The car came to a halt as I parked it into an empty space. The engine's growling subsided as I removed the keys, and replaced them in the pocket of my lilac blouse. I slammed the door shut after me, locking it, and started on the grim walk to the gates.

They were tall, impressive, decades old black paint peeling off in thin strips, revealing the cold iron they were made of beneath. Atop of them sat iron letters, shaped almost cruelly to read 'ARKHAM'. A smaller gate to the right of them swung open, as a guard beside the gates recognised me.

The path up to the entrance was short, and I couldn't help noticing the large amount of guards stationed outside the building. All holding guns and tasers in plain sight.

Quickly, I adjusted my glasses and smoothed back my hair. I had this whole walk and routine burned into my head. I'd been here two, almost three, months, but from day one I'd known that one wrong look, could get me in bad news with the inmates. And that from then on it'd get worse.

I showed the guards my ID at the sealed metal doors of the entrance, and one nodded and the doors slowly were pulled open. Unlike the gates, above the doors was an engraved sign that read 'Arkham Asylum, Home To The Mentally Insane. Since 1889'.

I expected a little warmth inside the asylum compared to the winds outside, but I got none. I could feel the cold stone floors from through my small black creepers. Goosebumps formed on my arms and I failed in quickly trying to hide them.

Through the wide main corridor that held the more low key patients, and down a flight of stairs was my office. A "cosy" room if you could even call it that. I tossed my bag onto the chair behind the desk and stopped walking when I got to the mirror. God I looked bad. Small tired circles under my eyes choked with concealer, at my attempt to make me look professional. Black liner circling my eyelids, which in turn actually brightened my silver blue eyes. I hid that with my thick black rimmed glasses. My bleached blonde hair looked tatty with dark brunette roots creeping in at several places. I had earlier clamped in back in a bun, letting a few strands drop over my face. My face in particular looked pale and lifeless, and white washed, like all the colour apart from the purple under my eyes, had been drained out.

I sighed and bowed my head, checking my timetable on my computer. It was then that I remembered why I hadn't slept, and the reason for my lethargy. Right in bold letters at the top of my timetable was my most important session yet. With a most peculiarly important patient.

Yes, today, I was finally having my session with the self-proclaimed Joker.

It took begging, after the last doctor to treat the Joker was stabbed by him multiple times and found with a smile carved in his cheeks. The last twenty doctors had either suffered unbearable pains at his hand, or he'd broken their minds, and they'd disappeared and quit while they could.

I like to think I was at least a little different. A small girl from the Gotham suburbs, who had only recently graduated with honours from university. Of course, now that I thought about it, I was gonna get cooked like a fucking egg.

He'd always fascinated me. He'd been around since I started middle school, if I can remember rightly. One could say I almost grew up around him. Great, now I sound like even more of a kid.

I dusted off my plain black skirt, and buttoned, then undone the top button on my shirt. Should I button it? I might come across as too high and mighty and professional to him if I did. I left it undone and unbuttoned the second top too. A little bit of cleavage might work for me today.

I took a sharp breath in and hesitated to breathe out, and grabbed the Joker's file I had held in my bag.

You had to pass two security doors to get to the maximum security wing. I had never needed to pass more than one, and I could feel the nervous sweat gathering on my brow as I handed them my ID, and told them my reason to pass. I saw that one of them was looking me up and down with a grin out of the corner of my eye, and I wasn't sure if the other even believed me. He didn't believe I needed to get through to see the Joker, who I had sessions with. In his eyes I was probably just a harmless little blonde girl. I had a strong urge to give him a hard slap.

"Dr Quinzel!" came a friendly voice from behind me. It was just my luck that it happened to be a tall, slim, dark woman, with the perfect shade of brown eyes, and a soft smile. She wore a dark blue blouse, and a black skirt that stopped just below her knees. Dr Joan Leland.

"Dr Leland, I told you, you can call me Harleen." I laughed, smiling back at her as she approached. "And it's lovely to see you."

"Well then Harleen, call me Joan, no second name basis is needed for friends, right?" she said, calmly. She put an arm around my shoulders and led me to face the door again. "I've got mixed feelings about you still wanting to take on the Joker. I'm proud if he does cooperate, albeit I'm worried because he is a murderous monster, and there's a 999 to 1000 chance that you're going to get serious hurt or killed." She sighed.

The guards finally opened the doors and we passed into medium security. "I know, and well we'll just have to find out if I'm that other 1 in 1000."

She looked at me in concern. "Just... good luck, Harleen."