Chapter 1

Arkham Asylum

"Is he the new doctor?"

"Oh, the poor love. They'll just eat him up in here!"

That caught his attention. Turning to the direction of the loud whispering, he couldn't help but flush as he caught the eye of one of the three female nurses standing over by a janitorial closet. They looked to be in their late fifties, their faces wrinkled with years of stress and hard work. He hated the look they were giving him. As though he were a poor sacrificial lamb.

"Harley Quinnzel?" A deep voice interrupted him from his internal brooding.

Harley looked forward to see a tall, thin man ahead of him. He looked, in a word, miserable; his whole face seemed to sag downwards, giving the man a constant frown. His eyebrows were drawn over his thick wired glasses, and his lips pulled down in disapproval.

"You're late." He stated, before turning and walking back through the big metal door he had just come out from.

Harley stood for a few moments, unsure as of what to do. The man had not directed him to follow, and yet, standing here just outside the security check-in seemed completely pointless. Hesitantly, Harley walked to the door, pushing his thick glasses further up the bridge of his nose nervously.

"Hurry up! You are already late, do not any waste more of my time!" The man had suddenly appeared in Harley's face, startling him.

He dropped all of his books and files on the floor in fright, and flushed in embarrassment as loud laughter erupted from behind him. Of course the condescending nurses had seen that.

Just his luck.

The tall male stood above him, sneering at him in disgust. Harley could see from here that the name on his white lab coat read 'DR. ARKHAM'. Great. The horrible snarling man was his soon-to-be boss, and Harley hadn't exactly made the best first impression.

Cheeks still burning, Harley bent to pick up all his fallen belongings before following the impatient man down the hallway. Harley took this time to admire his surroundings. It was so...depressing here. Everything was a bright startling white, and the bright florescent lighting made his eyes hurt.

"This is your office. You'll find a map of the building with its fire exits on the wall. All the files and information on your patient is on your desk, and your first session with her is tomorrow, eleven am, sharp. Do not be late." He hissed the last part at Harvey, before turning and walking back down the hall.

"Wait, sir?" Harley managed to call out to the retreating male.

"What?" Dr. Arkham barked back, turning to glare at Harley.

"I only have one patient?" Harley asked in confusion.

Dr, Arkham smiled then. It wasn't a genuine, cheery smile. No, his smile was dark and void of amusement.

"Yes." He said shortly, turning away again.

"Why?" Harley pressed, confusedly.

Dr. Arkham didn't stop again, and instead chuckled darkly before turning the corner and disappearing out of Harley's sight.

Harley's brow furrowed in confusion. What the hell had that been about? Opening the door to his office with shaky hands, Harley took a moment to admire the room. Thankfully, it wasn't white like the rest of the building had been. Instead, the room was decorated with black and red wallpaper, with black wooden flooring. Harley decided he rather liked the colour theme of this room, a lot.

Dumping his belongings onto a nearby chair, Harley wondered over to his desk. It was made of dark mahogany, and looked rather expensive. There was a big leather chair behind it, and Harley slumped into it, exhausted from the long day he'd had. Lounging back in the comfy seat, he stared up at the white patterned ceiling; He wondered if he'd made the right choice coming here. He was hardly experienced to be dealing with any of the world's most notorious criminals- that was for sure. He'd graduated from Brooklyn University only three months before he was called and asked if he wanted to work here. The pay was good. Very good, actually. Triple the amount a normal psychiatrist would receive. But, deep down, Harley knew that wasn't why he wanted to come here.

Tapping his fingers on his desk, distractedly, Harley was jolted from his thoughts when he felt his fingers brush something. Looking from the ceiling, Harley saw it was a thick, brown file held together by rubber bands on his desk. It was mess, with ends of paper sticking out in all directions.

'My patient!'

Harley couldn't help the wave of excitement that enveloped him. This was it. His first ever patient. From what Dr. Arkham had said, Harley knew it was a girl. It wouldn't be a big case; Harley was new. He was young and inexperienced. He guessed they would probably just give him a milder patient. Perhaps someone only in for a couple of months, with a diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder or Depression, which involved a heavier intervention of drugs than psychiatric care. That's what they said would happen in University. Unable to keep in the excitement any longer, Harley, opened the file expectantly.

His heart froze in his chest. He couldn't believe it. This had to be a mistake, it just had to be. Or a joke. He was the newbie. The staff would probably come in soon, laughing at his horrified expression.

But Harley knew that thought was in vain. Dr. Arkham didn't play games. This was real.

He looked at the file again, blinking rapidly, praying his eyes were playing tricks on him, but the bold writing was unmistakable.

JOKER.