Muffled cheers hit perked ears. Jack adjusted his tie, tightening it around his collar as the roar built up in his ears as he bounded onto the stage. A jazzy tune kicked in, brass blaring with energy, and Jack dove right into a song, moving to the beat with a swagger that matched his broad grin.
"They never knew me, but they'll know me now,
Started small, but I'm wearing the crown.
I'm the prince of this city, yeah, Gotham's my name,
Got 'em all cheering, they're fueling my flame!"
He threw his arms wide, spinning as the crowd clapped along.
He threw his arms wide, spinning as the crowd clapped in time, their faces blurring into a sea of admiration. He soaked in the applause, feeling the heat of the spotlight on his skin, his heart racing with a heady rush of excitement and power. With a deep bow, he held that final note, then made his way to the chair at the center of the stage.
As he sat, the cheers gradually faded, and he turned to the talk show host seated across from him. She had a polished look, a warm smile, sharp eyes, and an air of familiarity he couldn't quite place.
"Welcome, Jack," she greeted, her voice smooth and cutting through the quiet that had settled. "That was quite the entrance! How are you feeling tonight?"
Jack leaned back, a sly grin spreading across his face. "I'm on top of the world. What's not to love?" She glanced at her notes, grinning back. "Clown Prince of Gotham—you've really shaken things up. What's it like, being in the spotlight?" He shrugged, as if it were obvious. "Always knew I had something special. The world just took its sweet time figuring it out."
She leaned in. "Seems like you've got a knack for drawing eyes. Big dreams on the horizon?"
"Oh, you bet. This is only the beginning. I'm making sure Gotham won't forget my name," he said, practically daring her to disagree. She softened her tone. "And your family? How are they handling all this?" His smile slipped, just for a second. "They're proud. My mom, especially. Always said I was destined for something big."
She nodded, her tone suddenly softer, more careful. "Your father… Thomas Wayne… what would he think?" The question hit like a punch, and the lights dimmed, the noise of the crowd dropping away. He stared ahead, and the world seemed to fade out. Then, just like that, he was outside the club, alone under the dull glow of the city lights.
The neon "J" in the club's sign buzzed overhead as Jack stepped inside, still riding the high of his daydream. He nodded at the woman by the entrance, who gave him a tired smile.
"Hey, Jack," she greeted, almost out of habit.
"Hey!" Jack's voice was bright, excitement barely contained as he headed down the hallway, practically bouncing with each step. He pushed open the dressing room door and found Eddie sprawled on the couch, flipping through a magazine, while Marty leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching the room in his usual quiet way.
Jack's face broke into a wide grin as he walked in, practically bursting with excitement. "Eddie! You're not gonna believe this. I've got some huge news!"
Eddie looked up, raising an eyebrow with a smirk. "All right, Jack, what's got you so worked up this time? Make it quick—I'm up next."
Jack took a breath, practically bouncing on his feet. "My mom told me last night—she finally told me who my real dad is. It's Thomas Wayne! I mean, Thomas Wayne! Can you believe that?"
For a second, Eddie just stared, then let out a loud bark of laughter, slapping his knee. "Oh, that's rich, Jack! Thomas Wayne? You're telling me the billionaire's your dad? That's the best one I've heard in ages!" He kept laughing, practically doubled over. "Come on, kid, do you really believe that? Thomas Wayne? The guy's practically a legend around here! That's the best thing I've heard all week!"
Jack's smile wavered, but he held firm, his eyes wide with insistence. "No, really, Eddie! She wouldn't lie about something this big. She said they had this, uh, affair, and she worked for him, too. Think about it! If you really think about it, it kinda makes sense, right?"
Eddie chuckled, wiping his eyes as if savoring the joke. "Right, right… so Jack Napier's the long-lost Wayne heir, huh? And I'm the mayor of Gotham!" He threw his head back, laughing harder. "Kid, you've got the best imagination in the whole club. You should work this into your act!"
Marty, who'd been quietly watching, stepped forward, his voice calm. "Jack, look, don't let Eddie get to you, okay? But… you gotta admit, it sounds a little far-fetched." He spoke carefully, watching Jack's reaction. "I mean, I'm not saying your mom's lying, but people sometimes say things to make you feel special, you know? Especially parents."
Jack's face shifted, a mix of frustration and determination. "She's serious, Marty! She sounded like she's been holding onto this for years. Why would she make up something like that?" He clenched his fists a little, his voice softening. "She said I'm meant for something big. She's always told me that."
Eddie leaned back, catching his breath. He gave Jack a mock thumbs-up. "Well, hey, if believing that gets you through the night, more power to you, kid. But if you're looking for something real to get excited about…" He paused, his tone conspiratorial. "I've got a little side gig I could use some help with after the show. You interested?"
Jack's eyes lit up, the frustration melting away, replaced by fresh enthusiasm. "Really? You mean it? What kind of gig?"
Eddie grinned, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Oh, nothing too crazy. Just something… under the radar. Let's just say there's a bit of extra cash in it for anyone who helps me out." He gave Jack a sideways look. "I'll fill you in on the details after the show. If you're up for it."
Marty shook his head, cutting in as Eddie walked away. "Look, Jack, just be careful, all right? Whatever Eddie's planning, it's probably not what you're hoping for. Don't get yourself into trouble over this."
Jack nodded, the enthusiasm still there but his voice softening as he mumbled, "Whatever you say, man…"
Backstage, Jack tightened his tie, staring into the mirror as the muffled laughter pulsed through the walls. He forced a smile, running a hand through his hair. Tonight, he wasn't here to play the fool. Tonight, he'd show them he could be more.
The curtain parted, and he stepped out, the bright lights hitting him hard. He grabbed the mic, gripping it too tight. "Hey, everyone! Good to see you," he started, his voice a bit too loud. He cleared his throat, chuckling nervously. "So, Gotham, huh? What a place. Where else can you get mugged and overcharged for a hot dog all in one day?"
A few half-hearted chuckles, the room quiet, energy low. Jack pressed on.
"Right, right… so, I was out on the street, and I see this pigeon fighting a rat. And it's like one of those cage matches, only… with more feathers."
A little more laughter, scattered and weak. He felt sweat start to bead on his forehead, his grip tightening as he scanned the sea of blank faces. A few people already looked away, their interest gone. He swallowed, feeling the silence pressing in.
"You know what? Forget it. I'm not here to make you laugh tonight." He turned to the pianist, nodding. "Let's switch it up. Give me something jazzy. Something real."
The pianist shifted uncomfortably. "Uh… that's not really in the set, man."
Jack leaned closer, voice low and tight. "Just do it."
The pianist exchanged a quick look with the drummer, then reluctantly started a slow, jazzy tune. Jack turned back to the mic, closing his eyes as he leaned in, voice soft.
"Life's more than a joke, more than just a laugh,
Sometimes you find the meaning where you thought it was cracked…"
Someone in the back yelled, "What the hell is this? Stick to the act, clown! The laughter grew, louder and mocking. Jack opened his eyes, his face flushed, but he pushed on, his voice shaking.
"I'm more than just a fool, more than just a—"
A drink flew from the crowd, hitting him in the chest, cold liquid seeping into his suit. The laughter turned to harsh boos, and he caught his boss's glare at the back, mouthing, Get off the stage.
Jack gripped the mic, chest tight as something angry and raw rose up inside him. "I—I'm special! You don't know it yet, but I'm special! I'M SPECIAL!"
The crowd heckled louder, boos and shouts calling for him to leave. His face twisted, breathing ragged as he stood there, drowning in their scorn, until he finally dropped the mic and stormed off, the curtain falling behind him.
Outside, rain poured down, soaking the faded neon "J" in the club's sign. Jack stumbled into the alley, gripping his cheek where his boss's slap had landed, his face already bruising.
Behind him, his boss's voice cut through the rain, sharp and angry. "What the hell was that, Jack? You're a joke! You think you're anything more than that? Worthless! Useless! You're out of here. DONE!"
Jack sank onto the wet steps, staring blankly as the rain hit his skin, cold and steady. He let out a quiet, broken chuckle, laughter twisting into a scream that tore through the empty street.
"Haha… ha… AHHH!"
He clutched his head, rocking back and forth, the rain soaking him to the bone. Then the drops stopped. He looked up to see Eddie standing over him, holding an umbrella.
Eddie handed him a cigarette, lighting it. Jack took a long drag, the warmth filling his lungs. "Thanks, Eddie," he muttered.
Eddie shrugged, sitting beside him on the wet steps. They sat there in silence, staring at the empty street, smoke curling in the air.
Eddie took a long drag on his cigarette, exhaling smoke into the damp night before turning to Jack, giving him an amused once-over. Jack sat slumped on the steps, drenched, looking like he'd been through hell.
"Hey, hey… look, Jack," Eddie said, voice soft, almost patronizing. "You gotta learn to stand up for yourself. Can't let people walk all over you, day in, day out. They keep doin' it because you let 'em."
Jack looked over, frustration flashing in his eyes. "They don't get it, Eddie. They don't see what I can be. They just—" He trailed off, words catching in his throat.
Eddie sighed, putting a hand on Jack's shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. "I get it, buddy. But sometimes, you gotta show 'em, right? Don't worry, we'll get you there. Baby steps." He reached into his coat, pulling out a gun, pressing it into Jack's hand. "Here, this'll help you feel a little more… in control."
Jack's eyes widened as he stared at the gun, feeling its weight. "What… what am I supposed to do with this?"
Eddie leaned in, his tone gentle. "Tomorrow night, I've got a little job lined up. Nothin' big, so don't stress. We're hitting this club, The Velvet Room. East End. They keep a nice stash of cash in the back. All you gotta do is watch the door while Ricky and I grab the goods. Easy as pie."
Jack's fingers tightened around the gun, something flickering in his eyes. "What if something goes wrong?"
Eddie chuckled, patting him on the back. "Don't worry about that. We're not goin' in guns blazing—just a little 'nudge' to get 'em to hand over what they got. No one gets hurt, long as you keep an eye out. Watch the door, make sure no one comes in on us, and you'll be golden."
Jack nodded slowly, the gun's weight feeling strangely comforting. He stared ahead blankly.
The bright studio lights bore down on him as the applause faded, turning into a low hum. Jack sat across from the host, her smile polished, cue cards in hand. She looked up, voice soft but firm.
"What about your father, Jack?" Her tone was calm, almost too gentle.
Jack's face hardened, his eyes narrowing. "My father?" He let the words hang, irritation bubbling up, hot and sharp. "You wanna know about my father?" His voice dropped, almost a growl. "I don't know what he'd think of me. But I know what you think of me."
The host opened her mouth to respond, keeping that warm, reassuring look, but Jack leaned in, cutting her off, voice rising. "You all think I'm a joke, don't you? Just something to point at and laugh. Just some guy for your amusement!"
"Jack, no—" she started, her voice soothing, trying to break through, "nobody thinks that. The people love you, Jack. They—"
He threw his head back and let out a high-pitched laugh, a wild, unhinged sound that echoed through the studio. The audience shifted, uncomfortable murmurs rippling through the crowd, but Jack's laughter only grew, pouring out of him, uncontrolled, like something breaking free inside.
The host glanced nervously to the side, a tight smile barely holding. "Jack, maybe we should—"
His laughter stopped as he leaned forward, eyes fierce, feeling the weight at his side. The gun Eddie had given him was cool and solid in his hand, grounding him. He raised it, his gaze locking onto the host as she opened her mouth to speak, eyes widening.
The gun went off with a loud crack, blood splattering across the stage as her body jerked, slumping forward. Jack stood, chest heaving, ears ringing with the shot's echo. He turned to the audience, their faces frozen in horror, and a wild grin spread across his face as he raised the gun again.
"BANG! BANG!" He fired into the crowd, his voice blending with the chaos, laughter and gunshots ringing out together, screams filling the studio. He moved down the line, each shot punctuated by his manic, mocking shouts. "BANG! BANG! BANG!"
His voice grew louder, wilder, as he fired again, the gunshots crashing over the terrified screams, his laughter echoing, relentless.
"BANG! BANG!"
Ding.
Jack blinked, his gaze shifting from the gun in his hand to the soft glow of the elevator lights as the doors slid open. He chuckled quietly, slipping the gun into his coat pocket before stepping inside.
"Hey, the elevator's actually working," he muttered, pressing the button for his floor.
Just as the doors began to close, he heard a voice. "Hey, wait!"
Jack quickly hit the "Open" button, and the doors slid back open. An African American woman stepped in, holding the hand of a young girl who clung to her side.
"Thank you," the woman said, slightly out of breath, flashing him a warm smile.
"Oh, no problem, no problem at all!" he replied, a bit too eagerly, feeling a faint flush creep up his neck. He cleared his throat. "Uh… what floor?"
"Eleven," she answered, nodding gratefully. "Thanks."
Jack blinked. "Oh, same floor. Guess we're neighbors."
She nodded, offering a small smile as the elevator started to rise, a soft hum filling the space. Jack shifted on his feet, sneaking a glance at the little girl, who was staring down at her shoes, gripping her sister's hand tightly.
"Is that your sister?" he asked, nodding toward the girl.
The woman smiled, nodding. "Yeah, this is Zara. She's shy around strangers."
Zara peeked up, her eyes wide and curious. Jack crouched slightly, giving her a gentle smile. "Hey, Zara. I used to be shy too. But I found that if you smile at people, they usually smile back."
Zara gave a tiny smile, looking up at her sister, who chuckled. "Guess it works," she said, nudging Zara gently.
Jack stood back up, letting out a small laugh. "See? Not so bad." He glanced at the woman, who was watching him with a soft expression.
The elevator dinged again as they reached the eleventh floor. The doors opened, and they stepped out, heading in opposite directions. Jack turned back suddenly, calling after her. "Hey—I didn't get your name."
She turned, smiling. "Jean."
He nodded, a smile spreading across his face. "Well, Jean, I'll see you around the floor."
"Yeah, see you," she replied, giving a small wave as she and Zara walked down the hall.
Jack watched them go, then turned in the opposite direction, his mind buzzing with thoughts.
He took a slow, deep breath, feeling the faintest of smiles creeping onto his face.