60: What's in my pocket?

People began to realize they had just stirred up a powder keg. The situation was spiraling out of control. And where, one might wonder, is Batman when he's needed the most? To hell with everything! As the saying goes, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Damn it, I don't even drink alcohol! Well, to hell with it—this is a minor issue.

"Mister J, how about we play a game?" I said, once again drawing everyone's attention. The Joker stopped laughing, looked at me, and grinned.

"A game? I'm all for it! What kind of game is it, and what's at stake?"

"It's simple: a guessing game. Question and answer. Whoever can't answer their opponent's question loses," I explained the rules.

"Very interesting! And what does the winner get?"

"If I win, you'll release the hostages."

"Ha-ha-ha, I should have guessed! So predictable! In that case, if you lose, I'll kill this girl," he said, gesturing at the trembling Silver with his pistols.

"That's not fair! She has nothing to do with this! I don't want to play when someone else's life is at stake!"

"You have no choice! Either you play with me, and maybe she'll live, or you refuse, and I kill everyone here."

"Why not just take my life? How can I let my idol die? Ha-ha-ha-ha!"

"Alright, then let's change the conditions again. If I win, you'll not only release everyone here, but you'll voluntarily surrender to the police," I countered, matching the Joker's grin.

"Hmm, that sounds like an uneven exchange," the clown said, mulling over my words.

"In that case, I'll add something—my word. I promise that if I win and you go to Arkham Asylum, I'll visit you and even bring another book written by me."

"What? You're planning to dedicate another book to me? I'm flattered!"

"Yes, and I can assure you it will be even more interesting than It."

"Hmm... I agree! Let's start the game! Ha-ha-ha-ha!" The Prince of Gotham's underworld jumped onto the table, trampling the food beneath his feet. Without hesitation, I began.

"In that case, I'll go first: She cannot be seen, cannot be held in the hands, cannot be heard with the ear, cannot be smelled. She reigns above the heavens, lurks in every pit. She was in the beginning and will be after all. Ends every life and... kills laughter."

Ah, I felt like Bilbo Baggins playing riddles with Gollum. Only this time, my opponent wasn't a split-personality creature but a crazed psychopath from Gotham!

"Ha-ha-ha... A very intriguing riddle. Especially the ending! Hmm... Let me think... I know! Darkness, right?"

I almost forgot I was facing one of the smartest antagonists in the comic book universe. Snatching victory from him won't be easy, especially since I have no idea what kind of riddles he'll throw my way.

"My turn," he announced. "So, the question is... Where did I get these scars?" He traced his fingers along the lines around his mouth. Was he serious? How was I supposed to know where he got those scars? Clearly, he intended to win by asking such tricky questions.

"That's not fair! How is Alex supposed to know that?" Silver shouted in protest. But the mad clown tactfully ignored her outburst.

Calm down. Think carefully. The Joker is a gambler and wouldn't ask a question designed to end the game outright. Moreover, there's no guarantee anyone knows the true origin of his scars. That means he doesn't need the right answer—just a story he likes.

Heh, telling a story the Joker would like was easier said than done. But I had one advantage no one else would ever have: knowledge from my past world. In The Dark Knight, Heath Ledger's Joker told multiple versions of how he got his scars. I didn't have much choice, so I decided to take a gamble.

"I'm willing to make a guess... In the past, you had a wife—a beautiful one. She told you that you were too serious, that you needed to smile more. She was a gambler and owed a lot of money to some dangerous people. One day, they cut her face. You didn't have the money for surgery, and it tore her apart. You just wanted her to smile again, to show her that you didn't care about the scars. So, you put a razor in your mouth and did it to yourself. But then, she couldn't bear to look at you and left. And now, you're always smiling."

"Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Excellent! What a story! Oh, the memories! But this world is so unfair! She didn't deserve any of it, and those bastards just went and scarred her face! It's so sad," Joker sighed, seemingly lost in thought.

"If the world were a fair place, we wouldn't cry at birth," I remarked.

"Yes! You're damn right! Ha-ha-ha-ha!"

"So, my turn: Destroys everything around—beast, bird, forest, and house. Chews iron, eats steel, and grinds rocks into powder. What is it?"

This one was trickier. Bilbo himself struggled with it. Let's see if the Joker could figure it out.

"Heh... interesting. Very interesting," he mused. After a pause, he snapped his fingers. "Time! The answer is time!"

What a bastard, huh?

"Now, tell me, where did I get these scars?" he asked again, flashing a sly grin.

The same question? But at least now I knew—he'd accept any story he liked.

"Your father... He was a drunk and a monster. One night, he got angrier than usual. Your mom grabbed a knife to defend herself, but he didn't like that. He stabbed her right in front of you, laughing like a maniac. Then he turned to you and said, 'Why so serious, son?' He put the knife in your mouth and added, 'Let's put a smile on that face.'"

"Excellent! Spot on, Alex! You're incredible at this. Okay, ask your question—I'm all ears!"

"Alright, here's mine: I never existed, I am always expected. No one has seen me, and no one ever will. Yet, I am relied upon by all who live and breathe. What am I?"

This riddle, attributed to the Sphinx, even stumped the god of wisdom, Thoth. It was my trump card. Let's see how the Joker fares.

"Never existed... never seen... but always expected," he murmured. "Ha-ha! Interesting. Very interesting!"

He paced back and forth. "Everyone relies on it... I know! Wait, no, no, that's not it. Hmm..."

"Are you giving up?" I asked, hoping to distract him.

"Not so fast! Just give me a second!" His pacing quickened as he muttered to himself. Then, suddenly, he snapped his fingers. "Tomorrow! The answer is tomorrow!"

Damn it, he was right. My nerves began to fray. Was there anything he couldn't solve? Could I actually lose this game?

"Ha-ha-ha! You look nervous, Alex. Let's even the playing field. Here's my riddle: I feel you. I hear your thoughts. I've been with you since your first breath and will remain until your last. What am I?"

Really? Decided to get tricky, huh? This riddle was so general that it could have multiple answers, depending on interpretation. But I knew exactly what he wanted. This riddle wasn't his—it came from the Riddler himself. The Joker must have borrowed it, unaware I already knew it.

"My answer is: Reflection," I said confidently, smiling at Gotham's most infamous criminal.

"Correct! Ha-ha! You'd get along great with the Riddler—but don't do that!"

As if I needed another lunatic to deal with. But that wasn't my immediate concern. I had to defeat the Joker, and riddles weren't working. I had to think outside the box.

"Mr. J," I said with a smirk, "what's in my pocket?"

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