A/N: I do not own any of the Characters of the DC Universe and Bob Kane or new takes of Characters created by the Nolan Franchise of the past Batman Films. Now in the case of Edward Nygma I tried to think of a way to bring him into the Nolanverse. This is partially my own interpretation mingled with actually story lines I found through research. Praise and Constructive Criticism are highly welcomed. Read and enjoy. 8} (c)

There was a voice. It was crisp and clear for anyone to hear well enough. Yet that is if they wanted to pay attention to such an infuriating monotone sound. It was the same word followed by the same bloody phrase—over and over again. It would be capable of driving the man who this voice was direct to mad…if he wasn't mad already. He focused deeper and deeper into what lay before him. The newspaper clippings flew but were quickly placed down with a sharp thud on to the steel table he worked his 'project' on. The plastic scissors fumbled in his hands for their diminutive size was hindrance in their proper handling. They were simply comical looking in his large hands. A grown man using a child's pair of Kelly green plastic scissors was a sight to see in a normal setting. But this was not a normal place. This was a cell in Arkham Asylum.

This is where the man named Edward Nygma had been spending his last few weeks. After he had slain those miserably moronic workers at the Circus, he had been punished to endure this madhouse. In all honesty, he was the sanest madman in that wretched smear on the city of Gotham's face. He knew it as did his doctors.

"…Edward…"

A brisk working tune whistled passed his lips. He continued to ignore the vexation that loomed over his shoulder; the same vexation that would simply not give up this attempt to collect his undivided attention. Well, all Edward could say, that is if he did decided to speak to this wretch, was that—try and try again. Although it would be futile to even continue this little game of theirs, for it would be soon that Edward's turn would come round and he would broach some bit of information thus bringing this to an end.

"…Are you listening to me...Edward…if you do not answer me—"

"You'll what?" Snapped the harsh tone of Nygma's accent, he paused in his 'work' and peered out of the corner of his eye at the annoyance. This annoyance became bewildered by his sudden joining into whatever conversation the annoyance was obviously having with itself. This annoyance was one of Arkham's doctors who had been assigned to 'help' Edward in his 'recovery'. The doctor was a smug little man with a square jaw, droopy eyes, and a balding patch of mousy hair. His sausage like fingers clutched at their clipboard briefly to give away his shock. The ceased forehead and wide eyes gave away his hesitation more so when he gaped like a fish. "Well? I'm waiting…"

The little wanker stared for a tad longer before his lips snapped back and forth and that tongue rolled round in that vulgar mouth. Edward's nostril flared in disgust as his facial features refrained from contorting in displeasure at the grating sound rumbling from that gullet. "I-I do grow tired of these sessions with you, Edward. Truly, I do. They are beginning to have their toll on me. And-and frankly, I don't think you'll be seeing much of me after this day--"

"What?! You're leaving me?!" Edward's face became the perfect visage of utter shock and distraught; it was hard to see it as the false mask that it was. The mask however fell when a great fit of laughter reverberated through that skull white cell. It bounced off the uncleanly walls and the pitiful cot that was his supposed place for rest. "Do forgive me for my joy, but I say good riddance. You're not a very skilled psychiatrist that much is certain from the way you present yourself to your patients. You take no force!" At this mention of power he shot out of his chair and clutched the air forming a tight fist. This series of actions had the good doctor retreating back into the door of Edward's cell.

At this show of fear, Edward's demeanor shifted to calmness. He eyed the doctor with a superior sense of petty concern. His query spoke as he thought it, "Do you fear me, doctor? Hm? Me? Out of all the murderous lunatics in this blasted hole, you choose to cower in my shadow." Edward raised an eyebrow and waggled a finger at the little man. "Tsk, tsk, tsk, honestly, how could you think me capable of such things?"

The little man stammered in his speech and whatever he was trying to say sparked Edward to scold him for its inaudibility and inconsistency. He slapped his hand at the air, "Speak up! And clearly! For God's sakes, man! Get a hold of yourself! You're looking more like a buffoon than you already do!"

Suddenly, the little doctor took his ground--feebly but nonetheless he gathered the bits of courage he held within that dwarfish frame. This new persona left Edward completely expressionless. He stood there silently and blank in the face. "I will not stand for your rude behavior, Mr. Nygma! I simply will not! Do you hear me?! I will not--" Putting a stopper on his tirade, the little doctor watched with bulging eyes Edward bow. "Wha-What are you doing? If this is anymore of your moc--"

"No, my dear doctor, it tis not my mischievous nature that is before you humbly gesturing. It is the gentleman who desires that you accept his deepest apologizes--and this..." The mad gentleman returned to his perfect posture stepping forward. And in his outstretched hand was a scrap of paper. "Think of it as a parting gift, or better yet a reason to keep our chats. It is but a mere riddle. A riddle that once you solve will prove very informative."

This was how the game ended. The doctor left nonplussed with the bit of glued together parchment. The patient returned to his 'project'; the eminent victor.

Two days later

It was another dank and cold night in the city of Gotham. Winter had blown a thick layer of snow the past night and now what remained of that snow fall was murky slush and black ice.

Icicles hanged from their clinging spots for dear life. Although the occasional icy spear fell to its end, the choice never really being their own unfortunately for them. Kind of like the fine upstanding gentleman who was being forced to sit his Cadillac in a dismal alley way in Old Gotham. He didn't want to be there, but he had to be. It was as simple as that--no ifs, ands, or buts.

This gentleman's name was Charlie McFadden. Now Charlie boy here was really wishing he was home in a warm bed with the missus. But like stated earlier he had to be there in that damn alley. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. That's what he got for working for the mob. More particularly being a cop on the mob's payroll.

Charlie sat for what seemed like hours before he finally laid weary eyes on who he had been waiting for all this time. It seemed like it would be fitting to add to the misery Charlie was feeling at that moment when a bone chilling rain began to thump down on the car. Whatever soporific spell had fallen over him previously left. He needed to tail the car of his target. Do that and soon he be one step closer to relaxing in his soft warm bed.

He had followed the car of his quarry out of the Old Gotham and soon found himself tracing the borders of the highly secured ruins of the Narrows. The Narrows had lost the poor souls who once inhabited it when Crane's Fear Toxin had engulfed it in its fog and a frightening majority of Arkham patients from break-out failed to be caught and locked back up in their beloved loony bin.

His fearful green eyes glanced at the high electrified fencing on the other side of the bridges placed to get on to the island Arkham and the Narrows (New Arkham some cops called it) resided on. He shook his round face away from the place and kept focused on the car--

Poor Charlie had been distracted for barely a minute or so when he did not perceive as quickly as he wished he did the figure in the road. His car swerved and skidded to a crashing halt into the telephone pole. His little pudgy face smashed into the steering column. His head spun and soon the metallic taste of blood was in his mouth. A throbbing pain in the middle of his face informed him his nose was broken. As unconsciousness began to overcome him, Charlie swore he saw the figure grow more menacing when it advanced in its approach to the car.

"...arlie...Cha...Charlie..." A nasally voice cooed in a sing-song way.

"Hey, Charlie boy...Wake...HEY!" The voice turned deep and violent followed by a sharp slap to the face. A startled Charlie McFadden awoke. His eyes flew frantically round a room that appeared out of nowhere. For he did not recall a room at all when he blacked out. A smell also unfamiliar made his nostrils flare. It was the smell of rotted meat that made his eyes water. But watering wasn't the only thing his eyes did; terror widened them to the size of saucers.

A horrid runny white face loomed down at him. The ruby lips of the Devil himself smirked at him causing the disgusting scars growing out of the corners of his mouth to scrunch up more unpleasantly. Black smudges round a pair of dark ominous eyes glowered down at him. It didn't take much more for Charlie to realize--the Joker had him. The goddamn Joker got him just like he feared would happen once he had been given this little spying job.

"Whatcha doing following me, Charlie boy?" The Joker queried with an unnerving calmness as he leaned on the arms of the chair Charlie saw he was tied to. His struggling to get away from the face coming at him revealed that terrifying fact. The Joker's face was inches from his. The stained lips twitched as he waited for an answer or amused by Charlie's resistance.

Charlie felt like his voice had disappeared. Grasping and rasping sounds were the only sounds to spill out of his throat. This curled a twisted smile on the Joker's face. A pink tongue licked the lower lip and the dark eyes rolled in annoyance. A melodramatic sigh of anguish escaped the Joker whilst he pulled away from Charlie. He turned his back and walked over to a steel table.

Charlie peered and rubbernecked trying to see what lay on the table. A table looking much like that of what a surgeon would have in his operating room. The fright Charlie felt already augmented at the clattering of metal objects...

"Not to worry, Charlie boy," the Joker assured him as he fumbled with whatever it was on that damned table, "We have all night for you to think. So everything is going to be okay--" The bone white face of the Joker peeked from behind his shoulder at Charlie. The scrunch of the scars winked at him.

Charlie's heart raced. Sweat broke out on his forehead rolling down his face. His chest heaved and fell rapidly. Charlie watched the Joker roll up his sleeves. Then his eyes fell on the right hand now gripping a--bone saw, the Joker turned around fully patting the saw up and down in the open palm of his left hand. "So seeing as how the night knows no limits, much like myself, we are going to chat until you can remember, alright?"

Charlie's face of sheer terror would be blocked out by the looming shadow of the Joker.