Joker&Batman: The Rooftop at Dawn

It's extremely rare that I engage with other authors' work and play around with a fan version. I have more than forty stories of my own, and five or six of them keep tempting me to write them. But I'm used to learning from other people's stories, and in 2019 I was very impressed by Joker, directed by Todd Phillips, which seemed like the perfect homework assignment. The director applied the rules of storytelling perfectly, the narrative arc of the film was excellent, the protagonist had a purpose, while the lies that held him hostage were being dismantled one after another, to finally be freed to become a madman and a popular (anti-)hero. What a shame that the sequel was botched. At the time, the film made me spin the character of Joker in the creative soup of my own subconscious, because I knew the comic book, I bought and read the Hungarian edition of the comic every month as a teenager. Though at twelve, Batman: The Killing Joke was a bit of a strong start. This story didn't cause any trauma because I was born in Hungary, which is an absurd place where lying is routine and the shameless sacrifice of others for personal gain is natural. By the age of twelve, I had inevitably experienced so many sins indirectly that it seems like a lot. I have plenty to draw from if I want to create a "madman" and experience what the relationship between Batman and the Joker can be like. In 2019, while brainstorming, Karel Gott's Lady Karneval was ringing in my ears, because one of my Joker's mottos is "Let there be a carnival!" That's why I included the song in the article after the closing scene of the story. Please read the scene! Then listen to the song and continue reading the article.

"The first blush of dawn painted Gotham in shades of crimson and gold, softening the jagged skyline that had loomed so forebodingly just hours earlier. On the rooftop of a crumbling tenement, Joker lay sprawled, his thin frame looking even more broken in the hazy light. His white face paint had smeared into ghostly streaks, accentuating the blood that trickled from the corner of his mouth. Yet the perpetual grin on his face remained, a grotesque defiance of his battered state.
Batman stood nearby, his shadow stretching long and dark across the rooftop, his cape barely stirring in the faint breeze. He didn’t look at Joker but instead kept his eyes on the city, where the first rays of sunlight began to illuminate Gotham’s streets. For a fleeting moment, it almost seemed peaceful.
Joker coughed, a wet, rattling sound that brought fresh blood to his lips. He wiped it away with a trembling hand, then chuckled softly, a sound that was equal parts pain and delight.
“You know,” he rasped, voice barely above a whisper, “it’s a beautiful day. The sun... the sun is always beautiful. White. Pure. Like the face of a clown.” He turned his head slightly, his fever-bright eyes searching for Batman’s gaze. “And do you know what that means, Batsy? It means the clown sees things as they really are.”
Batman didn’t answer. His jaw tightened beneath the mask, his focus still fixed on the horizon.
“You don’t believe me,” Joker wheezed, his laugh bubbling up again, weak but unyielding. “Of course, you don’t. You live in shadows. You deny the light. The clown’s truth.”
“Enough,” Batman said curtly, his voice low, controlled. “You’re delusional, Joker. When this is over, you’re going back to Arkham.”
Joker’s grin widened, splitting his bloodied lips. “Arkham,” he echoed, savoring the word like the punchline to a private joke. “Oh, Bruce, we both know Arkham is a revolving door. A little R&R, and my merry fools will have me out before the paint dries on my cell walls. It’s adorable, though, that you still believe in the system.”
Batman’s hand twitched at the mention of his name. He turned his head just enough to catch Joker’s gaze, cold and unflinching.
Joker’s grin faltered for a moment, replaced by something that might have been genuine satisfaction. “Ah, there it is. That little flicker of recognition. You know I’m right, don’t you? We’ll do this dance forever, you and I.”
Batman’s silence was answer enough. Joker’s voice softened, taking on an almost conspiratorial tone.
“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?” he asked. “Just you and me. No henchmen. No sirens. No crowds. Just the Bat and the Clown. Two partners in the only game that matters.” His grin returned, faint but persistent. “Aren’t you tired, Bruce? Isn’t it exhausting to fight what you are? We’re two sides of the same coin, you and I. Except I’ve embraced the truth. The light. The glorious absurdity of it all.”
Batman looked down at him, his expression unreadable beneath the mask. “You’re insane.”
“Of course I am,” Joker whispered with a hoarse chuckle. “But here’s the joke: so are you. You just wear a different mask.”
For a moment, the rooftop was silent save for the faint hum of the city waking below. Then Batman crouched down, his gloved hands carefully lifting Joker from the ground. The clown let out a strangled laugh, more relief than amusement.
“So, it’s Arkham, then?” Joker rasped. “A soft bed, three square meals, and endless therapy I’ll never take seriously. You’re a generous partner, Bats. Really, I don’t deserve you.”
Batman said nothing as he adjusted Joker’s weight, his strength effortless despite the man’s limp form. Together, they turned toward the edge of the rooftop, where the city stretched out beneath them, bathed in the early light.
Joker’s voice was barely audible now, a whisper carried by the wind. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Gotham. Like nothing ever happened.”
Batman didn’t respond. His gaze remained fixed on the horizon as the two of them stood there – one upright and steady, the other sagging and bloodied, but grinning still.
The city noise grew louder as the light grew stronger, and the figures on the rooftop became nothing more than silhouettes. Two dark shapes against the pale expanse of the rising sun."

It's just a little game on my part where I allowed myself to explore darker, deeper themes. From this sketch I had AI write the final scene. Of course, I used modern technology to solve language difficulties and to ensure clarity of writing.

"War has always been good business, and the ancestor of the Wayne family may have sold guns to settlers fighting Indians. The arms trade is still a thriving business today, with America and even Europe making weapons to sell to war zones around the world. What a hypocrite the West is! Talking about peace and selling arms. Joker is raiding the Gotham arms depots, which are of course illegal, so the corrupt police and officials try to cover it up. The clown is becoming increasingly annoying. Joker is turning the small and large bombs into fireworks missiles, which he plans to detonate during the finale, the carnival. It's really crazy for Batman, and he's in for a tough test on many levels. They finally meet in the finale, and Joker saves Batman's life by risking his own. When the crack of gunfire dies down and the police and federal troops clear the fighting parties away, Batman and Joker watch the sunrise and Gotham emerge from a rooftop. Joker is pretty ragged, but still keeps talking in whispers, coughing up blood, and alternately laughing. He enjoys being alone with Batman at last. Confidentially he goes by his real first name and tells his own name, that in another life when he thought he was human because he believed in society, hard work "and other lies" that was his name, but one bad day he realized the truth as bright as the sun, "and you knew Batman, the sun is white, white as the clown's face, because really the clown is the only one who sees clearly." Batman denies it, but half-heartedly, "you're crazy, you belong in Arkham". Joker grins "my place is by your side, my dark companion who denies the light, the clown's truth."

The story I've invented mixes deeper themes of war, capitalism, moral hypocrisy and social injustice with the psychological and ideological struggle of two iconic characters, as the Joker seeks to become Batman's worthy sidekick and defeat him. 
Now I'm out of the role of the Joker, because playing an immoral genius is stressful and ultimately saddening. Just as it's sad when a clever filmmaker screws up the sequel to his brilliant film.