Title: Three Forces of Nature (and a questionable God)

Fandoms: Fight Club, Battlestar Galactica, The Dark Knight.

Pairing: Tyler Durden/Head!Six/The Joker

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: ~1000, One-Shot.

Warnings: Swearing, violence, slight suggestion of non-con. (Nothing graphic.)

Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me. This is purely fictional.

Summary: Three chaotic, anarchical characters from three different universes meet in a microcosmic cell, commiserate about the degenerates they've been given to work with and teach each other some questionable theories.

"I tell ya, I am this close giving up on the basic indecency of humanity.”







“Mysterious my ass. Stupid. The universe works in fucking stupid ways. Try and start a goddamned fuckin’ revolution, and what do you get? Shot in the head. Man, it was pathetic. Whining, neurotic, scrawny fucking brat. Knew I shoulda picked someone with stamina. Man could not follow the hell through. I tell ya, I am this close giving up on the basic indecency of humanity.”


A soft, feminine sigh reverberated around the dusty room.

“I engineered the downfall of an entire, irrevocably flawed human civilization, and what do I get? Trapped inside the head of a paranoid, self-doubting, blasphemous madman. Do not even attempt to complain to me. Honestly. I have no idea why we even bother. The cycle is decaying as it is.”


A sing-song voice sawed out across the disgruntled silence.

“Silly. Ha. Ha. The cycle? You really think anything we do could ever succeed? What’s broken shouldn’t be fixed. What would we do then? Agents of chaos, that’s us. Agents. It is the act; the actors hold all the chips. We influence the change, we are the catalyst. The storm around the eye. They, they, they, they, oh, they. They would stagnate without us.”


Tyler Durden leaned back, dark eyes sucking up all the light in the room, blowing, in reply, a smoke ring with properties of unnatural eloquence.


Six leaned forward, not bothering to hide naked appreciation of Tyler’s body in her eyes, and lazily twirled a finger around the smoke, and smiled, all cat-like glamour and bitter smugness.


“Of course. The poor, ever-doomed, inevitably tragic blindness of the human race.”

Tyler grinned back through the murky gloom, his sharp edges and barely-restrained aggression gleaming in the light of his dying cigarette.

“I know.” He laughed, discordant and malicious, the sound ringing off her ears like gunshots. “Doesn’t it make you wanna just hurt them?”

“Now, now.” The wheedling, labyrinthine drawl came from the Joker, who was slouched deeply in the corner of a shining and desecrated purple vinyl armchair, its old yellow foam spurting forth like pus from the gaping maws of the torn fabric.

“Pain.” He hissed the word gleefully, tongue flickering lightly, glistening with slime, and Six’s mouth curled ever so slightly in disgust.

The Joker glanced over her languorously, and she looked away, feeling instinctual shivers crawling up her artificial spinal column.

“The pain itself is pointless.” The Joker continued blithely into the silence, utterly at ease with the unnatural shrieks the cheap material of the chair let out intermittently, sounds that rankled around him like old ghosts.

“That is the point.” Tyler murmured in sulky retort, idly slinging one leg over the other in an oddly effeminate gesture.

The Joker didn’t even pause, his sibilant words sliding over and around Tyler’s.
“Without loss, without sacrifice … without a breaking of reality, of the mind’s perception of itself… there is no idea, no emancipation of brainwave patterns.”

Six startled herself with a peal of laughter, and decided to roll with the emotional sucker-punch, launching herself up and out, stalking across the bare-bones-and-bricks cell, her stilettos clattering up old echoes and frank stares from the two men.

“Ideas? They can barely grasp at their own mortality, let alone actual, honest-to-God ideas.” Her voice was rich, incredulous and filled with righteous wrath.

At her heartfelt mention of God, she could sense the dangerous change in the atmosphere.

Their disturbed growls fed into her silence – one, harsh, mocking, and not a little enraged from Tyler that set her adrenaline sky-rocketing, then a softly considering, ominous hmmm from the Joker, winding its way around her mind and throat, constricting and thrumming, preventing any further words.

This effect on them must have been, to some extent intentional, because she smiled, razor-like, when a sharp, painful grasp grabbed at her arm, spinning and crashing her red-clad body up against Tyler’s chest, his hand brutally yanking her head back by the hair.

She breathed harshly, breath mingling with the last dying breath of the cigarette, acrid smoke clouding Tyler’s godlike features that loomed above her, stinging in her eyes. She felt the prickle of pained tears sear below her eyelids.

Such a human reaction, so patently, ludicrously physiological, she thought briefly, with a final twist of coherency.

Then crawling fingers, all long nails and clammy skin, traced her suddenly incandescent spine, leaving butterfly scratches that wound down the over-sensitized and blazing membrane.

She could feel - her breath catching and tripping down her throat - even if she could not see it; the pallid, insolent hand creeping down the unnatural neon sideshow of her spine.

His deformed scars, puckered and dirty with grease, brushed up against her neck, pressed deeply into her own skin, and she shuddered involuntarily - a string drawn too taught - arms pinned down by her sides, head forced back, his sickly-sweet breath ghosting over her face.

“Little machine has a fool’s illusion.” The Joker’s voice was merciless, debasing in the suggestions that carried through the movement of his lips, wet and sliding against her straining neck.

Tyler, staring down at her like she was a particularly interesting scientific specimen, was suddenly all cold intent; the madcap, glittering mockery of the previous minutes replaced by something violent and inhumane.

“How about we teach her some new tricks?” He whispered roughly, and against her back, she felt his hand twist viciously into the Joker’s vest, forcing him closer, melding him against her.

She wasn’t sure if it was the long nails slicing gleefully into her flesh, or the salty burn of blood filling her mouth as Tyler kissed her, but suddenly, relentlessly, she was screaming.


And she didn’t even know if it was in horror or in desperate hunger.