"STOP!"
Rachel Dawes, played by Maggie Gyllenhaal, stepped forward to confront the Joker. She was clearly terrified, but tried to hold her ground. The Joker turned to her, smiling wider than before, and launched into yet another unsettling monologue.
"Do you know how I got these scars? I had a wife once," he began. "She was beautiful, just like you. She used to tell me I should worry less. Smile more."
He spoke softly at first, recounting how his wife had been scarred by loan sharks, and how, in a twisted gesture of love, he'd disfigured himself to make her feel better.
Rod listened, frowning. Earlier, the Joker had told a completely different story: one about an abusive father. Now this? The contradiction made it clear. The truth didn't matter. The Joker was a blank canvas of shifting identities and lies. He wasn't trying to win anyone over. He had no discernible motives either. That's why he was terrifying.
Just when it felt like things might turn even darker, Batman crashed into the scene.
The fight that followed wasn't glamorous or overly choreographed. It was dirty, fast, and grounded in reality. The Joker didn't fight like a trained soldier—he was erratic, throwing his own henchmen at Batman to create distractions, slipping in cheap shots where he could. There was no honor in his style, only survival.
Rod was riveted. Unlike many action films where fights became a blur of fists and visual effects, this one was easy to follow; every hit and movement was clear. That's what he admired most about [The Dark Knight] until now: Nolan's vision always remained rooted in the realm of possibility.
During the chaos, Batman managed to knock the Joker away and began dispatching his thugs. But while his back was turned, the Joker grabbed a gun and took Rachel hostage. He pressed the barrel against her head and repeated the same demand he had made before: Batman must reveal his identity.
Batman didn't budge.
Without hesitation, the Joker turned, shattered the large window behind him, and dragged Rachel to the edge, holding her over the sheer drop.
"Let her go," Batman growled.
The Joker raised an eyebrow, amused. "Very poor choice of words."
And he let go.
Rod burst out laughing, along with several others in the packed theater. It was morbid, yes, but the Joker's delivery, so casual and offbeat, had struck a bizarrely comedic chord. If this actor ever wanted to do comedy, Rod thought, he'd nail that too.
Batman dove after Rachel, catching her mid-fall and crashing onto a parked car below. As expected, the hero saved the day.
But strangely, the scene ended without showing what happened to the Joker. Did he escape quietly? Did he kill someone before slipping out? The film didn't say. Rod made peace with that inconsistency. A minor oversight in an otherwise tightly executed film.
The story pressed forward. Gotham mourned the fallen Commissioner Loeb with a citywide funeral procession. Bagpipes played, officers stood in full dress uniform, and a twenty-one-gun salute was prepared.
But of course, with the Joker on the loose, something had to go wrong.
In one of the eeriest sequences yet, the Joker infiltrated the procession itself.
He had replaced the firing squad with his own men.
And stranger still, he was there among them—disguised as a policeman, his makeup gone, his face bare. Unrecognizable to anyone who didn't know where to look.
Rod's breath caught. The most dangerous man in Gotham wasn't hiding in the shadows. He was right out in the open.
It was only on screen for a second, but Rod saw it.
The Joker's bare face.
Even without the makeup, it was unmistakable. The scars on his cheeks were visible, deep and prominent. He wore a police hat pulled low over his forehead, and his sunken eyes were hidden in shadow, but the bone structure, the slight twitch in his jaw—it was him.
Rod leaned forward slightly. For a split second, he was sure he recognized the actor beneath it all. But no name came to mind. It was like trying to remember a dream just out of reach.
From the hushed murmurs echoing through the theater, he wasn't the only one trying to place the face.
Then the murmurs vanished.
In the very next moment, Jim Gordon was shot.
A heavy silence fell over the room. It was the kind of stunned stillness that didn't need gasps or screams, just the weight of disbelief settling over everyone like fog.
The film pushed forward.
Harvey Dent, unraveling, kidnapped one of the Joker's underlings and dragged him to an undisclosed location. There, he tried to force out answers using fear and pain. At the same time, Batman confronted Maroni at a loud, pulsing nightclub, manhandling him through the crowd in an attempt to extract the same information.
In the brief exchange that followed, Maroni offered the most chilling summary of the Joker yet.
"You've got rules. The Joker, he's got no rules. Nobody's gonna cross him for you. You have only one way to find him. Take off your mask and let him come find you."
The camera lingered on Batman, his expression unreadable beneath the cowl. But even without seeing his face, Rod could sense the conflict building. Batman was considering it—seriously considering it.
He went to find Harvey, only to discover him roughing up a mentally ill patient from Arkham Asylum. The line had been crossed. Batman knew then that the city couldn't wait anymore. Something had to give.
He returned to his apartment, only to meet Rachel there for one last time. They shared one last kiss. One final attempt at a future they both knew was slipping away. He was going to reveal his identity. He had made peace with the cost.
But then, just as he was about to do it, Harvey Dent stood up before the press and claimed that he was Batman.
Rod's eyes widened.
What followed was one of the most intense, breathtaking sequences of the film.
Police began transporting Harvey to the county jail, hoping to draw the Joker out with the fake bait. Joker took it. He launched an ambush on the convoy, roaring toward them in an eighteen-wheeler truck with the word "S*laughter" painted ominously on the side.
And then came Batman, blazing through the night in his Batmobile. The vehicle took heavy damage, practically shredding itself apart until it ejected the Bat-pod from within its wreckage.
The chase through Gotham streets was sheer cinematic perfection. Cars overturned. Lampposts shattered. Explosions flashed. The Joker cackled madly in the background, the sound mixing into the chaos like a twisted soundtrack.
And then came the moment. The one Warner Bros. had plastered across every trailer: the truck flip.
The eighteen-wheeler launched upward, spinning in midair before slamming onto its back in a crash that seemed to shake the whole theater.
Rod hadn't realized how tense he was until then. His heart pounded in his chest. The stunt choreography, the sound, the editing, everything was working in flawless sync.
Out of the wreckage, the Joker stumbled.
He limped out onto the road, still alive, his suit torn and his hair a mess. As Batman sped toward him on the Bat-pod, the Joker stood firm, firing bullets erratically in his direction.
Rod held his breath.
It felt like Batman was going to hit him. And the Joker wanted to be hit. That maybe, finally, it would all end.
But Batman swerved at the last moment.
Even now, even after everything, he couldn't kill. It wasn't in him. That was the line he wouldn't cross.
As Batman crashed, one of the Joker's men moved in, trying to remove his mask, but couldn't.
And just when the Joker himself approached to do it, he was stopped by Jim Gordon of all people. Alive.
Rod exhaled sharply, realizing only then that he'd been holding his breath. Relief washed over him.
He had liked Gordon too much to accept his death. Gary Oldman's portrayal was pitch-perfect. Stoic, grounded, endlessly human. It would have been too much to lose him now.
Rod didn't even mind that it was a pure comic book moment—the kind where the good guy returns from the dead. Things like that didn't happen in real life, but if it meant Gordon was alive, he was perfectly fine with it.
Finally, the Joker was caught and taken into custody. He was locked in a holding cell at the Major Crimes Unit. Gordon, now hailed as a hero, was promoted to Commissioner by the Mayor himself. He returned home to celebrate with his family, only to receive a chilling phone call: Harvey Dent never made it home after being released from police protection.
And then came what, in Rod's opinion, was the best scene in the entire film.
Inside the sterile, dimly lit interrogation room, Batman slammed the Joker's head against the metal table.
"Never start with the head," the Joker groaned. "The victim gets all fuzzy."
Rod sat frozen. Despite the pain in his voice, he felt that the Joker was faking. He was still in control. This was just another act, another performance to throw everyone off. Or was it? He couldn't say for sure with a character as complex as Joker. Maybe a few rewatches would help him know for sure.
The lines that followed pierced through the room like ice. "They need you right now," the Joker said, his voice suddenly calmer. "But when they don't… they'll cast you out. Like a leper."
He paused, his voice dropping even further.
"I'm not a monster. I'm just ahead of the curve."
The way he said it made Rod forget for a moment that this was the same man who giggled at explosions. There was weight behind the words—philosophy, even. It wasn't the rant of a madman. It was the cold, measured logic of someone who had seen the worst of the world and embraced it.
Batman wasn't buying the act. He grabbed the Joker by the collar and yanked him clean over the table as if he weighed nothing.
"Where's Dent?" Batman snarled.
"You think you have these rules that'll save you?" the Joker asked, unfazed.
"I have just one rule."
"Then that's the one you're gonna have to break," the Joker said seriously. "There's only minutes left, if you want to save one of them."
"Them?"
The Joker grinned widely, even as Batman held him in a chokehold.
"You know, for a while there, I thought you really were Dent, the way you threw yourself after her."
That broke Batman.
He hurled the Joker across the room with such force that it looked like his spine could snap. Then he jammed a chair under the door handle, locking them inside.
Instead of reacting in pain, the Joker laughed: deep, guttural, and unrestrained. The sound echoed through the chamber and sent chills crawling down Rod's arms.
"Does Harvey know about you and his little bunny?" the Joker taunted.
Batman slammed his head against the viewing window, cracking the reinforced glass.
"WHERE ARE THEY!?" he shouted, punching the Joker square in the face.
"You know…" hit "killing is making a choice…" hit "choosing between your friend…" hit "the district attorney…" hit "or his blushing bride-to-be." hit
Rod's jaw dropped. The camera didn't cut away once. There were no stunt doubles. No clever angles. Christian Bale was clearly hitting the Joker's actor for real—or at least making it look so convincing that it was impossible to tell. And yet the Joker didn't flinch. Not once. He delivered each line as if being punched in the face was just another routine part of his day.
Then, once again, he began to laugh.
It wasn't defiance. It wasn't mockery. It was something more unsettling—pure, maniacal joy.
Batman grabbed him by the collar again, holding him up like a rag doll while officers pounded on the door from the outside, powerless to intervene.
"Don't worry," the Joker said finally, voice steady again. "I'll tell you where they are. Both of them. Because that's the point… You have to choose."
He rattled off two addresses, one for Rachel, one for Harvey.
Batman didn't hesitate. He threw the Joker back down and bolted from the room.
The scene moved on. But Rod sat motionless.
His heart was racing. His throat was dry. And his mind was blown.
Whoever this Joker actor was, he was beyond good. This wasn't just a performance; it was something transcendent. If he didn't win a major acting award by next year, it would be a travesty.
(Break)
"I don't understand," Kathy said for what felt like the tenth time. "Why are we even here at the premiere?"
"Because Dick Parsons personally asked me to come," Steve replied patiently. "He told me Nolan used IMAX technology during filming. Said it's something we could explore for [Harry Potter] instead of 3D."
Kathy arched a brow. "IMAX instead of 3D? Really?"
"I don't think it's even close," Steve admitted. "But it wouldn't look good to snub the invite. We still have another movie to make together."
"I thought they replaced him?" Kathy asked, her tone skeptical.
"He's still on the Board," Steve said, matter-of-factly. "Still carries a lot of weight at Warner Bros. Troy might be buying up companies like Netflix and Marvel, but let's not forget—we don't have a studio under our name. We still need the big players."
As their car pulled to a stop outside the premiere of [The Dark Knight], Kathy shifted the conversation.
"Speaking of our elusive son, when is he finally coming to London?"
"He said this week," Steve answered as the car door opened. "Didn't give me an exact date."
Kathy sighed. "That boy. I hate it when he overcommits. Especially now, given everything."
"He's not alone this time," Steve reminded her. "I wasn't thrilled about the age gap with Scarlett at first, but she's grown on me."
"She clearly loves him," Kathy said softly. "Not his money."
Steve nodded. "And Troy works like this because he enjoys it. Just like we always did. Maybe we passed that on that trait to him, for better or worse."
Kathy couldn't argue with that. They entered the venue through the side entrance, avoiding the red carpet reserved for the A-listers. Neither of them were celebrities, after all, not in the traditional sense.
Inside, the lighting dimmed as familiar faces from Warner Bros. mingled nearby. Kathy noticed something strange.
"Why is Jeff Robinov looking at us like that?" she whispered, narrowing her eyes. "He looked… gleeful."
"You caught that too?" Steve replied. "I thought I was reading too much into it. But now I'm not so sure."
A cheerful voice interrupted them.
"Steve!? Kathy!?"
They turned to see Scarlett approaching with an ecstatic smile. She hugged Kathy first, then Steve.
"What a pleasant surprise," Kathy said warmly. "I thought you two were still in New Zealand."
"We got back a few days ago," Scarlett explained. "Troy had some work in California, so I came here with my twin brother, Hunter." She gestured toward a seat nearby, where a young man waved politely. "We're both massive Batman fans. I begged Troy to get us tickets. This whole Joker mystery is driving me crazy."
Steve chuckled. "I personally think the suspense is overblown. Probably just a marketing gimmick. But we'll find out soon enough."
Before they could say more, an usher called for everyone to take their seats.
The movie was about to begin.
The movie was undeniably well shot. Every frame was crisp, deliberate, and cinematic. But something about it gnawed at Steve. A feeling he couldn't quite place. It was the Joker—something in the way he moved, the way he spoke. It felt familiar. Unsettlingly so.
He brushed it off, at least until the funeral march scene.
The Joker, disguised in a full police uniform, raised his gun and fired toward the Mayor.
"What the fuck!?" Kathy exclaimed, loud enough to turn a few heads. She immediately turned to Steve, eyes wide, and whispered, "That's Troy!"
Steve froze. "No way," he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction. But now that Kathy had said it, he couldn't unsee it. The laugh lines, the intense eyes, the posture, the gait—even the subtle tilt of the head. It was all there. It was him.
And it explained everything.
The months of radio silence. The self-imposed exile. The vague "project" he refused to discuss. He had been shooting this movie.
Steve leaned closer, whispering urgently, "But how? How did we not catch this sooner?"
Kathy pressed her fingers to her forehead. "Let's talk later. I need a minute to process. And look around, the rest of the theater's glued to the screen."
Steve gave a faint nod, turning his attention back to the film. His mind, however, was racing.
As a producer, he was thinking of the intricacies behind the decision that led to Troy's presence being kept a secret. If Warner Bros. had announced from the start that Troy would be playing the Joker, the backlash would've been immediate. The comic book crowd was ruthless, especially after the disaster that was [Batman & Robin]. Casting Troy would've been seen as a joke.
But this… this was masterful.
His thoughts drifted back to something Troy had said shortly after returning from the shoot: "I don't think I can do better than this performance."
At the time, Steve thought it was hyperbole. But now? He wasn't so sure. This wasn't just good. This was phenomenal. Better than [The Sixth Sense], [Billy Elliot], and [The Perks of Being a Wallflower] combined.
The interrogation scene alone had been haunting. But what followed—the Joker blowing up the police station after making a single phone call, then joyriding in a stolen cop car, with his head hanging out was a masterclass in controlled chaos.
"Man, I'm starting to really dislike this Joker fella," Steve whispered, half-joking.
Kathy didn't even respond. She was too immersed in the film.
Rachel's death hit hard. Brutal, sudden, and tragically inevitable. At least this actress brought more presence to the role than her predecessor in the first movie.
Then came a moment so absurd, it looped back to genius.
A lawyer, Coleman Reese, who had figured out Batman's identity, threatened to expose him live on air. Just when he seemed ready to do it, Joker called into the broadcast and gave the city an ultimatum.
"If Mr. Reese isn't dead within the next 60 minutes, I'll blow up a hospital."
Steve burst out laughing. Reese's terrified expression was priceless. The man thought outing Batman would bring safety. Instead, the Joker flipped the situation with a cold, calculated threat. A perfect reversal.
Evacuations began in a panic. Batman and Gordon scrambled to keep Reese safe. And then, Troy, no, Joker, walked into the hospital where Harvey Dent was recovering, dressed as a female nurse.
Steve couldn't help himself. He chuckled under his breath.
"He doesn't make a cute nurse at all," he said softly.
Kathy elbowed Steve's arm. "Will you quiet down already? I'm watching a movie here."
Steve raised both hands in mock surrender, grinning sheepishly. On-screen, after an intense conversation with Harvey Dent, the Joker strolled out of the hospital, fully in character, still dressed in the nurse's outfit. He even paused to sanitize his hands like a dutiful healthcare worker, just before skipping outside as small explosions burst behind him.
His gait was bizarre, almost theatrical, and yet Steve couldn't look away. There was a strange beauty in the way he spread his arms, basking in the chaos he'd created. But then the explosions abruptly stopped.
Joker halted mid-step, visibly confused.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the remote, pressing the button repeatedly. Nothing. He stomped the ground like a spoiled child. The audience laughed nervously. Then, suddenly, the final charge detonated, loud, violent, and cinematically perfect.
Joker flinched in surprise before dashing off toward a waiting yellow school bus. As he climbed aboard, the building behind him erupted into flames. The bus drove off, the hospital collapsing in a plume of dust and fire.
Steve leaned toward Kathy and whispered, "Our son just won his second acting Oscar."
Kathy could only nod. Words weren't necessary. It was undeniable. Troy, as the Joker, was electrifying. Steve hated what his son had put himself through to reach this level of acting: the months of self-imposed isolation, the brutal mental preparation, and the torture of having no one to talk to about the role. But one thing was undeniable: the result was astounding. People wouldn't forget this portrayal for decades, if not a century.
________________________
AN: Visit my personal website to read ahead, or check out my second Hollywood story set in the 80s.
Link: www(dot)fablefic(dot)com