“What have you done, Steven. What have you started?”

Now you’re probably wondering have the last two scenes and reanimation of the dashing hero caused him to lose grip of reality and turn to some omnipotent being like one of your many gods? Well, before it blows up his ego: No I am not. Steven is the writer, nothing more. I have paid him to chronicle my epic deeds for many years and never have I had to deal with creative infringements like this. Marvel crossovers I can handle, but this? Anyway…

The brute of a walker shrieked and fought with something internally as the smoke billowed out of every pore and he somehow transformed into some pale punk rocker. Again, his skin had turned a milky white, his hair a mottled green and his laughter had caused his edges of his mouth to tear and contort into a permanent smile. In essence, if Steven – the prick – hasn’t been obvious enough, look up the joker final form for the Arkham Asylum game and you’ll have a pretty good picture of what I was staring up at.

“What’s the matter, little man? No more formula?” He panted as he wiped the blood and saliva from his chin.

“I think I’ll pass regardless sweetheart. Trying to watch my figure.”

I picked up the coffee table and swung it at him, catching him hard in the side though you wouldn’t have thought it. He countered with the entire fireplace and god damn did it smart! I managed to jump out the way mostly but it scraped against my side as it flew past me. Without missing a beat, I leaped back at him but he caught me by the throat and held me at arms length to avoid any unwanted swings. He walked slowly but purposefully towards the gaping hole in the wall that the fireplace had caused.

“Here’s one for you, what do you call a man on the edge?” he snarled as he draped me out over the fuck off drop outside.

“Chris?” I struggled to respond through the vice like grip. This caught him off guard.

“What?” He growled, obviously not happy I had ruined the joke.

“You know, The Edge? U2?” His face sank as he realised the connection, he even shook his head. This?! From a man who’s about the make the Cliff joke?!

“Oh just shut up and die!”

And with that he dropped me.

And I plummeted to my death.

Second death.

Fuck that.

I caught a gargoyle on the side of the building, hanging Ethan Hunt style; still a death drop below me and a joker up above. Yet here I am, stuck on a gargoyle with a view. You’re probably wondering, how does a rock and roll man like myself find time to remain sane in body and mind. The answer is references; sweet unadulterated pop culture and niche references.


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