The sun had long since set over the city of Gotham, casting the streets in a dark and foreboding gloom. Two guards, Tom and Jerry, sat in the front of the armored truck, carrying a dangerous and unknown prisoner. Tom, an old-timer in the business, was doing his best to ignore the rookie's constant chatter.
"Hey, Tom," Jerry asked, "what do you think is in the back of this truck?"
Tom rolled his eyes, "It's probably just cash, kid. We haul money every day. Nothing new or exciting about it."
Jerry peered into the back of the truck, trying to get a glimpse of whatever cargo they were transporting. Suddenly, there was a loud hissing sound and the truck started to swerve out of control.
"What the hell is going on?!" Jerry shouted.
Tom fought to keep the truck on the road as it skidded to a stop. He opened the door and stepped out, pulling a flashlight from his pocket.
As he inspected the flat tire, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning towards the darkness, he saw a large shape moving toward them. Suddenly, a man in a pale white mask appeared in front of him, wielding a large knife.
Tom reached for his gun, but before he could react, the man lunged forward and plunged the knife into his chest. Tom gasped for air as he fell to the ground, writhing in pain.
Jerry scrambled to open the door, but it was locked. As he fumbled with the controls, he saw the masked figure slowly stalking toward him.
"Who are you?" Jerry shouted terror in his voice.
The man said nothing but continued to close in on Jerry, his large knife glinting in the dim light. Jerry fumbled for his own gun, but it was too late. The man in the mask slashed him across the throat, silencing him forever.
The killer dragged the bodies out of the truck and left them on the ground. He rummaged through the files until he found what he was looking for: Michael Myers. The name on the transfer manifest made him laugh.
Michael Myers, the notorious killer from Haddonfield, had been fantasying about killing the guards from the shadows. He had followed the armored truck for miles, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He enjoyed the fear in their eyes as he closed in on them, relishing the kill.
After the guards were dead, a figure in a purple suit approached. It was the Joker.
"Well, well, well, looks like we have a new player in Gotham," the Joker said, chuckling to himself.
Michael turned to face the Joker but said nothing. He didn't need to. His cold, dead eyes said everything. The Joker snickered, "Are you here for the bat, my friend?"
But Michael didn't respond. Instead, he simply disappeared into the darkness, leaving the Joker with the file of the prisoner they had been transporting.
__________________________________________________________________________
Dr. Loomis sat at his desk, staring at his computer screen. He had been reviewing Michael Myers' case file, trying to find any clues as to why he had escaped custody yet again. He was lost in thought when there was a sudden knock on his door.
He looked up to see a fellow doctor, Dr. Samuels, standing in the doorway, looking frantic. "Dr. Loomis, have you heard about the transport that was supposed to be taking Michael to the new facility? It never made it through Gotham City."
Loomis felt a chill run down his spine. This was not good news. Michael was on the loose and he could be anywhere in Gotham.
"I need to get to Gotham immediately," Loomis said, grabbing his coat and heading out the door.
As he walked to his car, he noticed a plain white envelope sitting on the windshield. It was addressed to Sam. Loomis hesitated for a moment, but then opened the envelope, his hands shaking.
Inside, he found a single piece of paper with a chilling message scrawled in black ink: "Sam. Run."
Loomis muttered to himself, "Oh my god, he's already here." He knew he had to act fast. He quickly got on the phone and asked to be connected to Detective Harvey Bullock.
"Bullock, it's Loomis. Michael Myers has escaped custody again, and he's in Gotham. We need to find him before he kills again."
Bullock groaned on the other end of the line. "Great. Just what we need. Another psychopath lose in Gotham. Alright, I'll get my team on it. We'll find him."
Loomis hung up the phone and took a deep breath. He knew the danger that Michael Myers posed to anyone who crossed his path, and he also knew that time was running out. He had to find him before it was too late.
__________________________________________________________________________
Michael Myers walked down a desolate alleyway, the sound of his heavy footsteps echoing off the brick walls. The air was thick with the smell of garbage and decay, and the only light came from a flickering streetlamp. It was the perfect setting for a mugging.
As he approached a dimly lit corner, he heard the sound of a struggle. A woman's voice cried out, "Please, just take my purse and leave me alone!"
Myers moved closer and saw a man with a knife, holding the woman by the throat. "Shut up, bitch!" the mugger snarled. "Give me everything you've got or I'll kill you!"
Myers stepped out of the shadows, his knife glinting in the dim light. The mugger didn't even notice him until it was too late. Myers plunged his knife into the man's back, and the mugger let out a scream of agony.
As Myers lifted him up by the spinal cord, he heard the sound of a sinister laugh. He turned to see the Joker, standing a few feet away, watching him with interest.
"What a show!," the Joker said, clapping his hands. " You really know how to send a message without saying a word."
Myers remained silent, staring blankly at the Joker.
Joker continued, "Say, why don't you come join my team? We could have a lot of fun together."
Myers didn't respond, his eyes fixed on the Joker.
The Joker chuckled. "I see you're a man of few words. No matter, we can work on that."
He pulled out a gas canister and sprayed it in Myers' face. Myers staggered back, coughing and choking. As he tried to regain his bearings, several of the Joker's henchmen emerged from the shadows and attacked him.
The fight was brutal and savage. Myers fought back with all his strength, his knife flashing in the dim light. The henchmen were no match for him, but they kept coming, their numbers increasing with each passing moment the alley walls splattered with more and more blood.
Finally, the Joker retreated to his car, laughing maniacally to himself. "Harley's going to love this," he said, talking out loud to no one in particular. "We have a new toy to play with."