"Jonathan, you did great today."
Back home over dinner, Christopher Nolan praised his younger brother.
"What?"
Jonathan blinked in confusion at his brother's words.
Nolan continued, "I'm talking about you applauding Martin today. Perfect timing. I could tell—Martin was very pleased."
"Uh, no, that wasn't flattery. I honestly thought Martin's take on the Joker was incredible!" Jonathan tried to explain.
Nolan nodded. "Good, good. Keep that self-hypnosis going—convince yourself that every bit of bootlicking is heartfelt praise. That way, no one can see through you."
"Huh? I wasn't flattering him! I swear!"
Jonathan was left speechless.
Self-hypnosis? Come on, I was being genuine!
…
New York. On the set of The Dark Knight.
In the middle of the soundstage, Martin sat high atop a mountain of cash like a solitary king.
Casually, he picked up a few bills, tore them into scraps with a shh-shh-shh, and let the colorful shreds flutter down like celebratory confetti after a successful heist.
A few of his henchmen approached, dousing the pile of bills with prop gasoline.
Click. Martin flicked open a lighter, then closed it. Opened it again. Closed it again. Over and over.
"This reeking, festering city makes me sick," he muttered, rising to his feet atop the cash pile. He kicked a bundle of bills aside and spread his arms like a deranged preacher. "It's so boring. Let me give it a little... fun."
Just then, the mob boss stormed in from outside and shouted, "You promised me! You said you'd return the money!"
"Relax, relax. I'm a man of my word," Martin said with a crazed laugh, pointing at the mountain of cash. "Half of it's mine. The other half's yours. Go ahead—take it."
The mob boss lunged forward, desperate to reclaim his fortune.
With a flick of the wrist, Martin's lighter turned into a gleaming silver revolver. He raised his other hand, wagging a finger as he said lightly:
"You know, I have one virtue: I never lie."
The mob boss glanced up at Martin, then at the mountainous heap of cash—his eyes glinting with greed.
Martin leapt down, sliding along the cash pile like a child on a playground. The money cascaded like a waterfall beneath him.
"I don't care about your half," the mob boss snarled. "But my half—you will return it."
Martin broke into a wild, manic laugh—completely unrestrained.
Then, abruptly, the laughter stopped. His gaze locked onto the mob boss like a predator eyeing its prey.
The actor playing the mob boss felt a chill down his spine, as if something monstrous had fixed its sights on him. In his ears, he heard Martin's warped, mocking tone:
"Yes, yes. Half of it's yours. Of course I'll give it back... my way. I'll use it to cleanse your soul. Cleanse all the filth this rotten city has smeared onto you..."
The mob boss tried to move, but the revolver was now aimed squarely at his head.
"W-What are you doing?"
"I already told you. Weren't you listening?"
Before the man could react, Martin slammed the butt of his gun into his head. The mob boss crumpled into the pile of cash.
He struggled to rise—
Bang! Bang!
Two bullets to the legs pinned him down.
Martin's voice was giddy with madness, almost joyful. "Relax. I said I'd keep my word. I'll make sure you and your half of the money are together... forever. Yes, forever!"
The silver revolver vanished, replaced once more by the lighter.
"You know what I love? Fire. Fire cleanses everything. It makes the city shine again. The fireworks of an explosion—that's the sound of freedom. I'm going to raise this city's taste level! Hahahahaha!"
His laughter was chilling, cold enough to make your blood run cold.
With a flick of his wrist, Martin tossed the lighter.
Flames burst to life, consuming both the mob boss and the cash in a blazing inferno.
His laughter grew wilder and more frenzied in the blaze.
"CUT!" Nolan shouted, astonished. "Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant, Martin!"
With Nolan's call, all the dark energy around Martin seemed to evaporate in an instant.
"I need to make a call," Martin said casually.
He walked to a corner of the set and dialed Drew.
"Drew, keep a close eye on 127 Hours during editing. Don't let the editor get too creative—stick to my storyboard. Let me see the rough cut before you start the final polish. And the voice work…"
The 127 Hours had entered post-production. Martin wasn't editing it himself, but he had to stay involved at every step.
He was still wearing the shabby costume from the shoot, too busy to change, perched quietly on a wooden crate like a man at peace.
But the way the crew members gave him a wide berth said it all.
That Mad Monster he'd just played—he hadn't vanished. He'd merely buried it deep for now, ready to unleash it again the moment the cameras rolled.
Meanwhile, Nolan was working with Ben Affleck.
Lately, Batman hadn't been performing well—every time he shared a scene with the Joker, he was completely overwhelmed. It seemed Affleck had developed a genuine fear of Martin's portrayal.
"Ben, you know how much Martin cares about The Dark Knight, and especially about the Joker. Just look at what he's done to himself for this role. He's made huge sacrifices. Now imagine—if you ruin this movie's potential, have you thought about what that might lead to?"
Nolan had tried countless ways to motivate Ben Affleck. Nothing seemed to work.
So today, he went all in: a shock therapy of sorts—fight fear with more fear.
And it seemed to be working.
Ben Affleck imagined Martin obsessing over the role day and night, destroying his once-perfect body to become the Joker, sacrificing so much… And if the film flopped because of him—
A shiver ran down Ben's spine.
That wouldn't just be a disaster—it would be the end.
A surge of anger and frustration swelled in his chest.
No way. I've worked too hard to land this role. Martin finally brought me into the inner circle. I'm starting to make real money. Women are throwing themselves at me…
I'm not losing all this! No way in hell!
With a jolt, Ben Affleck stood up so suddenly that he startled Nolan.
Wait—he's not gonna punch me, is he?
At 6'3", Ben Affleck was already imposing. And now, bulked up for the Batman role, he looked even more formidable.
Nolan wasn't sure he could survive a punch from him.
Probably not… right?
"Ben, I was just—"
Nolan started to explain that it was all just psychological motivation.
But Ben Affleck cut him off: "I won't let this movie fail. I swear it. I'm Batman."
The moment he said that iconic line, something clicked. He stepped fully into the role. His whole aura shifted.
Nolan's eyes lit up.
Finally!