“Do you not have any regrets about what you‘ve done?”
The Joker turned his head to look at the man asking him this, letting it loll lazily, hair falling into his eyes. The man sat pen poised to write an answer looking uneasy. Another shrink trying to get in and sort out the mess of bad wiring that was the Jokers brain.
Regrets? The word tasted bitter as he repeated it out loud.
And then he laughed. And he laughed. He laughed until he thought his chest would burst.
No. The Joker did not regret anything. Not one damn thing.