So, here's the sequel I was raving about. Hope you enjoy, kiddos.

Reviews are my cocaine, by the way.

Day One

The Joker licked his chapped lips as he looked up at the ceiling. It was the only place he could look, really. The way they had chained the straight jacket to his bed, he couldn't move his neck very well, if at all. Apparently, slamming your head against the wall in excitement made you a danger to yourself.

"Just a precaution." Dr. Arkham had told him. The Joker chuckled as he remembered the twisted look on the head doctor's face. He was fascinated but afraid at the same time. Who wouldn't be? They had scrubbed and scrubbed at his face for as long as they could, but the paint had never fully come off. It was like the oils of it had soaked into his skin, and now his face was slightly paler, the eyes had a dark shadow all the way around them and the area around his lips was tinged red. His scars still stretched hideously across his cheek bones, and the dye was still at the ends of his now shaggy hair.

"Still the same." He muttered, grinning brightly as he looked at the tile right next to the one he had been staring at. They could change what he wore, they could try to change how he thought, but they could never change the stench of fear that surrounded them whenever they dared to glance in his eyes. You couldn't fake raw, honest fear that crept out through your pores and soaked up into the air.

"Hey… freak… breakfast time." The guard stepped into his room, holding a tray. His uniform was neat and tidy, stretched taut against his muscles as he set down the food. The tray was Styrofoam and the utensils were flimsy plastic. The food was easily chewable, soft and mushy, almost like baby food.

Gross.

"Ah, another day, another intelligent insult. Say, want to hear one of mine?" The Joker asked, amused as the guard ignored him and began undoing the straight jacket and recuffing his wrists.

"I'll tell it anyway, it was always uh, a uh, real knee slapper." He grinned vaguely as he noticed that the guard ignored him, but his head was turned slightly in The Joker's direction, as if too scared to fully turn away. It was so easy to use someone who feared what would happen if they didn't listen.

"You see, there was once this murderer on the loose… and he was what you'd call a loose hinge. He ah, he wasn't very pop-u-lar with anyone. So, as he's walking down the ally, de-jec-ted he sees a little boy… and he's overcome with joy.

'Little boy,' he says, 'I'm going to kill you.' And you want to know what that little boy did?" The Joker leaned in, as if sharing a big secret. "He stabbed the man! He jumped up and over and over and over again he shoves the knife into the man's chest, laughing the entire time." Laughing, The Joker fell back against his chair, kicking at the air with mirth. "And- and to have everyone remember who did the b-e-a-utiful deed, the little boy carved a smile into the big, baD, thug's face. Now, the big baD murderer always smiles, twenty- four seven, six feet under, courtesy of the little boy." The Joker giggled.

"What does that have to do with anything, freak?" The guard growled. The Joker frowned at how slow his little friend was on the uptake.

"Isn't it ironic?" The Joker asked smugly. "The big bad mad man gets killed by the little boy!" Laughing demonically, The Joker rocked back against his chair, letting the chains dig into his skin. "It's like the relationship between me and you."

"Oh, really now? I don't see how, freak." The guard took his station at the door while he watched The Joker with still expressionless eyes.

"Well, I may be chained up now, but sooner or later," The Joker leaned in, his dark eyes burning with sudden demonic intensity, "You'll be smiling twenty-four seven, six feet under, too."

Harley looked into the bathroom mirror and smiled, liking what she saw. Her bright blond hair was pulled back into a bun, with a pen sticking out of it; her makeup was on just right, not a smudge or streak of mascara mucked up her looks. Her smile was set into a perfectly amiable one; not too happy, not too fake.

Everything was perfect.

Sliding her glasses onto the bridge of her nose, Harley gave one last look at herself before turning around and walking into the dank hallways of the Arkham Asylum. The darkness and gloom didn't seem to bother her too much; it was like she took no notice of the grime and gloom.

"Hey Dr. Quinn, are you excited?" Another psychologist asked mockingly as she walked past a small group of them. Harley merely smiled smugly in return and kept walking. She knew she was going to get a lot of flack for wanting to take on the case of the century, but nothing could stop her now.

She would keep The Joker case if it was the last thing she did.

"Good morning Dr. Arkham!" She chirped brightly as she waltzed into the staff room, bright and alert. The only thing that could put a damper on her spirits was if she suddenly was kicked off of the case. Considering how everyone knew she was competent enough for it, she wasn't worrying.

"Good morning, Dr. Quinn. I trust you're ready for this?" Dr. Arkham had been the one to actually call the main victim of The Joker attacks this go-around to see if she'd like to come in and see if Harley was up for it. Not that she begrudged the man any; he was simply doing his job. Harley had seen the minor psychiatrists go in and out of that cell like it was a revolving door; only one had gone back a second time, and that was to reluctantly run in to grab the clip board he had left behind in his fear.

"I don't think I'll ever be truly ready, sir, but I'm as good as it's going to get." Harley replied easily as she grabbed her cup of coffee. As she sipped it slowly, she rearranged the packets of sugar in the small bowl so that the splenda was together, the fat free was together, and the simple sugar was together. She hated it when people put things out of order. Order was one thing that Harley strived for.

"I like to hear that, Dr. Quinn, I really do. Others have gone in with a Mr. Fix-it attitude and all of them have left empty handed. It is my wish that you don't end up the same way. Analyze professionally, comment calmly, and don't give him the opening he needs. I assure you, Dr. Quinn, once he's in your head, he'll never get out. Men like The Joker… they're an entirely different specimen than a simple mad man. Don't attempt to understand him, but don't underestimate him." Dr. Arkham leveled his gaze with hers.

"I'll do my best, sir." She replied calmly though his words sent a slight trill of warning through her veins. She had seen the horrors that The Joker had wreaked both inside a person's mind, and on their appearance. There was no way she would end up like them; she was made of something tougher than that.

She hoped.

"That's all we can ask of you. In fact… Harley, if I can see that you can handle this professionally… I don't see why you can't be in charge underneath me." Dr. Arkham smiled slightly at that.

Harley froze from taking her drink at these words. Shock rippled throughout her entire system, and as she looked back at Dr. Arkham, she was sure she saw the lights shimmering above his balding head. She would be Vice President of Arkham Asylum?!

Oh… there was no way she was failing now.

"Don't shoot him."

"Why not?"

"It's what he wants you to do. Shoot him, and you're nothing better than what he wants you to be."

"You stupid bat, can't you see she already is?"

Alyss shot up from her bed, her eyes wide with surprise. Her heart was beating painfully in her chest, and she was positive that it wasn't a coincidence that her breathing was ragged and her throat dry. Looking around the large and dark room, she let the normalcy of it calm her nerves before she lay down and pulled the thick covers up and over her.

She hated nights like this. She hated nights when he would be gone until the early hours of the morning before collapsing onto the bed and not waking up until much later. Alyss had used to think that it would be amazing to go out with Gotham's chance at a finally safe and uncorrupt city, but it was only amazing as long as she was with him to enjoy it.

But he was hardly there.

Opening her eyes again, Alyss concluded that she wasn't going to get much sleep. Her heart was still thudding a little too loudly in her chest, and as she closed her eyes again, a picture of The Joker jumped out at her, his eyes crazed and dark, the makeup crudely spread across his face. It was enough to awaken painful memories.

It had been about 3 months since the whole incident with The Joker and his desire to put an end to Alyss. Winter was beginning to set in, and other people were forgetting about the horrors he had given them to ponder on. It wasn't like it had been targeted to them this time.

Crawling out of bed, Alyss padded quietly down the hallway of the newly improved manor and into one of the mini kitchens that was stocked with her favorite midnight snacks; a snickers bar. As she flicked on the lights in the kitchenette, Alyss almost jumped out of her skin when she saw someone hunched over the small table. As she peered closer though, it was much to her relief and surprise that it was only Drake, a vibrant and hard working cop by day and Batman's only "sidekick" by night.

"What are you doing here, Drake?" Alyss asked tiredly. Padding over to the fridge, she reached in and grabbed a snickers bar out of it so that she could indulge in one. Drake looked up and smiled at her before looking back down and fiddling with something. Peering closer, Alyss saw a newspaper article.

"Gotham City is surprised and wary to find out that the vigilante called Batman has appeared to have found a "sidekick" if you will. People have dubbed him Robin by the flashy green, red, and yellow colors the man seems to favor. Is this trend of dressing in spandex spreading? Oh Drake you've got to be kidding me!" Alyss shook her head and burst into laughter as she looked at the picture of a blurry Drake in a stellar costume.

"In my defense, it's not spandex. I don't know where they came up with that, it's Kevlar." Drake muttered, face red. Alyss shook her head as she turned around and rummaged through the fridge before pulling out a snickers bar and handing it to him. Grimly, Drake accepted it and began eating, misery obvious on his face.

"So Batman said to keep a low profile?" Alyss asked kindly.

"When the media calms down I can go out again." Drake muttered, obviously upset.

"Well, look on the bright side… nothing big is happening anytime soon, right?"

Dr. Harley Quinn smiled as she adjusted her glasses on the bride of her nose. She was being given the case of a lifetime, and she could hardly contain herself. Excitement made her laugh slightly as she reached the door that would decide her destiny. Either she would become the greatest psychologist that walked the halls of Arkham, or she would leave the case behind, her head hung low. There could be no either alternative.

The guard nodded politely as she reached him, but as she reached for the door handle he grabbed her wrist and held it.

"Precaution." He informed her simply as he then pressed a few different keys, scanned his thumb, and then released her wrist.

"Thanks…" Harley muttered, embarrassed. Clearing her throat, she turned off the joking, relaxed Dr. Quinn others said they admired. She tucked away her memories so that he couldn't reach them, and she forced her eyes to glaze over in a professional disinterest. As she straightened her back, she grabbed the door handle and pulled it open, wincing at the screeching noise the metal grating on metal made.

"Well hello, beautiful."

Well, what'll happen next? I think it's kind of obvious, but for anyone interested in me continuing the sequel to Go Ask Alyss, just review and let me know.