INTRO: I'll be the first to admit I'm crazy. After what been I've through, I'm probably insane enough for several people. I've had doctors, shrinks and every kind of scientist look at my brain, and all they can find are stitches and a bad sense of humor. But despite all of this I've managed to evade Gotham's Dark Knight, make a profit out of stolen goods, and still manage to crack cheap jokes. My story is a tragic tale, filled with monsters, homicidal clowns and crime. So who am I? The question is, what am I? I'm Ragdoll. CHAPTER 1: Normality, Stitches, and Clowns. Normal. If you asked anyone at the St. Josephs orphanage about me, that's what they'd say. "He's a nice boy, perfectly normal", "Nothing defining about him, He's just a friendly, normal boy". That's how my life was for sixteen years. Normal. Of course the world outside the orphanage wasn't normal. Every night some wacko would appear on the news, proclaiming that the city was theirs, and that we all had to surrender. And every night the Batman would bring said wacko to justice. It never changed. It became a routine of a sorts, get up, get dressed, eat breakfast, got to school, come home from school, do my homework, watch the wacko's get their buts kicked, then go to bed. A never changing routine of normal. And I was happy with that. Ever since my parents were shot dead when I was eight, I had been looking for something familiar and secure to claim as my own, and the routine provided this. On October the 31st however, my routine, my home, and my sanity, would all disappear with a bang, in a Halloween I'll never forget. The day started as per normal. The alarm clock woke me up as usual, I got dressed into my school uniform as usual, and just for a change, I had toast instead of cereal that morning. If I remember correctly I think I had jam and peanut butter, but I digress. I told the orphanage staff that I was leaving for school, then headed out the building. St. Josephs was about ten minutes away from my school, so as part of my routine I always left early. On my normal routine I simply arrived at school, but as I've already said, that day wasn't a normal day. So instead of simply hearing the normal sounds of the city, I heard a ticking noise, like an old fashioned time bomb. A loud voice that seemed to come from the sky was saying "All civilians get out of the blast zone, the bomb's detonation encircles the entire block, so move away now!". I remember thinking to myself "This is not good", before the ticking stopped, there was a bout of maniacal laughter, an intense white flash, so bright it hurt my eyes, and then nothing. Nothing except pure and undisturbed blackness. ............................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................. "Will he be okay Puddin?" "Of course he will. Didn't I tell you I have a degree!" "No you didn't" "Oh. Well just for the record I don't. Never should have skipped college." All this, and a headache the size of Poland, started to drift into my brain as I began to regain some resemblance of consciousness. Wherever I was, it was cold, metallic, with a bright light coming from somewhere above me. The pain that I expected never came, only a slow dull ache, like I'd been bruised all over. In a couple of places I couldn’t feel anything, like the area had gone completely numb. I attempted to open my eyes, but found the light too bright, and had to shut them again. A gasp of shock came from somewhere as I tried. "Mista J, He’s awake!” it said, in an accent I couldn’t recognize. Possibly from New York. Upon hearing this I tried again, and finally managed to open my eyes and have a look around. I was in what looked like a hospital, with a lamp over my head and an impressive collection of syringes in the corner. There was a large pile of black thread and a couple of needles, the kind doctors use to stitch bad cuts up, next to the syringes, and to my surprise the needles were coated in blood. Almost like they’d been used… I desperately looked around my body for any sign of damage. Arms, legs, good. Head, aching like hell but nothing externally damaged there. I then looked down at my chest, which was bare for some strange reason, and gasped. It was covered in stitches. Not the small, gentle ones like you see in the soap operas, these were massive black things that winded there way around my body. In a couple of places it looked like parts of my skin had been replaced by cloth, and on further investigation, I found that they had. I looked up to try and find whoever did this, and got another shock when I found him. He was tall and thin, wearing an old fashioned doctor’s robe, with knives and other such medical implements sticking out of the front pocket. But it was his face that made me gasp. It was white. Not just very pale, not albino white, but pure chemical white. And his mouth; it was bright red, with the redness going up his cheeks to form a wide grin. This strange figure tilted his head and started to talk to me. “Welcome back to the world kid! How ya feeling?” I shook my head, not sure what to make of him. “Sore, and my head hurts, but apart from that I’m just dandy,” The man laughed, and I realized that that laugh was the one I heard at the bomb site. It sounded just as demented now as it did then. “That’s great. Tell me, how do you feel about your new body?” He asked, referring to my new, stitched up form. I shrugged, “It feels fine. Why do you keep asking questions?” The man looked shocked for a second, but managed to recompose his features into a not so friendly smile, “Well, I was just wondering how my little creation worked out. Tell the truth, I wasn’t actually expecting you to survive the treatment and the transfer, so I don’t know what to do with you…” By now I was completely confused, and had no idea what the strange man, or “Mista J” as the other voice had called him, was talking about. Transfer? Treatment? I hadn’t a clue what was going on, but the person who spoke next obviously did. “Oh Mista J, please can we keep him? I’ll take care of him until he can do it himself, and then he can work for you! Oh please Puddin? Pleeeeeeeeease!” I turned round to see whoever it was that was begging for me to stay, and was surprised at myself for not being surprised when I saw what looked like an old medieval Jester standing in the corner. She too was wearing a doctor’s apron, except hers didn’t have knives in the pockets. The total effect was actually quite nice. Mista J frowned. “Hmm, I don’t know…” That was it. I needed a place to stay now that I looked a bit freaky, and the offer of this one was too much to bear. “Yeh, please Mista J? I’ll do whatever you want!” Mista J smiled. “Well, I can’t say no to that. And kid, the names Joker, not Mista J. That’s Harley's name for me.” The girl, who I assumed to be Harley, blushed. I thought about giving Joker my real name, but decided against it. He could use it to his advantage if he found any birth certificates or anything. I looked around the room for inspiration, and settled upon my chest. My stitched up chest, making me look like a rag doll. Then it hit me. “Ragdoll. My name’s Ragdoll, sir.” Joker smiled. “Good name choice kid. Harley, show Ragdoll around his new home”. ……………………………………………………………………………………………............................................................................................................................................................................................................................. Harley showed me everything, from the main hall, to her room, to the weapons closet and the Hyena room, where I first met the two babies. According to Harley they instantly took a liking to me, and let them off their chain. After I’d finally managed to pull myself away from the frenzy of licking tongues, Harley showed me a room I had not noticed. It was not very big, but not too small either. “This is your room!” She proclaimed with a great flourish. Despite the fact that she’d never met me, she’d managed to do an okay job of decorating. At least this room had a mattress, blanket and pillow. Before I could get myself comfortable Harley dragged me over to a large cupboard, and upon opening it I found it was full of costumes. “If your gonna live with us, you gotta find yourself a costume, you know, to go with your namesake,” Harley said, practically bouncing around the walls as she grabbed multiple costumes and shoved them into my arms. “C’mon, pick one!” I looked through the costumes for five minutes, and eventually decided on a freaky doll costume. To complete the look I cut eye holes in a burlap sack and drew a smile on it. To identify it as my own, I painted over it in black paint and also painted stitches onto the smile. I turned around and looked at myself in a mirror. The whole effect wasn’t what I was expecting, so I carefully took a Knife and made a couple of rips in it, concentrating on the patchwork areas. Soon the costume had holes in it, but the new look actually made it look better; like a doll no one wanted thrown out the window. I turned back towards Harley, and was surprised to see her looking at me with an expression I’d often seen on the orphanage staffs faces when one of their toddlers started walking. Intense pride mixed with happiness, though why Harley was exhibiting these I had no idea. Suddenly she raced towards me and gave me a rib crushing hug, “Oh I’m so proud of you! Becoming a supervillian and staying with Mista J and me!” “Harley!” “What?” “Can’t breath!” “Oh,” She giggled, and released me, although the silly smile was still on her face. As I struggled to regain my breath, I glanced into my new room, and saw the bed. It looked very, very comfortable right now… “Uh, Harley? I think I’ll go to bed now. It’s been a long day and I – “ For the second time that day, everything went black and I thudded to the floor.