AN: I do not own anything from or relating to Batman: Arkham Asylum.
One: Greener on the Other Side
The inmate grunted, yet again bashing his shaved head against the top of the crawl space. His orange clothing scraped on the passage way's gritty surface, the dust and filth creating a thick coating of black on the horrid color.
The ground shook and he flinched upward, the back of his head hitting the ceiling with a hard smack and this time, he really did curse. Bits of rock and dust hailed down on him and he curled into a ball, bringing his face to his knees and covering his pounding head with torn and bloody hands.
The shaking stopped just as abruptly as it had started, but still the prisoner waited, harsh, panting breaths his only company in the silence. Slowly, he straitened his body, checking for injuries before moving on. His shuffling resumed its frantic pace and the inmate once again questioned his own sanity.
When he had found the cement ventilation tunnel, its bolted bars removed and shoved to one side, he had almost cried with relief. It had seemed at the time to be a gift from God, its narrow opening perfect for a thin person such as himself (or a crouching man) to fit into. It was one of the benefits of being smaller than the other inmates, he supposed, and promptly left his abusive and somewhat slow minded brethren behind. They had wanted to side with the Joker anyway, and there was no way he was having any part of that.
The Joker was insane (weren't they all, in this place?), but what really unnerved the young prisoner was his careless disregard for life. He knew, in the grand scheme of things, that he was a nobody. And nobodies were expendable. So, naturally, he'd gotten out of there at the first opportunity.
But now, he wasn't so sure he should have left. At least, not through the tunnel.
He had been traveling for awhile before, out of nowhere, the ground started moving. After the initial shock had worn off, he had hastened to the nearest exit, trying to find a way out. But, to his increasing frustration and panic, each and every route was blocked off; by bars, rubble, and disturbingly, giant roots.
What the hell was going on out there?
He didn't want to think about it and chose instead to put all of his efforts into moving. He'd turned down a side passage awhile ago and with each passing minute had the sinking suspicion that the tunnel was slowly sloping downward. The cement around him had long since turned to rough stone, ripping his clothes and cutting his knuckles. The place increasingly smelt of dust, decay and strangely, moisture.
The inmate rounded a corner, rearing back and inhaling sharply when he came face to face with a brick wall. It must have been boarded off sometime in the past. He let his head sag to his knees and took a deep breath of musty air.
He knew this had been a bad idea.
The small man rested for a moment, stilling his pounding heart and contemplating his options. He relaxed even farther, closing his tired eyes and leaning up against the rough wall. It hurt. Wincing, he pulled his sensitive scalp away so it wouldn't brush the top of the enclosed space. Rubbing his greasy face and the sore muscles of his neck, the inmate decided that he would have to backtrack, moving a few moments later to do so.
A sighing breath escaped his lips as he looked back the way he had come. The tunnel loomed, dark and forbidding. He scowled, pulling his legs under himself in an awkward crouch and gingerly stepped forward. The rock heaved beneath him, and for an instant, he thought he had somehow happened upon a weak spot on the old floor.
He threw himself backwards, his shoulders smacking against the red bricks behind him in an effort to clear the area. A snapping sound echoed by his right ear and he flinched, swinging his head around towards it. Alarm shot through him, over powering his momentary disbelief.
Green tentacles writhed out of the growing cracks by his head, the shifting appendages seeming to appear out of every surface.
Wide eyed, he shot forward, trying to get away from what he now knew were Poison Ivy's freakish plants. They reached for him, wrapping around a leg and the prisoner screamed, shoving hard against the adjacent wall.
The tunnel groaned and he watched in terror as a large spider web fracture formed beneath him. He flailed, desperate hands reaching to grab hold of stable rock, only to meet nothing.
He fell through the growing hole, his body crashing through moving vines and landing with a sickening crunch on an uneven surface.
The inmate was just able to make out the distinct smell of sewer water before darkness took him.
AN: So? What's the word?
Review Please!
~Delgodess