PLEASE READ THIS!
So, a friend of mine is well into writing fanfictions (even though she may write more than one at a time, like me). ANYWAY, we thought it would be cool to upload her stories on here, but I'm not sure if she wanted to make an account on this site - or even understand how to work this site - so I offered to putup her stories on my account so they would be easier to find and read rather than to be lost forever on her tumblr account.

So, without further ado, this is one (of quite a few stories) by my dear friend, Mallorey. (:
ENJOY!

Brusies, deep cuts, and smiles.
Chapter One.

Welcome to Arkham Asylum. We are here to help you."

Arkham Asylum is a long term facility. Thousands of murders, psychopaths, cold-hearted serial killers and none other, super criminals. All were given each individual rooms. None were similar, each were different to suit the patients personality and behavior. Some were curable and others not so fortunate. Spending endless sessions and treatment techniques that were useless. Many are beyond psychiatry help, a pointless effort to 'cure' their corrupted minds. Yet, they act on a selfish level to try and prove their sociability skills are more normal than their specimen. Each patient, curable or not, is assigned a behavioral psychiatrist who speaks to them one hour every day in a special holding block - there's one table, two chairs (one of which is equipped with ankle and wrist braces to restrain the patient). A large kitchen and a lunchroom where the patients eat in shifts of 50 a"- the fortress is best served with twenty armed guards, all pointing their Mossberg 590 pump-action, open choke riot shotguns at the crazies while they eat. Morning are at nine-AM; lights out at nine-PM. Bed-checks at one, three, and five. Medication is administered as needed every two or four hours by one nurse and three guards.

"To the Intensive Treatment entrance immediately! We have another psycho on the way!" Security guard Ryan Adtol commanded to his squad team to surround the perimeter in case of prisoner trying to escape or harm any civilian. An alarm sounded, as ten - fifteen guards armed to the teeth, secured the Intensive Treatment Lobby, their AK-47's aimed and permission shoot-to-kill granted by their deputy. The large metal steel door began to unlock after a strange beeping sound along with an unusual hiss as the metal doors expanded, exposing a bright gleam of light highlighting the darkened aspects of the lobby which blurred three figures standing in the middle of the light. Two of which were security guards - both tall, masculine and heavy-weighted. The third was their victim, an soon-to-be patient of Arkham. A woman. Not just any kind of woman, her physical appearance was one to fool many other innocent social life thinking she was 'normal'. A curvy figure, creamy silk skin, vibrant ocean blue eyes which were saturated by a black mass that smeared into her thin layered white make-up, full pouty red lips and her long lustful blonde hair that weightlessly hung over her shoulders without a care. From a distance, her entire figure almost was angelic; unfortunately the second you take a closer look - bruises almost on every corner of her body, cuts that were very well deep into the tissue of her skin. The mastermind behind these imperfections on her body was, without a doubt, the Joker himself; taking his charismatic anger out on poor ol' Harley. Nonetheless, Ms. Harley was indeed a primary psychopath who of which does not respond to punishment, apprehension, stress, or disapproval. Her sick demented mind accepted the horrific abuses the Joker thrown upon her withered body, needing-less to say that she found it…'arousing'.

"Move it, clown!" The security guard on her left demanded, after being impatient of her slacking around. The instantaneous behavior put a mischievous smirk upon the now, 'clown', as what he named her. "Oh, Steven, you haven't changed. Still short-tempered, impatient, and self-centered. Have you ever considered smiling? It does wonders to your personality, it even hides the judoka tranquility of your well-being." She waited for an answer, but sadly, she wasn't getting anything out of him. "Oh…I see, someone has smacked it off too many times it turned upside down." A short loud laugh escaped her red lips, although she expected her outburst to be longer than it was set to be when suddenly, a hard bald fist knocked some sense out of her, unable to control her balance as she landed on her knees, souring out unneeded blood from the contents of her mouth while licking up the remaining blood on her lower lip. The smile she had ironically was smacked off completely from her face, but a small frightening smirk tugged at her bleeding lip. "Is that all you got? I've taken worse beatings from a tiny prick." She spat. The security guards bulged his fist once again, getting ready to strike when a voice halted his actions. "Enough! Take Ms. Quinzel to her room." The Warden demanded which in case both guards followed the order. The clown's ears perked up the second he spoke, as a soft gasp verbally entered within her lips. "Hey, Sharpie! Missed me? How's ol' Jenny and the kiddos? Hmm?… Are they still medicated and seeing unicorns?" A giggled escaped her lips that evolved into a laugh, glaring at him with full dark eyes as she slowly passed him by. The Warden simply adjusted his tie with a hidden puzzled and shocked expression left on his face, as if she knew an aspect of his personal life; obviously scared the living shit out of him. A plastered eerie smile crawled on her face while she was escorted into the facility, yelling. "It's good to be home!"

Thank you for reading the first chapter of this story of my friend. More is soon to come, critique and comments are welcome. (: