Chapter 1 - Meeting the Madman

A man before me cleared his throat, returning me from another one of my mindless daydreams. He seemed annoyed, as if he'd tried asking me for something several times already "A form of ID, please," the man stated, standing behind a marble counter. I stood, in the front desk of the asylum. The rug I stepped on seemed rather old, my heels getting caught several times. I've been to several asylums in my time, but this one seemed to be the most… interesting.

I handed him my drivers licence. I always dreaded the photo, the glare from my glasses being the main focus. I brushed blonde hair that refused to stay in my bun out of my face.

After examining his list, the man stifled a chuckle. "You will find your patient in room 317, he's in the east wing." He handed me a slip, of which he informed me was to please the guards of why I'd be entering the patient's cell.

The stone corridors - reeking of the stench of sewage water - was rather dreary. The walls were cold to the touch, the clicking of my black heels echoing. I walked past cell door after cell door, each with a begging prisoner hoping I was there for them. I walked past the many cells. Hundreds of metal doors lined the walls. After a while of walking, I made my way to the east wings three hundred hall. 317, being one of the last of the hall, had multiple guards. In fact, it was the only cell I've seen with any guards at all.

"I'm here for-" I began, but was quickly interrupted.

"Do you have a signed paper?" The larger of the three guards asked me. His voice was deep, and was probably rather fitting for his job.

I hesitated, handing them the yellow slip the man at the desk gave me. They gave it a simple examination, then opened the heavily guarded door. It groaned slightly, as if it hadn't been open in ages.

Slowly stepping into the cell, I saw a man. He had green hair and a bizarre smile with a scar on each side of his mouth, almost like an extended his smile. Yet, he had a sort of handsome behind him. His green eyes twinkled slightly. His pale skin, looking white, was heavily contrasted to his deep red lips. His wrists were handcuffed to the table, his orange outfit seemed quite fitting.

"Mr. J," I said, sheepishly. His 'code name' was The Joker, but I've never been fond addressing patients by their made up names. He gave me a devilish grin. I began, "I'm-"

He smirked. "Dr. Quinzell."