Gregory Hirsch, named for his father, who was named for his father, would not allow himself to be called the Third. He was his own man, made his own way in the world, thank you very much. He was also a very honest man. Always had been, he was raised that way. Almost painfully honest, actually. To the point it became a problem sometimes. And as an attorney in Gotham City, that also meant he was not a wealthy man. It wouldn't be far off to say that he was constantly resisting the siren's call of the soup kitchen. He wasn't really living the dream. No law firm would have him, he tried, and he had to barely get by on the cases assigned to him at the state office.

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Even there, he was very disrespected, low man on the totem pole. It was an office joke to save the worst, most thankless jobs for him. So, when the most hated man in Gotham apparently didn't have a lawyer, (they talked about that a lot, for all he robbed, destroyed, and caused mayhem, he actually barely had a dime to his name?) they slapped the career ending case on the Greg pile. Admittedly, there were a few noble souls who questioned whether this was too far, maybe the joke shouldn't actually ruin the man, but someone had to do it, and he was the only one who didn't have the power to make problems over it. Any arguments petered out. They felt bad, but didn't truly care.

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Gotham City is often mockingly called the City of Opportunities. All bad ones. Anything that came your way without you actively working for it, any opportunity that just fell in your lap was liable to lead to one of three places: Blackgate Penitentiary, the bottom of the harbor, minus your most expensive organs, of course, or on the streets, hopelessly addicted to any number of the highly potent and often lethal drugs pushed by the mob. So it is perfectly understandable that when Gregory Hirsch suddenly got a new, high profile case, his day was not made immediately better.

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Around the city, though, as twelve people opened their mail, their whole week was made. The jury summons contained within, which anywhere else would be a chore, in Gotham meant a day off from work and more often than not, a bribe. All they had to do was give a verdict along the lines requested in a case they did not care about, and had no connection to. Was it wrong? Sure, but no one in Gotham was innocent. Not the judge, not the jury, not the lawyers, not the defendant, not the prosecutor. Sometimes there were even two bribes, one from each side, and those ones were interesting. It was just how things worked in Gotham. Added to the fact that with each bribe came an unspoken threat, and it was even easier to just go along with how they were directed. No one was innocent in Gotham, and it was a simple matter to just make another bribe and have a list of names and addresses of each of the jurors. No one was innocent in Gotham, if only for their own safety.

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Joker woke up in the back of an armored van with a headache. He was surrounded by a half dozen heavily armed and armored officers, rifles all aimed his way. Wow, this was a bad headache. How did he even get here? He could already feel that they had taken most of the tricks and knives hidden through his outfit, but even if they hadn't taken all of them, he didn't think he could try to pull off a big escape just yet. At least not without gaining a few new holes. He snickered at that, but as safeties clicked off all around him, he quickly got the message and shut up. Sometimes he felt like his comedic genius was wasted in gotham. How did he get here?? His head hurt. He pressed through, and slowly remembered the fight. The vigilante guy, dressed all in black. He had burst through the back passage while his men were busy with the cops. That was smart. Brutal, throwing the cops into the firing line, but smart. He liked the guy already. They had exchanged a couple blows, each catching the other pretty good, and then he had gone for the crowbar. Hit him in the ribs with that, got hit back, and... then what? He remembered shaking it off, and then he was here? That couldn't be everything! There had to be more! He shifted forward, wracking his brain as the police eyed him nervously. That was it. That was the entire fight. That sucked. Really, really sucked. This guy was a promising rival, had the potential to be a proper nemesis, it wasn't like there were a whole lot of other contenders for the role, and their first battle had lasted all of a minute?? Unacceptable. Well, if anything it meant that he would have a few surprises for next time, but still. He'd have liked to have used a couple toys. Oh well. Next time. And there would be a next time, Joker swore as he reviewed the floorplan of Blackgate. There was no way he was winning this trial, all he had to do was get a lawyer who could keep the jury from dragging the electric chair out of storage. He... he needed money for a lawyer. That could be a problem. He had gotten very used to just taking whatever he wanted. Did he even have any money for himself? Really? This could be bad. Problems with offering such a generous dental plan for his men, it seemed. Oh well, when he got out it just meant he would have to pick up the pace on robberies. Maybe open a semi-legitimate front for the rest of his operations. This sucked, he didn't want to be a businessman. Was this what mobsters had to deal with? Poor guys. Anyways, that's a later problem. So, nice, expensive lawyer was off the table. Didn't courts give you an attorney when you couldn't afford one? That was embarrassing. He knew he should have watched more court shows. Maybe he could get lucky with one of them? He hated maybes. What other options did he have, though? As they pulled up to the GCPD, though, he shook himself out of his bad mood. There were going to be reporters out there, and he had a reputation to uphold. They dragged him up the stairs, and he laughed. This was going to be the story of the year for them. He laughed harder. He could do better than that. If they wanted a huge story, he could give them all the stories they wanted. This was only story of the year so far.