Chapter 1
"This is Dr. Katelyn Howel, recording patient interview number one with Arkham inmate 1476…the Joker. The date is March 24, approximately 11:35 a.m. So, what would you like to talk about today? Would you like to talk about why you're here?"
"Ah, doc, bore me to death! Do you know how many psychoanalysts and pseudo-analytical psychos have asked me the same arbitrary questions? I can think of 5 I've seriously injured, just off the top of my head… heheheh"
"Ahem. Yes, I was made well aware of each of those incidents before I was assigned to your case. Let's talk about those incidents. What was your motive? Why harm the only people in Gotham who are putting in the effort to try and help you?"
"Why not? "
"That's not a very positive or progressive answer… Do you see any sort of difference between the doctors and staff here at Arkham you've injured, or killed – and those on the outside - the innocent people of the city?"
"Mm not particularly. It certainly is harder for me to get my hands on you killjoys than it is on those morons, what with the straight jackets and the gun-toting dummies around every corner." He nodded his head toward the door. "You see, doc, in my line of business, it's so hard to look past the fact that people are inherently, tragically predictable."
"Do you feel that predictability is a sin? Do you feel as if you're punishing the predictable?"
"Why, no! Nonono, doc, not punishing…liberating! Those mindless drones need to be liberated from their vulgar, worthless existences. Do you think most people are truly alive, doctor, or simply existing? What I do…I excite this city. I breathe life into it every time I push down the plunger of a bomb! "
"Interesting. Your philosophy strikes me as an inherent oxymoron. Any thoughts?"
"Ah, forget it doc. You're just like all the rest. Take me back to my cell before I let myself loose from this jacket and show you what I'm talking about. Mmhehehaha…"
A chair scraping against a cement floor, doors slamming open, and scuffling could be heard in the background of the recording.
"Don't even think about it Joker!"
"Just give us a reason to beat your bony little ass to a pulp! Get outta that chair!"
Katelyn pushed down the STOP button on the tape recorder, leaning back in her giant recliner and lacing her fingers together, deep in thought. She was young, hadn't been a psychologist for more than 5 years, but had worked with some fairly dangerous Gotham criminals already. She was popular at Arkham because she had developed a reputation as being notoriously hard to break – impossible, in fact. Which was the main reason Warden Sharp had found it acceptable that she take on Joker's case, one of - if not the - most dangerous in the entire asylum. Not only was he a physical danger to doctors and orderlies, but he had a way of planting ideas in people's heads that could grow into any number of psychological and philosophical torments. Many people who'd had recurring encounters with the Joker and lived to tell about it complained of insomnia, nightmares, paranoia, anxiety, and a plethora of other unsettling symptoms.
And then there was the incident with Harley Quinn. It had been a long time coming, but the very fact that Joker had seduced a doctor into falling in love with him, helping him to escape the asylum numerous times, and joining his mad crusade for chaos was an incredible testament to his charisma and persuasiveness: two dangerous qualities to possess when one was utterly insane. Their Bonnie and Clyde-like rampage had ended recently with Harley dead, and (interestingly) by no particularly interesting method.
Katelyn made her way to her bedroom. Her large wolf-dog, Shiva, was sleeping soundly on her bed. Throwing open the doors of her closet, she pushed a fairly large collection of hanging suits and professional attire to the side and slid open a compartment carefully hidden at the back of the dark wardrobe. Shiva awoke at the sounds, whining softly. Katelyn turned, smiling warmly at her companion. "Shh. It's all right. I'll be back in a few hours."
After disrobing, she pulled a dark, rich brown wolf-shaped mask and a sleek, skin-tight costume out of the compartment in the closet. She pulled on the shirt and the pants, then pulled the mask over her head and adjusted it so she could see.
She strapped a knife sheath around her right thigh, another around her left ankle, one more around her upper left arm, and another larger one around her chest, then pulled on a pair of brown gloves and brown boots. She walked over to a large set of bay windows, throwing back the curtains that covered them. She threw open one of the windows and leaped out of her bedroom and into the dark streets of Gotham City.
