[h1][b][u][color=9e0b0f]"First-Degree" Donny[/color][/u][/b][/h1]

[i]A white van roared down the highway, twenty miles over the speed limit. The damned thing must have been outfitted with some sort of muscle engine. The windows were tinted black as the night. It screeched to a stop directly in front of the local [color=fff200]police station[/color]. The engine rattled to a stop. The driver's side window rolled down, and Donny rested his elbow out. He watched, in plain sight. Just watched that front door, made of glass, scoping out the desk clerk and the officers mucking about within. They wouldn't arrest him. Nobody who knew First-Degree Donny and recognized him lived. At least, not those that knew how to keep their traps shut. It might have been suspicious for a pervy ginger in a pedomobile to have a staring contest with the front of a police station, but Donny had stopped giving a shit years ago. Right now he was bored out of his skull, the high from blowing apart those three gutless mooks having already dissipated. Like a heroin addict, it was becoming harder and harder for him to get his fix. He needed more. He needed a challenge. The police were more challenging than common thugs. But what if he grew tired of popping cops as well? What was the next rung on the ladder? As Donny stared at the female desk clerk sipping her coffee inside, his seawater-green eyes widened to glistening marbles as the answer came to him. It whispered from his lips, his ever-present delicate smile trembling.[/i]

[color=a0410d][b]"Batman. Ayuh... Tha'd jus' abaowt do thuh thing."[/b][/color]

[i]The gears began turning, turning, turning. Batman had been gone quite a while. Probably off to brood about stupid flying mammals, or to cry about his dead mommy. Donny was only a few inches short of clinically insane himself, but even on his worst days he wouldn't consider putting his underwear on the outside and then leaping out of a window to go goomba stomp clowns. Insane wasn't the same as stupid, though, and Donny was far from stupid. He knew how plans like this played out. The nasty old bad guy lures the caped crusader in with a hostage or something, then launches some complicated trap. Batman whips some perfectly relevant item out from his belt, something ridiculously convenient, and uses it to escape, whereupon he mashes said bad guy with his fists and locks him up somewhere that can be easily escaped from. Donny had no doubt he could escape from Arkham Asylum. If that fuckwad Joker, with his bad sense of fashion and love for procrastination could do it, anyone could. They never learned from their mistakes, not Batman, not Joker, not nobody. 

Donny knew how to learn. He was a rational, fully functioning human being, unlike most of the other crackpots that wore crazy getups in this hack city. Capes. PUH. Donny spat out of his window at the thought of being caught dead or alive with a cape or a mask on. Sure, he wasn't no George Clooney, but at least he didn't have a mug like Two-Face. Ahhh, good ol' Two-Face. Probably the only other sane man in Gotham. Ugly, sure, but at least he didn't put on makeup or try to pretend he was something he wasn't. If folks were meant to be robins and bats and clay and gators and penguins and clowns and fuck knew what else, then there wouldn't be no Arkham Asylum. But no, everyone was nuts, and Donny knew what he had to do to scratch that itch that had been plaguing him all day and all night. Kill Batman, plain and simple, in such a way that were a screenwriter to pitch the method to a network executive as a plot to a Saturday morning cartoon, the executive would say, "You're fired."
He'd not boast or brag. He'd not even let the cat out of the bag until he had earned his moneys worth. He could go around meeting with all the other fruits, telling them that for the right (exorbitant) price he'd kill the Bat. Then he'd take the body and make a circuit the next night, gettin' them shekels from each moron villain. He'd probably need to stop by the Bat's actual home after the identity was revealed, clean out whatever trash was living inside, and make use of whatever proof was concealed within to make sure the rubes were convinced. A few might try to double cross him. He was hoping for that. Their seized assets would make a hefty turnaround. 

But Batman could wait. Right now he was feeling the "groove". It was like black electricity, like the buzz of deliciously bitter coffee. The female officer had noticed him. Within the grinding confines of Donny's brain, as he looked at the desk clerk he imagined how the it would feel were his claw hammer to split her temple. There was never any great resistance, but there was always one hell of a mess. He could almost see her smooth legs kicking spasmodically as dark blood hosed up the front of his jacket and splurted over his face, again and again with each successive blow. *SCHMUCK*... *FWSHUNK*... *WHOCK*...

The desk clerk looked up, noticing the weird nerdy guy staring at her from a big white van parked outside. Weird and nerdy, but hardly threatening. He looked to her like the sort of man that could have that bobbing apple throat you see on beanpoles and geeks. The kind of yutz that broke out in a sweat after ten push-ups, scrawny arms shaking with determination. His cheeks were soft looking, his eyes big and guileless, and there was the dorkiest little pouty smile on his mug. She smiled back.
[/i]