the ride to the scene.

Batman slams down at Gotham Harbor Train Station terminal, ripping off his bat-glider, no time to fold it up. Using his bat-x-ray bomb detection visor, he finds the cluster of bombs mounted on the tracks, but the pile is too big! He can’t carry them all himself, he would need at least a truck and there just isn’t enough time!

Batman scans the terminal and there is still human life in the area, some watching at dangerously close distances. Batman already knows these rats are going to die when the bomb goes off and he won’t be able to save any of them.

Batman drops down into the tracks with his nightvision lights on and using his bomb defusing AI robot tool, he removes as many as he can in about a minute. Clutching the bombs to his chest like a football, he rushes to his bat-glider, straps it on, and takes off again, towards the oncoming flaming train!

Gordon is staring out the side window, looking somber and depressed, having his first memories of the arrival of The Batman. The Batman emerged from the steamy shadows and saved his life when he was knocked over the head with a pipe and about to be robbed by some young punks. Gordon was on the verge of retirement, almost 70 years old and climbed his way up the crooked and corrupt Gotham Police Department ladder because he was the only good cop left in Gotham. In effect, he didn’t have any real power and was just on display for political reasons. Gotham Police Department was actually run by the mafia.

Had Batman not saved his life that night, Gordon would be sleeping less soundly at night, although he still tosses and turns at the thought of Batman still out there fighting chaos with more deadly chaos, completely lawless and no lawman would dare stop him. The second time Gordon encountered The Batman, Batman again saved Gordon’s life but by hanging the gunman by the neck off a rafter. Gordon screamed in horror, of course, and begged Batman to cut the line, but Batman had already disappeared into the shadows. By the time support arrived, the gunman’s neck already snapped under the pressure, and it happened too quick for Gordon to even register the guilt.

The third time Gordon encounter The Batman, Gordon made the stupid mistake of firing his gun at Batman, who was about to drop some poor criminal some 30 stories to his death, showering the streets below with stolen cash. It happened so quickly. Gordon shouts for Batman to drop the perp. Batman doesn’t startle too easily and drops the perp. Gordon pulls the trigger. Batman gets hit in the arm but lunges at Gordon and gives him what seems like two cinder blocks punches to the face, disorienting him for half and hour. Batman barks at him, “Don’t fire at me again! Next time I’m taking your head clean off!” And he sorta just vanishes into thin air like smoke or a ghost or something.

Gordon is an old man. And he was afraid of monsters like The Batman. In his youth, he may have been able to have a fighting chance in hand-to-hand combat with Batman, but now he’s pushing 70 years old, and life in Gotham isn’t glamourous or rewarding, so it takes a toll on the mind and body. Anyone can hold and shoot a gun, but it’s not enough to stop monsters like Joker and Batman from burning down the city. Gordon knew he was just another helpless old man.

Batman was soaring towards the flaming train. His human bystander salvation algorithm bot calculates that there will be approximately 40% human bystander survival rate. Those 40% were the rat passengers that scurried to the back of the train. The other 60% had scurried to the front of the train cars. Batman didn’t hesitate. He would detonate the bomb in the front of the train, dislodging the back cars saving those passengers, but he wouldn’t be able to save the others and hopefully catch Joker in the explosion. That fiery wreck would either stop or continue towards the station anyway, but at least it slows the train down, giving those stupid bystanders at the station time to flee. At least, that was Batman’s plan.

Batman swoops as close as he can towards the front of the train and slaps the bombs to the grille with fancy black combustible adhesive from his utility belt. He watched the face of the train conductor as he swooped by, as if time stood still, the conductor with a face of lost hope and fear. It is the same face Batman has seen his entire life, on those he has personally lost and could not save. And when the bomb exploded, the bright fiery orange, red, yellow flames engulfed the metal and glass, and the conductor’s face lit up as though he was crossing over to a better place, better than life in Gotham City.

The train split into pieces, cars exploded open like a watermelon dropped from a building, some segmented passengers still alive, crawling half-bodied down the bloody aisles, climbing on twisted metal, clinging onto bent steel frames scratching along chain link fences lining the track.

“Good. That was good. You can do this!” Batman thought in a cold and calculating manner.

As the first train car started rolling into a giant fireball, turning perpendicular to the track, pushing the other cars off the rails into a giant pile of fiery metal, Batman knew he still needed to detach the remaining cars. He had a couple of bombs left. But then…


And what followed sounded like a laughing hyena being tortured or a hawk caught in a net. Batman looked down at his gut and his right arm had gone slightly limp. He had dropped all but one bomb. Joker has shot him in the abdomen. Knowing he will bleed to death if he doesn’t land and patch himself up, he dives straight for Joker, who is standing a top a pile of charcoal corpses with the car ripped open like a can of tuna. Joker is fiery aimlessly at Batman and seems to have unlimited ammo, he just empties clip after clip and smacks them back in.


Batman hits Joker like a linebacker, the bat-glider wrapping around their twisted bodies like somekind of twisted demonic birthing. Batman peels himself off of Joker, rips his bat-glider off, and steps back, clutching at his open wound. He takes the bomb with his good hand and starts rubbing some of that black combustible goo on it and slaps it to the metal floor next to his feet and charred corpses.

Joker, who looks like he’s just been sat on by an elephant, crushed into some seats with the bat glider poles impaling into his sides and limbs, starts to laugh. In his hand is his taped-up smart phone doo-hickey device, which is now beeping and has an LED light flashing. Joker’s eyes slowly roll towards the device making a loud smacking sound of this dry eyeballs on wet eye sockets.

“I got you here, faggot! Now watch what present I brought for you. The bat-devil can take my soul, or follow the prize that’s in the big numbered box at the end of this radio signal!” Joker utters out, still full of energy, seemingly with no pain.

Batman rips the device from Jokers hand. On the screen, Joker has already triggered the track to switch up ahead.

“You have to be two-faced to think of two solutions.” Joker taunts Batman, cackling like a demon.

Batman looks down at the bomb he placed on the floor ticking away. Then he looks at the car to the rear, full of people screaming in horror. Batman tosses the smartphone device into Joker’s lap and boots Joker in the face like it was personal, splitting Joker’s face into two, looking like someone just dumped a can of tomato soup on his face. Joker laughed the entire time he was getting his face kicked in, but eventually stopped to a gurgling silence.

Batman then rushes to the train coupler and starts kicking it, hoping he can free it. Luckily, the train maintenance was so negligent, the coupler was completely rusted. Batman using his steel-heel boots was able to get it crumbled and free with some effort, knowing his legs are going to be sore tonight… if he makes it home alive!

And KABOOM!!!! The bomb goes off, sending Batman into the rear car, covering all the screaming passengers in glass and shrapnel. But the force exerted by the explosion was enough to push the rear car away, giving them just enough distance to catch the switched track.

The fireballs of trains eventually reached Gotham Harbor Train Station and there is a horrific explosion. Loud enough so all of Gotham could hear it, but wouldn’t even wake the most hardened baby sleeping in a cradle.

Gordon and his cops arrive a few minutes too late. But Gordon looks at all the scurrying rats fleeing from the burning train station, and in a somber but uplifting moment, he realizes that those rats were alive because of Batman.

“Golly! What the hell! Jim, are you seeing this?” Bullock screams in horror.

“Yeah, Harvey. It’s Gotham City.” Gordon says. Gordon walks around in circles for a bit with his hands on his cracking hips, then breaks down, crouching and head falling between his knees sobbing.


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