I had a unique thought today and I had to write it down...then I had to publish it. What an ambitious yet whimsical author I am. In any case, this story may or may not go on much longer, depending on the reception it gets. As far as I know, it's the first one of its kind, but I could be wrong. In any case, my main focus for now on this website is my other story, Batman: Shinobi Knight. (And for the readers and followers of that story, I assure you, the next chapter is underway and will be out soon.)
So, more on the premise of the story: This a world much like the one us comic fans know and love: Gotham city. A dark town, full of crime, corruption, and madness. When Bruce Wayne was a young boy, his parents were killed by an escaped madman from the asylum on the other end of the city. From that moment, Bruce vowed that he'd become a psychiatrist to help those people who had gone crazy, and prevent them from hurting anyone else. Leaving his past behind at 14 to study abroad, he spent a decade learning the craft and a few other things. Now 24 years old, he has returned to Gotham with a job in its most infamous public facility: Arkham Asylum. But has Bruce Wayne overlooked his own psychiatric problems for the sake of others?
Just to be clear, the mantle of Batman will be taken up, but not at the beginning of his journey.
Well, I suppose all there is left to say is that I do not own Batman or anything in DC Comics. Yet.
Gotham was the same. That scared Bruce Wayne, a little. The stormy nights, the hollow existences of the people in the streets, each one living unaware of the true madness around them. Was there any city on Earth so damned as Gotham?
Back for several days and he could hardly stand to be out in those streets. He wasn't ready yet, he wasn't prepared to face the monsters out there. Soon, but not now. He had to prepare, after all. He began work in a few hours.
He didn't realize, staring out the window of Wayne Manor, situated on a hill a decent ways from the city streets, that Alfred had snuck behind him, a beverage in his hands.
"Tea, Master Bruce?" The older man required with a smile.
"Oh," Bruce replied, spinning around and grabbing the tea cup gently, "thank you, Alfred."
"Your parents would be very proud of what you're doing for this city," the butler commended before walking away.
Bruce stopped him with a hand upon his shoulder, "Do you...do you think I can make a difference out there?"
"I know you can, Master Bruce, for you have a brilliant mind, a willing spirit, and a butler that does not take sick days at your side. Besides, working at Arkham Asylum provides you with the greatest of tools for your work. You'll come to find, I'm sure, that the work you do is not only effective, but necessary."
"I hope so. I only want to avenge them the best way I can," Bruce said with a small frown.
"And you are," Alfred assured, "what else would you do? Dress up in a costume and hunt down escaped patients like some wild vigilante?"
Bruce only smirked at Alfred's humor and turned back to the city. He looked at it for a time, then at the thin, clean sheet of glass that separated him from the chaos of Gotham's atmosphere. Years of training and studying and testing were about to pay off.
He entered the car, the latest ferrari model, with his materials and supplies for work. Like all new staff members, he would be working the night shift before switching to a longer schedule that the more experiences staff members were on.
The streets were sopping wet as the rain from dark clouds above soaked Gotham in a cleansing bath. Police sirens ran in the distance and the Asylum soon came into view on the horizon. Dead or dying trees were the only decoration past the Asylum's front gate.
"Identification and purpose of visit?" The guard at the shack on the outskirts of Asylum land asked, sticking his hand out.
Bruce handed the man his driver's license and smiled in greeting, "Dr. Bruce Wayne, newest psychiatrist of Arkham Asylum."
The guard perked up when he realized just who Mr. Wayne was. He kept the license for a few seconds but soon passed it back with bashful hands, "It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Wayne, I hope to see more of you soon."
"Likewise," Bruce returned and nearly drove off when the guard interrupted him.
"Uh! If you don't mind me asking, sir, why are you taking this job? You're the head honcho of your family's company. I'd expect to see you at a Board meeting, not a looney bin."
"Because I made a promise," Bruce bade farewell and drove off into the stormy night.
The Asylum was a mess. Not in the sense that it had endured any physical damage, but in the fact that it was pieced together by the sutures of time. Most of the main facility was relatively new equipment and security measures stitched on to the old frame of a gothic, melancholy building. The guard bunker, which also served as the armory, was at least 15 years old, and had all the pleasure of the 1990s.
The old Arkham Mansion, where founder Amadeus Arkham spent lived in his day, held the complete files of Arkham's past and all its medical records, and was equally as gothic and grim as the Asylum's main patient center. It also contained the warden's office and a private lounge for doctors and nurses.
The parking area was small and set beside the main building. He parked and ran from the rainy weather into the facility.
A guard greeted him as he entered, "Hello, how can I help you tonight?"
"I'm Dr. Wayne, the newest psychiatrist here," Bruce answered and shook the man's hand.
"Officer West," the guard returned and led Bruce down the main hall. A secretary was sitting at the main desk and put on a smile when Bruce approached with Officer West.
"You're Bruce Wayne, millionaire doctor?" She inquired.
"The one and only," Bruce answered.
"Great, glad to have you here," she said and went on to explain his first shift, "your office is on level 1, in the southwest hall beside Dr. Crane's office. You'll probably run into him on the way to your shift; you two will be working together for the foreseeable future. The warden will better explain the way things work. He'll be coming by sometime tonight to meet you in person; for now, you can get to your office, log in to the Asylum computer system, and ask Dr. Crane for any assistance you require."
"Okay, thanks for your help."
Bruce turned down the left passageway and West headed back to the entrance. The secretary returned quietly to her work. The halls were quiet and cold. Arkham was a serious house in a forsaken world. With any luck, he could change that.
He passed by the visiting center and men's showers before he hit the office wing. Dr's Willow, Trace, Quinzell, and Strange had offices here too, although Dr. Strange's seemed as though it was in the middle of renovation. His office was bordered by Dr. Jonathan Crane's and the wall.
Bruce passed by Crane's office and saw through the distorted glass that the light was on and the doctor was reading his computer screen. Bruce took out the key to his office, which he'd been sent the day prior, and examined his office.
It was the typical size, with a whiteboard nailed to the wall on the left, two bookshelves behind his desk, a small sofa on the ground bordering the right wall, and an empty picture frame above that, where he would place his degree in psychiatry. The walls and ceiling were white, and the tile floor was black, as opposed to the grayish color it was in the hall.
He sat down at his desk and picked up a clipboard that had been left in front of the keyboard. There was a quick note from head of Arkham security, Aaron Cash:
"Bruce, glad to have you here at Arkham. God knows we can use all the brilliant minds here we can get. I just wanted to let you know that I know a lot about you and your family, and I'm honored to be here to protect your patients and, if necessary, you yourself. See you around.
-Cash"
A smile crept up on Bruce's face as he set the note aside and logged into the Arkham computer system. A sticky note with his username and password was left at the bottom of the screen, seemingly in Cash's handwriting.
He logged in swiftly as a knock on the open door distracted his gaze.
"Your Dr. Wayne, no doubt," The skinny doctor welcomed as he leaned against the office door.
"That's me; being a millionaire playboy isn't enough, I have to have a job in Gotham's most infamous public facility too."
"Funny," the man replied, "I thought most men in your position didn't take jobs at all."
"True, but I'm a wild one. You'll never quite know what to expect from me," Bruce jested and shook the man's hand as he introduced himself.
"Jonathan Crane, a pleasure to be working with you."
They headed out into the hall as soon as Bruce grabbed the white coat that been laid out on the back of his computer chair. The hallway lights reflected off of Crane's glasses and hid his pupils from view. He was almost a whole head shorter than Bruce but he was speedy and the newest doctor at Arkham was having a little trouble keeping up.
"Do you have a specialty, Dr. Wayne?" Jonathan inquired as the two climbed the stairs, dark and lonely, to the second floor, where a good portion of the cells were located.
"No particular one, I like to think I specialize in the mind itself."
"I see. I've read a paper or two of yours, you really do have a brilliant mind."
"Thank you."
"Not at all, we should meet up sometime, compare notes. I was especially interested in your thoughts on the adrenaline response in times of stress."
"Ah, one of the my most original and personal pieces. Fear is powerful."
"Indeed."
They entered the lone hall and were greeted by a nurse with red hair and legs that certainly caught Bruce's attention, "Good evening Dr. Crane, and who might your friend be?"
Bruce spoke before Jonathan could, "Dr. Wayne, Dr. Bruce Wayne."
They shook hands as the nurse returned the introduction, "Nurse Kelly."
"What do we have tonight, Nurse?" Jonathan interrupted.
"For you, Dr. Crane, we have another session with Jervis Tetch; Dr. Wayne, as policies dictates, will join you for the session and a couple subsequent meetings with the same patient. Then he'll move on to have his own, of course not many sessions come so late at night. Still, someone has to do it."
"Absolutely," Bruce agreed.
"Very well, I'll be ready in a few moments," Crane told the nurse, "did Dr. Strange happen to leave something for me today?"
"No Doctor."
"Very well," Crane said under his breath and walked down the hall, past many cells with bulletproof glass in front of the bars. He walked silently into the shadows, and became lost in the darkness of the Asylum.
"I must say it'll be my pleasure to work with you, Dr. Wayne."
"I was about to tell you the same thing, Nurse…"
…
Bruce nearly jumped out of the bed, his body in a cold shake. His breathing was erratic and his pupils were wide opened, taking in all the horrors of the nightmare that continued to play out before him.
He pressed himself against the wall and grasped at it firmly as the quiet of the night began to sooth him. He soon found himself slouching down, and within a few minutes he sat down and waited. He wasn't waiting for anything in particular, except perhaps the sun. He couldn't face bed again tonight.
He held his head in his hands and thought to himself in moans.
Was there such a cruel thing as memory? Did the haunting never stop? Was the past an ignorant blight that never faded from your mind once it had taken a hold on it? Did some higher power thrust him into the suffering he was experiencing?
Or was he just overreacting to a bad dream? He had been able to sleep well for most of his life since his parents were killed. He was fine, wasn't he?
The fact that the nightmares became worse and worse, more detailed, longer, in recent months told him no. The Asylum was affecting him too, for now his thoughts during sleep were influenced by the night's work there. His mind was too receptive to his work, and it was only another thing to trouble him.
He picked himself up with weary eyes and went to grab an aspirin from his sideboard beside the bed. He recoiled near the window when his peripheral vision caught sight of some hulking, flying monster out in the misty night. He opened the window to make sure, but the heavy fog over and around his manor kept his eyes from seeing the truth. If asked to testify to a court, he'd admit that he saw a giant bat, lurking somewhere out there. Waiting. Waiting for the chance to strike. The only question was, at what?
He also paused for a moment when he saw Dr. Crane's pen beside the wine glass he'd used earlier that night. Had had to return it. He was feeling a little guilty, after all, Crane seemed highly possessive of the pen, at times.
He took the capsule from the pill bottle and gulped it down whole. He sat for a moment, silent and alone. Then he shut the curtains of his window before walking over to his desk and switching on the lamp.
Thanks for the read; please leave a comment or PM me or something to let me know if you want this to go on. As it stands, I'll likely release a couple more chapters, but if it doesn't pick up steam, I'll probably leave it alone and focus solely on my other works.