Arkham Asylum

by Zombiehugger

When a girl wakes up in a cell in the insane asylum, how will she get out? Who put her there? Follow her adventure through Arkham Asylum where the crazies have taken over the asylum.

A/N: This is a one-shot albeit a really long one-shot. If you'd like to see it in sections, I have it on my deviantart, you can go to .com to see the story there in those parts. If you like the story could you please let me know what you think, or if you don't like it, can you tell me what you didn't like about it? These would be very helpful either way. Thank you for taking the time to read my work, even if you don't finish it, I thank you. Enjoy the story.

The light dangled precariously above her head, swinging in a misshapen circle. In three quick bursts, the light flashed, buzzing in annoyance. Her mind reeled, trying to piece together everything that had happened to her, trying to figure out where she was, who she was. Her vision was blurred at best and nonexistent at worst. She tried to focus on the light, burning through the ephemeral fog in her mind. Quickly, she tried to grasp a hold of the intangible threads of consciousness eluding her each time the light flashed. Concentrating on one part of her mind, she tried to move. Disappointingly, she failed, opting instead, to try to talk, garnering only a few short grunts and a cough. As her abdomen contracted to force the air through her mouth, she caught hold of the first thread of consciousness.

After a while, and many failed attempts to wake out of her stupor, she was finally able to come to consciousness, albeit not fully aware of her surroundings. For the first time, the light burned her eyes and made her wish sorely that she had stayed in that dismal state of semi-consciousness. With great effort, she shook her head, brushing off the pain. To her dismay, this also brought back the awareness of her stomach. Her stomach roared in protest, angry swashes of bile rose in her throat, her head spun with all of the new things coming to her. She felt tired, sick, pained, but most of all, she felt like she was about to vomit.

Vomit, she did.

Quickly, she rolled on her side, letting the bile ooze out of her mouth, spilling onto the white cushioned floor. The yellow-brown liquid burned her throat and mouth as it spilled out onto the once pristinely white floors. Tears stung her eyes as she continued to spill the contents of her stomach onto the floor. Her hair, matted and wet, clung to her face with the residual spray of the vomit.

She pulled up her arm to clear the hair from her sticky mouth, but she couldn't move. Something was holding her arms behind her back. At the thought, the pain surged back into her body, he arms ached from being tied behind her back, her chest heaved with her strained breathing. Panic soared in her mind, threatening to make her pass out again. Slowly, she forced herself to calm down, counting backwards from one hundred.

When she neared the end of the list, she tried to move again, calmed down enough to focus on the solution to her need and not the problem. Tugging on whatever was keeping her hands behind her back; she found it not to be ropes, but something else, something covering her entire body.

Moaning, she tried to look down at her chest, trying to find out what was wrong with her, but the light was out, still only flickering at random intervals. Patience was a quality she had in spades, so she waited, staring down at her body.

Thankfully, she didn't have to wait long, the light buzzed back on, sputtering back to life for only a second. In that second, the light cast away all the shadows of her doubt. She was in a straightjacket. It wasn't the jacket that caught her eye though; the jacket had a nametag, it said: "Grace."

Grace rolled over on her back, but regretted the choice, searing pain licked up her arms, forcing her to roll back on her side. She tried to maneuver her arms into a position that she could wiggle out of the straightjacket, but she couldn't move her arms at all. Grace cursed whoever tied the jacket, wondering why they hadn't put her arms in front of her body like they were supposed to be.

A sound stopped her voice, someone was nearby; she could hear the footsteps form outside the door to wherever she was. She needed to know who was out there, if they could help her. Begrudgingly, Grace rolled over, the side of her head dipping into her own bodily fluids. A moan escaped her throat, but her need was greater than her revulsion. Just as she suspected, the door to the cell was open showing the hallway beyond, continuing down a ways beyond her cell. The footsteps came closer, Grace could begin to hear what she thought was a metallic clink.

As she was about to give up hope, and pass off the sound as her imagination playing tricks on her, a man walked in front of the doorway. His blond hair fell over his eye, obviously it hadn't been cut for a while and grew shaggy, still untamed and uncombed it grew out and covered a portion of his face. Not unlike his hair, the man had begun to grow stubble on his chin, it like his chine had seen a blade earlier than his hair had. His chiseled chin was still visible under the hair, ending at a cleft that made him seem more distinguished in the fading light. She could see a smile growing on his lips, or what she thought was his lips.

When the man turned, Grace gasped. His features changed completely. The blond hair melted away into muscle and sinew. Sections of the muscle peeled away to reveal the cranial bone underneath, his piercing blue eyes, one within his skull, the other protruding out, bulging in the absence of skin. The contrast between the two visages continued down his face, to his neck and even onto his exposed chest.

Grace felt an overwhelming need to look away, but she couldn't stop staring. Even though she thought she had seen him before, the sight took her breath away. It was like looking into the face of evil itself, and yet seeing the good within as well.

It was a while before Grace found her voice. "E…excuse me?"

The man didn't move or respond; instead, he flipped a coin and caught it. After looking at the result, he remained silent.

"Can you help me? I'm tied up and I don't know where I am." Grace's voice sounded hollow to herself. She watched as the man flipped his coin again. "I really need your help, please."

Annoyance began to well up inside of her, why wasn't he helping? He flipped the coin again, watching as it crested, reached the apex of its arc and fall back into his hand.

"I can't." His voice was raspy, like his voice box was spitting out fire instead of words.

"W…what? Why not?" Grace didn't know how long she could keep her anger dammed up. If the man wasn't going to help her, she wouldn't be able to get out herself, she had to convince him.

The man didn't respond and instead held up the coin, showing her what looked like a charred, double-headed coin. He flipped it again and again and again before responding. "I need to get heads; I can't help you unless it's fair, unless it's unbiased."

"W…what?" The absurdity of it all was almost too much for her to bear. She breathed in the stale musky air, filled with the stench of her vomit, trying to calm her nerves. It was a moment before she could find her voice again. "Why can't you just come over here and untie me, what's unfair about that?"

"You don't understand; the only thing in life that's fair is luck. If luck dictates that I stand here, that's what's fair. If I were to help you and in doing that, somehow you got killed, you wouldn't think it's so fair then, would you? On the other hand, what if by helping you, something was to happen to me, what if this door here," He pointed to the opening to her cell. "Were to close when I walked in, then we'd both be trapped. That's not so fair to me now is it?

"As much as I'd like to help you, the only way I can go in there is if luck was on your side, which I'm afraid to say," He flipped the coin and caught it with the same hand. Slamming the coin down on the backside of his other hand, he stared at her. With he picked his hand back up and looked down at the coin a smile spread across his sickening lips. "Is on your side."

Without another word, the man walked into the cell and hoisted Grace onto the bed nearby. Fear crept back into her psyche like an old friend coming to visit. The man's unannounced change of heart was scary at first, and then serene as he unbound her hands.

Grace pulled her hands in front of her body, rolling her shoulders to try to alleviate the ache, still roaring from the long period of being behind her back. Using the back of the long sleeve, Grace wiped her face as clean as she could of the vomit and snot. Looking up at the man, she thought she saw what looked like a hint of sorrow in his eyes, as if the human side of him was taking over the demon within his heart. He helped her to her feet and steadied her when she wobbled.

"Who…who are you?" Grace asked, pulling away from the stranger.

"You don't remember me?" He asked, his voice sounding much like gravel. Grace shook her head, still unsure of the identity of the man. He shrugged and walked off a bit towards the door. Grace followed him out into the hallway, still transfixed by the gore along his face. "It's all the same, makes no difference. You can call me Two Face if you want."

Grace thought it an odd name, but didn't press. "My name's Grace."

She held her hand out to shake, but when he didn't return the sentiment, she let her hand flop down along her side. Along the hallway, lights dimmed and relit themselves in a cadence of macabre diligence. One would go out and another would replace it, just to be snuffed out and replaced by another. The whole scene was foreboding to say the least.

Grace turned towards the other hallway, leading away from the junction in which they stood, staring down that corridor, seeing much the same. She sighed, not knowing where she was, was one of her biggest pet peeves. Her "neurotic tick", she used to call it. Regardless of the condition she was in, if she knew where she was, Grace would feel some semblance of security. That security was nonexistent at the moment, and was dwindling even farther with each passing second. Her newfound partner wasn't exactly forthcoming with information, nor with any shape of conversation to help calm her nerves.

Finding herself in a predicament in which she had no control was irking her to no end. She needed something she could do, something to take her mind off the hopelessness before her.

The jacket.

Grace reached behind her and started to pull at the strings keeping her jacket in place. It was tough, but she could just barely feel the knot keeping it on. The man, who called himself Two Face, reached out and held her arm.

"I wouldn't do that," He said, trying to get her to stop pulling at the strings. When she looked at him quizzically, he continued. "They don't put anything on under those; you might want to keep it on."

Grace felt her face heat and looked away, not entirely sure why she was embarrassed. She tried to thank him, but settled for nodding. Clearing her throat, she found something to say.

"I know you said I can call you 'Two Face', but I'm not going to call you that. Do you have a real name, or maybe another name I could call you?" Grace dry washed her hands, hoping he would interrupt the inane silence permeating the air between them.

The man sighed, and looked at her. Once again, instead of answering, he flipped his coin. Upon seeing the result, he sighed again. "Harvey, you can call me Harvey."

Grace nodded, "Okay Harvey, I have a question…eh actually I'll just try to find some water myself." Grace eyed the coin he was twirling in his hand; she didn't want to have to deal with whatever his fixation on the coin was. Harvey didn't answer, but flipped the coin anyway, getting the answer he wanted, he grabbed Grace under the arm and pulled her down the left corridor.

After what seemed like an eternity, Harvey pushed her to the side a bit and turned her towards what looked like a water fountain, but Grace couldn't be certain in the darkness. Feeling around, her hand came in contact with the surprisingly cold metallic outer shell of the fountain. A few more minute's searching revealed the button she needed to press.

Warm, disgusting water gurgled out of the spigot, but with Grace's mouth feeling as dry as a desert, she relished in the comfort it brought. Lapping the water up, Grace drunk as much as she could as fast as she could, spurred on by the longing she felt within her body for the life sustaining liquid. However, with anything, she took too much too fast. Her stomach roiled again, churning the liquid together in the absence of anything else. Her body rejected the water.

As quick as she could, Grace moved away from the fountain and spewed the water back onto the floor, rivulets of murky water, dripped from the sides of her mouth, falling to her chin and dripping to the ground in a steady stream. Grace continued to squeeze the water from within her body until she fell into a fit of dry heaves, with nothing left to vomit out, she was stuck with the painful contractions in her abdomen.

A couple of minutes later, Grace slowly stood back up, wiping her mouth clean of the fetid liquid with the back of her hand. Harvey stood watching her, not moving a muscle to help in anyway. Grace collected all of the foul tasting saliva in her mouth and spit it out before returning to the fountain once more, drinking slowly this time. The water tasted better for some reason, colder and more refreshing. However much she wanted to drink down the water, she sipped instead, opting to drink only a little by little to avoid vomiting again.

When she had her fill, she cupped her hand and filled it with as much water as she could hold and doused her hair with the water. One handful at a time, she wet her hair, trying as best she could to get the remains of her stomach contents from clumping together and drying. The process was long and arduous, but a necessary one. Harvey leaned back against the wall, watching down either side of the hallway in the darkness.

With her task complete, Grace turned to Harvey, her unwilling partner in her escape. How she had gotten here and how she was supposed to know this Harvey was well beyond her, but if she was to remain alive, she would have to use his help to get out. She decided to chance her luck again.

"Where exactly are we?"

Harvey didn't wait, nor did he flip his coin. "Arkham."

"Arkham?" Grace had heard the name before, but for some reason she couldn't place where.

"Arkham Asylum; where the crazies roam free." Harvey waved a hand around, indicating the asylum in mock appreciation. Grace frowned, was he a resident of the asylum, and if so was she safe with him? He had helped her get out of the jacket, but how stable was he. How stable was she? Was she insane? She had to be here for a reason. Pushing the thoughts aside, she found another question.

"So, you're not going to consult your coin?" Grace pointed to the coin in his hand.

"Already did," Harvey held up the coin. "You don't seem to put much faith in luck; do you think you're capable of making all of your own decisions? What if you cause someone else pain, misery, misfortune? The only person you can blame then…is yourself."

"So, that coin of yours always tells you the right choice?"

"I never said the right choice can be dictated by luck, only the fair ones. Luck can dictate if you live or die; luck can prove how worthy someone really is; luck can show your innocence or guilt." Harvey's voice became enflamed, passionate, and malevolent. "Luck doesn't look at how much money you have, how much need you have. Luck brings life down to which person, which decision, which life is exempt from human corruption. For all of those reasons and more, I allow this coin to be my compass in life, only it has never failed me, and it never—never will." His voice grew into a growl for the last two words.

Grace had backed up a few feet throughout his small speech and was now pressed against the opposite wall to Harvey, regretting ever asking about his habits. Harvey groaned and turned away, flipping his coin repeatedly to calm himself down again. Grace looked down the hallway on either side, debating on whether or not she should run, he was obviously insane and she had pressed on the wrong subject. Somewhere deep in her mind, she wondered if he was dangerous, if he could kill her. It wouldn't be hard, she was gaining her senses back rapidly, but she wouldn't put up much of a fight in her present condition. Grace ran over minute calculations in her mind, how far could she run for how long, how fast, when will her legs give out? A myriad of thoughts ran through her mind as Harvey flipped his coin and paced, running a hand through what was left over of his blond mane.

Harvey caught the coin one last time and turned towards her, his face etched in a permanent smile on one side made her catch her breath with the renewed sense malevolence she had seen in it when she first saw it, evident once again since his outburst. The other side of his face curled up into a make shift smile, conveying as sincere an apology as Harvey could muster. "I'm sorry, sometimes I get worked up, and it gets the better of me."

Grace was starting to see that the stark contrast wasn't limited to his facial features. As much as she hated to admit it, this man was in fact dangerous, depending on which side was present. He could have a calm, endearing, kind countenance at one moment, and kill her the next. Subconsciously, she built an emotional wall, locking in whatever she needed to keep to herself, if she remembered anything, anything at all she would lock it away, lest she give the man an upper hand.

"I understand I'm sorry I brought it up." Her voice was shaky and unsure, but she forced herself to gather some resolve. She cast a glance back down the desolate hallways, looking back and forth at both choices. In spite of herself, she thought about which choice would be the "fair and just" choice. Stifling a facetious chuckle, Grace looked back to Harvey. "Do you have any idea how to get out of here?"

Harvey stared at her for a second before pointing down the corridor in the direction they had been walking. The hallway was dark, ominous and all together foreboding, but Grace started to walk. Her footsteps echoed in the silence, broken only by the sputtering of the light bulbs. Harvey followed close behind as a silent shadow. He was remaining silent, letting her direct herself, correcting her path minimally to remain out of the picture as much as possible.

Grace couldn't understand why he was still with her, he had no connection to her, he seemed to know the grounds well enough to escape, but instead of showing her the way out, he merely directed her at random times. She couldn't fathom what was keeping him with her, but was glad for the company regardless. If she were alone in this place, she'd go insane.

Harvey stopped suddenly, listening to the air around them. He had heard something she hadn't. Try as she might, Grace couldn't hear anything. Harvey cast a furtive glance back down the way they had come from. What was left of his face was etched with a mixture of pure hatred and comfort. Without pausing, he grabbed Grace's arm painfully just above the elbow and led her down a darkened corridor to the right.

Confusion overtook Grace's mind, she wanted to ask any number of the questions flowing into her consciousness, but she couldn't find her voice. Whatever had Harvey so worked up was scaring her; anything that could frighten a man like this must be the devil incarnate. Harvey pushed her into a room off to the left and shut it behind them.

The room wasn't a cell, but was built like one. The walls were padded and colored in the same off-white color as the cell she had woken up in earlier. Minute differences abounded though, there were small one-person tables positioned around the room, a television was plastered to the wall by a metal swivel arm, and a window was built into the far corner of the room with an adjoining room beyond. Grace recognized the room, but she couldn't understand why. It looked like a recreation room where visitors might come. Maybe she would come here often; maybe her family would visit her while she was in the asylum. Too many what-ifs plagued her, she couldn't answer any of them, she couldn't even hope to come up with a viable excuse as to why she was here to satiate her need to know.

Harvey propped the door closed, leaving an infinitesimal gap between the doorframe and the door. He stared out the window, watching the darkness, trying to discern something only he could see. Grace watched him for a minute and then turned back to the room, confident that he would warn her if anything was wrong. She passed by the first desk, staring at it for a moment before looking up at the television. The television was pushed out, facing the adjoining wall. With the flat of her hand, she started to turn it, but gasped, her breath caught in her throat thinking about whatever Harvey was looking for.

The screen on the television was painted with lipstick, a ghost of a face painted onto the black screen with circular eyes and a large bananaesque smile. Grace wanted to look away from the grotesque image, but couldn't look at anything else. In its own way, the image was truly frightening, and yet captivating at the same time. Something seemed familiar about the picture. She had seen it somewhere, somewhere not too long ago. Suddenly, Grace remembered where she had seen the image.

A poster, a poster of a man, exalted within the city. How she knew that though, was beyond her, she couldn't see the man's face clearly in her mind, but she knew it to be true. Grace passed a hand through her hair, trying to make the ephemeral memory clearer in her mind. As much as she tried, nothing worked; nothing was visible beyond the painted smile-y face.

Harvey turned to look at Grace but noticed the television instead. Anger suddenly boiled underneath the surface of his visage. Hatred and pain stung at his eyes drawing a watery film over the eye still within his face. In a few quick strides, Harvey was at the table, grabbing the chair. With strength Grace didn't realize he had, Harvey hurled the chair at the television set. Sparks and glass rained down from the damaged electronics. The room blared into life, light cast grueling shadows, chasing away the silence and private nature of the room.

Grace shielded her eyes with the backs of her forearms, turning away from the debris as it flew from the broken set. Stumbling back a few steps, Grace ducked out of Harvey's path as he berated the broken television with the chair once more, pouncing on it like a lion on its prey.

"You know nothing of me!" Harvey screamed, falling to his knees and grabbing his head in his bleeding hands. Grace relaxed slightly, trying to decide what to do. Slowly, gingerly, she walked over to Harvey, putting her hand out to touch his unburned shoulder. He wheeled around suddenly. "Get away from me!"

The fire returned in his voice, the heat searing Grace's resolve. She backed away, waiting to see if Harvey would overtake Two Face again. He was fighting an internal battle, one she couldn't be a part of for her own safety. Grace positioned herself in the far corner, away from Harvey, but within running distance of the door, if her need to flee exceeded her self-assurance of safety.

Harvey stayed, slumped down on the floor, holding his head in his hands, his breath ragged and strained. It seemed like an agonizing eternity that he was knelt down on the floor before he suddenly inhaled sharply and jerked his head up. His eyes darted around the room, searching for something Grace didn't see, his head pivoted like an owl, watching in the darkness for only something he could see. Madly, he drove his hand into his pocket, ferreting out his coin. Harvey looked like a drug addict; rubbing is coin, flipping it once, catching it, and observing the coin for the answer. He sighed in relief at whatever response he had gotten and stood up, brushing his baggy orange pants free of the stray shards of the screen. Harvey crossed the room to the door with a purpose. He stopped short, before opening the door; he seemed to remember Grace was in the room with him.

"Are you coming?" His voice was soft again, almost human. Grace's mind reeled again, she wasn't sure if she could live longer with or without him. Pragmatism overtook her thoughts again, telling her that regardless of his outbursts, he hasn't done anything to harm her, even when he did get out-of-hand, he still warned her to stay away. With a sigh, she stood up and followed him out the door, neither inmate speaking about his latest excursion from sanity.

Harvey picked clean his almost white sleeveless shirt as he led her down another narrow corridor. He was walking with more certainty, as if whatever he hid from was long gone from anywhere near them. His demeanor subconsciously affected hers, she felt calmer, more secure. Something about him was captivating, charismatic, almost seductive at times and yet when he would change, he was a fear-inducing, tyrant who could kill her in the span of a breath.

The thought of Two Face surfacing again made Grace shudder involuntarily. Grace was lost in thought when Harvey's hand shot out suddenly, barring her way forward. Down the hallway, movement fluttered into life, bodies moved undulating in the darkness, moving and dodging between overturned beds and desks. Harvey watched them intently, trying to discover what they were doing. To Harvey's dismay, a roaring laugh echoed up the hallway, echoing through and bouncing off the walls.

Just as quickly as they had appeared, the shadows disappeared. Harvey's brow drew down, but he didn't move otherwise. He was waiting for something that hadn't come yet, timing something in his mind, keeping an obsessive count. His lips moved as he counted, but when he reached the number he was expecting, nothing happened. His scowl turned upside down in confusion. Carefully, he stepped forward, hunched down as if the very air itself was about to attack him.

He moved with a measured pace, placing one foot in front of the other slowly. The hallway died away, growing into new areas, corridors branching off in other directions came and went as they moved further down, approaching where the shadows were a little while ago.

It took a few minutes for them to move down the long corridor, but the effort was both enlightening and horrifying. When they got within a few feet of where the shadows were, they heard a metallic click. Harvey stood, terrified and grabbed Grace's arm. With a speed that she didn't know she had, they both ran for their lives. The walls flew by, blurring into a kaleidoscope of muted colors and stains. She hit her leg on a bed, sending sparks of hot pain up through her shin and into her back, stumbling for a second before being pulled up straight by Harvey.

Behind them, a melody of concussions and explosions erupted, sending the two fleeing inmates flying down the hallway, smashing into the trash and debris that they had avoided thus far. Harvey tried in vain to get a hold of Grace, but failed as she tumbled farther and farther away. Her shoulder was the first thing to hit the floor; the shock of the stinging pain forced the breath from her lungs. The world spun in circles, twisting and eluding her mind as objects turned into shapes and soon into vaporous blobs. The force of the first explosion pushed her, but the second explosion was what made her fly down the hall, sliding against the rough, scraping floor. Grace brought up her arms and protected her head as best she could while her body was bashed and battered by over turned tables and beds.

She smacked against a slightly elevated bed, skipping like a rock on water, the building hurtled around her as she was flung into the air. When she landed, the impact made the air she was desperately trying to get, fill her lungs, flooding back with a painful vengeance. Little by little, grace slowed with each roll until she came to a stop farther back than they had started.

Lying on the floor, she stared at the ceiling, trying to get her world to stop spinning, trying to get the pain to subside. Her throat was sticky and dry, filled with the ash and dust of the explosion. Her breaths came to her in short raspy gulps, déjà vu from when she had woken up in the cell flashed before her eyes; the ceiling developed a little light undulating above her, the hard floor felt like the padded cell once again.

Painfully, she tried to lift her arm, fearing it was broken. Thankfully, it responded even if it was only slightly. She probed her forehead, looking at her crimson fingers as rivulets of blood dripped down her index and middle finger, onto her palm and down her wrist before disappearing into the sleeve of the straightjacket. Somewhere distantly, she heard a moan, but in the darkness she couldn't tell where it came from.

Using her elbow, she propped herself up as high as her body would let her. Craning her neck, Grace could see the outline of Harvey, groggily rising to his feet among a pile of desks. He stood wearily to his feet, staggering for a second before using the wall to help him stay straight. His head swiveled around, looking for her, she wanted to call to him, but her voice wouldn't work.

"Grace!?" His voice was little better than her's felt. Harvey looked around once more, scanning the area he spotted her, trying to stand.

Grace's legs wouldn't work at first, but after some mental motivation, they seemed to responding better. She was crouched down, one leg bent under her buttocks, the bent at the knee when he reached her.

"Are you hurt?" He coughed out some smoke and debris as he took hold of her arm once more and helped her to her feet. By the time she stood up, the room stopped spinning, allowing her to gather her senses again. She looked around for the inmates who had planted the bomb, but couldn't see anything beyond a few feet in front of her.

Harvey wiped some blood dripping from the burnt, exposed side of his mouth, noting the blood dripping from her forehead. Grace saw where his eyes went and she remembered the blood. With the back of her sleeve, she gently wiped away the blood, inhaling sharply with how much it really hurt.

Harvey turned around when he was satisfied that she was all right and stared down the corridor, hoping to make something out through the ephemeral smoke and haze. Then they heard it, the sickening laughter, permeating the stillness of the air. Three voices blending into one another, like a pack of banshees screaming out a symphony of shrills. They were blobs against the smoke, dancing around one another in a disturbingly merry jig. Their shadows stopped dancing suddenly; they faced the smoke, staring through like Harvey and Grace. Another bout of laughter followed some hysteric babbling. Quickly, the shadows fled, flapping the sleeves of their straightjackets like a flock of birds and hopping as they ran.

Grace couldn't comprehend what had just happened, for some reason they attacked Harvey and Grace, but upon failing to kill them, they merely laughed and ran away, not at all bothered by their incompetence.

Grace took a tentative step forward, toward Harvey. She was going to ask him what was happening, but he was already walking through the smoke. Grace had to half-jog to catch up to him when she realized he wasn't there anymore. Grace's eyes watered as she made her way through the acrid smoke and into the clear section of hallway beyond.

Harvey was already staring down the next corner, where the three laughing menaces had run. He was staring down the hall, flipping his coin idly as he thought. His demeanor was dangerous, his sanity teetering on the brink of another emergence of Two Face.

"What's wrong?" Grace asked, hoping to break him away from his thoughts. Harvey didn't answer at first, and instead retreated to the comfort of his coin, flipping it in response. Staring down at the answer, he silently sighed.

"Nothing," Was all he said before closing his fist, but not before Grace caught sight of the charred side of the coin. Harvey pushed the coin back into his pocket and started to move, but before he could take a step, the lights suddenly turned on. Grace shielded her eyes from the stinging pain of the light hitting her unacclimated pupils.

She stifled a groan when she saw her surroundings. Down the corridor they were about to head down, four men stood, three in straightjackets, and one in a security uniform. The men who had set up the explosive seemed to have finally been caught; the security guard looked just as confused as Grace felt. The odd thing about him though, was that he was smiling, a wide grin that actually look painful. As if to confirm some suspicion deep down in her mind, the three men also were smiling, huge grins, but upon looking closer, they were all bleeding, bleeding from their mouths. Their teeth were stained red from the blood leaking at the corners of their mouths; gashed in the flesh lined the area where the bottom and top lips met.

They laughed again, ignoring the painful wounds. All at once, they began to move, slowly, closer. The three men in straightjackets moved forward faster than the security guard did, he stayed back moving his hand faster than his legs. It wasn't until he pulled his hand up that she saw he held his pistol in his hand, trained on the two panicked inmates.

It was Grace's turn to save Harvey, who seemed frozen in either fear or anger; Grace didn't have time to discern. She reached under his arm and pulled him off to the left, just in time to miss getting hit by the first shot. As they ducked behind the wall, they could hear the suddenly faster footsteps of the three straightjacket-clad men. Their cries of laughter sounded more like a battle cry to Grace as she fled down the corridor, dodging between tables with Harvey in tow. She took the first turn she found, hoping the three men would run straight, ignoring the narrow hallway.

Not wanting to stick around to find out, she slowed her pace, hoping to keep their footsteps as silent as possible. Grace didn't look behind her, winding a way through the asylum corridors subconsciously going towards safety. It was almost as if a map was drawn in her mind without actually knowing where she was going, or how she knew where the dead-ends were. Grace moved past a set of empty cells, watching in each room for anyone hiding within the shadows, but never finding anyone.

By the time they cleared the cells, Harvey was himself again, rubbing his head and looking around where they were going. Grace walked out into an expansive, derelict, waiting room. Off to her right, a guard station was positioned just next to the locked gate, leading to the entrance of the asylum.

Immediately, Grace ran into the station, letting Harvey's hand drop to his side. Pulling on the door, she groaned, annoyed and exasperated. Try as she might, the door was locked and stolid in its unrelenting position of security. Frustrated, Grace kicked the door as hard as she dared. She returned to Harvey, running her hand through the fall of her short brown hair. Harvey's hand was on his hip, staring at her judgmentally.

"Did you really think it'd be that easy? He's taken the building; he leaves nothing to chance -nothing." Harvey growled through gritted teeth. When she didn't answer him, he shrugged his shoulders, throwing his arms up and letting them hit his sides.

Grace walked up to the gate and leaned against the grated metal, weaving her fingers between the gaps. The exit of this nightmare was so close, and yet unattainable. The intangibility of her survival only hit her now.

She let out an audible sigh, banging her head against the door in defeat. Harvey plopped down on a bench next to the fence, staring at the door to the outside world. Grace wasn't sure what was going through his head at that moment, but she figured he was longing to see the world once again as well.

The sound of applause echoed in the room behind her, making her jump. Grace's skin crawled as she turned around to see where the applause was coming from. A freakish man, his face painted with white, fading, make-up matched with contrasting red lipstick and black eye shadow. Lumpy, scarred flesh elongated his lips into a wicked, permanent, grin. His clothes were odd at best, a long purple coat hung loosely on his shoulder, covering most of a green vest, which was over a button down shirt adorned with checkers.

His hands flew through the air, bent at his rib cage, swinging in a full arc from opposite sides of his body vigorously, coming around again to slam together and form a booming clap. Repeatedly, he clapped, getting more forceful with each clap. Hunching over, the demonic man slowly made his way up a hallway into the enormous entrance hall.

Grace's eyes were transfixed on the man's face, his eyes betraying not only his sadistic nature, but also the bestial person behind the make-up. Licking his lips, clasped his hands together finally in front of his body, stopping suddenly when he was mere yards away. It was then that Grace noticed the men behind him dragging a table and a chair; laughing periodically as they did.

Before speaking, the man flipped his hair back from his eyes with his head and turned to look at the men carrying the heavy table. He waved his hand in a circle, urging the men to hurry. His smile widened in faux embarrassment at the slow pace the men were setting.

"You just can't get good help these days." He shrugged quickly, his movements jerky and sporadic. When his hands hit his sides, the men slid the table and chair into place. "Harrrrvey. It seems we have a little problem." The man held up his hand and closed all but his index finger and thumb, pushing them close together, as he spoke the last few words.

With a flick of his hand, he backed the men away as if he had hit them with an invisible wall of sorts. Instead of sitting down in the chair, the man moved around the table, dragging his hand along the edge. The man suddenly seemed to notice Grace.

"Oh, hello there." He waved at Grace, looking at her reaction. "You don't remember me do you? Pity, well I'm…wait, what did you people call me, that's right; a monster." He leaned forward, making his hands into claws.

When a reaction wasn't forthcoming, he waved her off, looking back at Harvey. "They kept our things Harv," He tugged on his jacket, indicating his clothes. The man's head cocked to the side, a look of confusion setting on his face. "What's wrong?"

Grace looked at Harvey, his eyes flashed with a look of murder. Harvey's hand was clenched so tightly around his coin that streaks of blood fell from his palm. His lips quivered, trying to move, to form words that couldn't come close to describing what he was actually feeling. Nothing would flow from his mouth; no words could be sharp enough to take the man's head off where he stood.

With Harvey refusing to talk, the self-proclaimed monster continued. He hopped onto the table, sitting down on the edge, swinging his legs back and forth, as he spoke. "Now I know you're wondering -to yourself- 'how ever could the Joker take control of the mad house?' Well," He leaned in a little, lowering his voice as if someone might overhear his intricate plan. "It wasn't easy. You could say one would have to be crazy to ever try that."

Suddenly, he sputtered to a roaring laugh at his own horrible joke. Grace's heart started to race as all of his entourage began to laugh manically when the 'Joker' did, growing into a sonorous, blasting, cacophony of hysteria. She tried to back up, but hit the gateway, causing a slight banging noise to permeate the laughter. The Joker looked up, staring at the two faces, one filled with hatred and anger, the other pure unadulterated fear. "Tough crowd," He turned around to his entourage for consonance. With a sudden movement, he hopped back down from the table. Dusting himself off, he reached into his coat pocket. Stopping and looking around the room. "Eh, where'd I put that…"

His voice trailed off as he pulled his hand out of his coat and reached into his pants pocket. "Ah, here it is." The Joker revealed an unsharpened pencil. He slammed it down on the table, piercing the plastic table and holding the pencil upright, perpendicular to the table. "Want to see a magic trick?"

The Joker motioned for one of his men to come forth. Hesitantly, the man stepped forward, his face grinning but his eyes held the fear of a man staring into the face of his own demise. The Joker grabbed his hair, holding his head in his hand. Instead of moving, the Joker stared at the pencil for a second. A frown spread over his face. "Oh, wait…you've seen that one."

A heartbeat later, the Joker had a pistol in his hand. Without looking up, the Joker squeezed the trigger; a single shot rang out in the room. Grace gasped as the man's lifeless body collapsed onto the table and slid off, the pencil disappearing as his corpse slumped to the ground. The Joker jumped to the side as the body fell to the ground, avoiding any contact. He stared down at the blood-stained table and tsked. "What a mess. Anywho," The Joker looked up once more a smile across his face again. "I've got another one for you then."

The Joker reached into his coat again, pulling out a deck of cards. He approached Grace and Harvey faster than she imagined he could. In the span of a few seconds, he closed the distance between them, holding out the deck of cards, fanned out, in front of Grace, turning to Harvey when she didn't automatically take a card. "Come on 'Your Honor'."

"Don't you call me that." Two Face growled. He suddenly lashed out at the Joker, but missed as the Joker walked over to Grace before he could be hit.

"Come on, just pick a card." The Joker licked his lips and stared at her, waiting for her to comply. His men had taken hold of Harvey, allowing the Joker to stare at Grace uninhibited by Harvey's actions. A fit of growls and profanity followed, garnering only a toothy grin from the Joker. After a few seconds of uncomfortable stillness, the Joker rolled his eyes. "You people are hopeless."

He pulled a card for her, showing it to her, twirling it between his fingers so only she could see the value. Almost as quickly as he pulled it out, he replaced it into the deck. With one hand, he held the deck, while with the other he wiggled his fingers over the cards.

"Watch closely." The Joker said, but he didn't understand how closely Grace had been watching, her eyes glued to the deck, little else was in sight as her vision tunneled onto the deck. Suddenly, the Joker threw the deck at the wall, the cards scattering as they hit the wall with such velocity that one card had stuck to the wall, face down. Grace stood watching, the card hovering on the wall for a second before falling down and revealing another face up card –her card.

She would have been amazed had she not known the man was just as dangerous as Harvey was. Looking back at the Joker, something was different. A clear mask, his breath creating misty fog on the inside of the mask, covered his colorful face partially.

Quickly, he waved his hands into the air. "Ta-da!" His tinny voice came out from behind the mask just in time for her to realize what was really going on. In his hand was a button, tied around the back of his hand and resting in his palm. Grace looked over to Harvey, but he was already sedated, the men holding him wearing matching masks.

Panic flooded her body, she wanted to run, but she couldn't, her legs were stuck to the ground, ossified on the floor. An acrid, green, gas diffused into the air under her feet from a ventilation shaft built into the wall. The caustic smoke burned her lungs; she couldn't draw in a pure breath of air, untouched by the pollutant he was pumping into her body. The world swirled around her, her feet felt like gel as she swayed unsteadily. Hands grabbed at her back, holding her upright as her legs gave way, unable to hold her weight anymore.

Before the world went black, she saw the Joker's face smiling at her.

Somewhere deep in her mind, deep within herself, a floodgate opened, all of the dammed up memories, all of the dammed up emotions, truths flooded out within her. Slowly at first, things began to trickle back, but as time went on it became a torrent, a flash flood, of events that had unfolded.

Laughter came and went intermittently as the squeaky wheel protested at the effort it made as it rolled down the hallway. From within the darkened cells, the nurse could see the outlines of figures huddled in different corners of their cells, trying to evade the wandering gaze of the nurses. Pills, filled into individual paper cups, marked with the inmate's names were lined into rows and columns denoting different cellblocks and cells.

The nurse picked up the first cup and unlocked the door with a small key on a much larger key ring with keys of varying sizes and shapes. When she put her hand on the door, it creaked open, shedding light into the dark, drab cell. She could smell the mold that was forming from the moisture that accumulated in the ceiling, underneath the padding when it rained. Wrinkling her nose, she walked up to the unmoving patient and put her hand under the man's arm to help him to his feet. When he was standing, she produced a cup of water and his medication, taking one and then the other, the man swallowed his pills, his gullet bouncing with each swallow.

For the better part of an hour, she continued her rounds, administering pills to some patients, force-feeding the others. One after the other, the pill containers vanished, the rows dwindling until she passed through every cellblock, until she came to the one she hated the most: the cellblock for special patients.

In all honesty, she didn't hate all of the residents there; some of them were pleasant enough. Mainly the residents here were the high-level patients, mobsters who really didn't deserve to be in the asylum, but were put out on insanity cases. Their numbers had been really dwindling recently, but some of the mobsters still beat the system somehow.

Then there were the ones who really needed to be in here, the ones who couldn't be put anywhere else in life, couldn't function in a prison. Within their numbers, there were a few that stood out, the craziest of the crazy. The guards aptly named them the "Kings of K" after the cellblock in which they resided. Dealing with these patients wasn't a one person job, when dealing with these people, anyone could come down to their level. It was almost as if they had some sort of supernatural power to scramble anyone's mind near them, especially the one called "The Joker".

She shuddered just thinking about going down to them. Her cart squeaked, rolling to a stop before the metal gate. The guard on the other side nodded to her. She noted that his nametag read, Barry.

"You've got everything you need miss?" He asked, pressing the button to unlock the gate. A loud buzzing noise screamed back in response as the gate clicked open and swung slowly open for the nurse to enter. She smiled in thanks to the guard.

"Yes, thank you I've got everything in order. Are…you coming with me?" She hoped her voice didn't betray too much of her real hopes. Barry smiled back and nodded.

"Of course, we can't let anyone go in there alone." His words rung truer than he knew. He was, in fact, the fourth guard in the past two months to hold his position. It wasn't for lack of interest on anyone's parts, even though that wasn't in and of itself a large determinant in his predecessors' leaving, it was more so the fact that, each guard would slowly lose their sanity and become ineffectual in their duties. So, in order to combat this dilemma, the managerial staff, set up rotations that the guards would take. One week at a time, but even those didn't work. Out of desperation, they began a wild hiring funnel in which they would take in new guards every week or so and reassign them or let them quit on their own, when they became unfit to work.

The nurse let out a sigh, if even the guards, who had no dealing with the inmates of cellblock K, would lose control of their mental stability, what hope did she have? She was the new nurse, the one everyone shirked the most unwanted duties onto, the one they made give medication to cellblock K. With a groan that matched that of the cart, she pressed on further into the hallway of cells.

Barry was true to his word, as she went through, giving the unruly patients their medicine, he didn't let her stray more than a few feet from him at all times. He set a measured pace, concentrating on giving her space to work, but still remaining close enough to break any unwarranted contact with the patients. Only a few times did he have to step in, pulling a clinging patient off of her, or stepping in to take a wayward punch meant for her, but she normally had a good handle on things.

This set up continued throughout the cellblock, until she came to the last few cells. Barry, being warned about the last three men suddenly slowed his pace. His usual happy demeanor changed to wary fear. She didn't know what preconceived notions he had about the "Kings", but she could tell he wasn't going to go into their cells without some persuasion.

"Look, it'll just be a few seconds and then we'll be out, okay?" She turned to look at him as she pushed her cart along. His fears seemed to have abated slightly, but caution was still prevalent in his stance. She stopped in front of the first cell, the one belonging to the once famous, now infamous Harvey Dent. He of course, was only infamous within these walls, because the police commissioner set up strict guidelines and made them all sign waivers. She, however, saw deeper than the façade of Two Face. When she was alone with him, he'd let down some of the fortifications he built around himself.

Even with all of the myriad rings on the giant key ring, she knew these three keys without having to look at the ring. Holding firmly onto the first key, she let the others fall away, slinking around to the other side of the ring. The door unlocked with a hollow thunk, screeching open as she pulled the thick door away from the frame. Inside the cell, the shell of a man was huddled into the corner, his knees pulled up to his chest, his arms wrapped firmly around them.

"Harvey, it's time for your meds." The nurse wiggled his paper cup, the medication causing low thuds to chime with each flick of her wrist. A series of guttural grunts came from within the darkness. Frowning, the nurse walked into the darkness, followed by a reluctant Barry. She held the pills out to Harvey, shaking them once more.

With great vivacity, he smacked the pills from her hand, the cup crashing to the ground, scattering the pills into the recess of the far corner. Barry rushed over instantaneously, coming to her rescue unnecessarily. Harvey didn't move, he wasn't a threat to her, not right now at least. The nurse held her hand out to hold Barry back.

"Now, why would you do that?" She scolded him as if he were a child. "Can't you see I'm just trying to help? Are you going to refuse any help that comes your way? I understand what happened to you, I understand-"

"Do you? Do you really? You see, I don't think you know the first damned thing about what happened." Harvey spit out, his voice raspy and unaccustomed to being used. "None of you know, none of you can possibly understand what happened to me. It should have been me."

Harvey turned farther into the corner, obscuring her from his view. Picking up each pill, the nurse sighed, every night it was something like this, a different variation, but the same thing nonetheless. After placing each pill into the cup, she crouched down next to him.

"Look, Harvey, it wasn't your fault, it couldn't have been your fault." The nurse sighed, holding the cup out to him again. "Just take the pills; you'll feel better."

Harvey turned, stared at the cup, and looked back at the wall. Barry made to force him to take the pills, but froze when the nurse shot him a look that made him stay where he was. "Harvey, please you can't keep doing this, you won't live long like this."

"All the more reason to do it, I can't live without her."

She stared at him for a second, her patience waning steadily. "Just take the pills Harvey, I don't want to have to force you."

Harvey's gaze didn't falter from the wall, but seeing Barry move again, he looked back at her and took the cup. He didn't take the water that she offered him, instead swallowed the pills using his own quickly drying saliva. Opening his mouth, he allowed her to check to make sure the pills went down before curling back up into the corner of the room.

Shaking her head, the nurse left the room, allowing Barry to be the last out, as was protocol. She threw away the empty cup in the little trash bag hanging on the side of her cart and continued down the hall to the next room. The door clanged shut behind her, the lock clicking into place.

She picked up the pill cup with his cell number written on it, and opened the door with the next key on the key ring. Darkness retreated into the far reaches of the cell. Inside, the man, tied up in a straightjacket, stared at her with mixture of fear and unabated hatred. Doctor Crane was one of the men who succumbed to the seductive entreaties of the asylum. When his practice of causing the patients to have massive hallucinations by over stimulating their fears was uncovered, he went slightly insane. After a while, that insanity grew and overtime, he became sporadically violent, trying to incite riots of the patients. His motives for trying to force the asylum into anarchy were still unclear, but it was a common consensus among the other doctors that he just felt compelled by some unseen entity to commit the abhorrent acts.

Doctor Crane was sitting on his bunk, his demeanor changing from fear and hatred to nonchalance and calm. A smile spread across his lips, breaking out into a toothy grin as she drew closer with the pills. The nurse's attitude was anything but deferential as she looked upon the wasted shell of a once brilliant man. She wanted to get out of the cell as quickly as possible.

"What's the matter? You seem…jittery." His voice was smooth and elegant, with a hint of malevolence. "Don't worry, I can't touch you, unless of course you'd like to untie me."

She ignored his attempt at enticement and held the paper cup up to his mouth. Crane's face twisted into gleeful happiness. "Medication already? I thought I just had some of that not too long ago."

Crane smiled, but opened his mouth, allowing her to tip the cup into his mouth. As soon as the cup was in reach of his teeth, he suddenly snapped his mouth closed, crumpling the cup without letting the pills fall out. He spit the cup out on the floor, with a dull thud the cup fell and bounced into a corner. She sighed, picking the cup up and putting the pills back into the cup.

With a nod to Barry, Crane was held down on the bunk. She grabbed his head and tilted it back roughly, forcing his mouth open. Dumping the pills into his mouth, she poured the water in after, massaging his throat until he swallowed everything.

"Mmm…I do like when you are rough." He started to laugh, low at first rising slightly and tapering off until it died out as Barry shut the door behind him.

"Are you all right?" He asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"I just want to get these last two done and get back to the nurse's station. I'm fed up with all of this, I feel bad for them, I really do. I wish I could do more than just give them some drugs to keep them from hurting themselves or anyone else." She ignored his attempts to cheer her up as she pushed down the hallway until she came to the door she was trying hard to forget about. Gulping down her reserves, she took two cups from the cart, both assigned to this room, and unlocked the door.

Barry walked into the room first, a metal club in his hand. The nurse inched into the room gingerly, watching the shadow in the far side of the room. Even though his arms were shackled to the wall, she couldn't help but feel her heart start to beat faster. The permanent smile that started at the ends of his lips spread even farther when she entered the room.

"Now, who do we have here? Are you new my dear?" The Joker asked in mock interest. "My, my, my aren't we the Princess of the Prison. Come to give me my elixir of new life?"

Unphazed by his overly long metaphor, the nurse walked up and showed him the cup. "Time for your meds, Joker. Open up."

Without a big show, the Joker opened his mouth and allowed the nurse to pour the pills into his mouth; he even drank down the water when she tipped the cup up to his lips. Closing his eyes and smacking his lips together, he opened his mouth, moving his tongue around to show her that he had taken all of the pills. "Ta-da."

When the nurse was satisfied that the Joker had taken all of his pills, she turned around and walked out, allowing Barry to remain, making sure that the Joker had stayed where he was. She walked up to her cart, throwing the refuse out and checking to make sure that the last set of pills was in order. Finding they were, she started her cart, rolling it to the end of the hall. Taking a quick glance down the next hall that connected the two halls together, forming an L shape, she picked up the last medicine container and unlocked the door.

Her eyes adjusted slightly, staring at the woman huddled in the far end of the room. Something seemed familiar about her, but she couldn't place it, couldn't understand yet what went wrong. As is customary, the inmates were placed in different cellblocks, denoting the difference in danger to the staff. Cellblock K, being the worst was mostly inhabited by mobsters and murderers, this woman, however dangerous she really was, always seemed out-of-place in a cell next to the Joker. However, considering that she had murdered her own family and the surrounding neighbors under the idea that they were all conspiring against her, she definitely deserved the cell.

The nurse walked over to the woman, showing her the cup of medication as she walked. The straightjacket-clad woman didn't respond at all to the nurse's advances. She instead let her head roll back until it hit the wall, resting it there while the nurse put her fingers under the woman's lips, pulling her mouth open. Without protesting or speaking, the woman took the pills, completely docile while swallowing the water.

As the woman turned her head towards the nurse, her golden blond hair shifted so the nurse could see easily the rest of the straightjacket. On a little strip of cloth, sewed onto the straightjacket, a single word was printed: Grace.

Her world collapsed, she couldn't make any sense of what she was seeing. Comprehension wasn't forthcoming with her, it couldn't make any sense. The nurse backed away slowly, coming in contact with the bony body of Barry. She wanted to throw her arms around him and implore him to take her away from this accursed block. She knew however, that no matter how far she got away, none of this would make sense. Her want to get out of the cell was overshadowed by a sudden sense of unease.

Something was wrong, something other than the mysterious woman who couldn't exist. The nurse wheeled around, aware that she was alone with an insidious evil. Her hunch was correct, behind her stood not Barry, but the Joker.

The Joker was dressed in Barry's bloodstained clothes, holding onto the corpse of the dead security guard, his throat slit open, forming a second smile underneath his chin. A grin spread across the Joker's face. Morbidly, he tilted Barry's head back opening the bleeding wound farther. Using Barry as a macabre puppet, the Joker spoke, using Barry's throat as the mouth from which his voice came from.

"I'm sorry, nurse, but I'm going to have to ask you for bandage, I seem to have lost my head." With those last few words, the Joker let the corpse fall down. "Well, nearly." He added.

A scream was stifled as her throat clamped closed by the shear horror of what happened. Her mind reeled, deciding between trying to run and trying to fight. Neither option was available, he was both blocking the door and able to kill the guard posted for her protection. Before she could even make a decision, she felt her throat constrict, the bones of Grace's forearms cutting off her airway.

The nurse gasped for breath as Grace pulled her down to the ground, holding her head between her forearms and her breasts, clamping down on her throat in a vise-like grip. She felt her world start to go black; her ears popped and before she passed out, she saw the Joker pull a cloth from his pocket. Placing it on her mouth and nose, Grace let up, allowing the nurse a breath of air. Caustic air penetrated her lungs, burning all the way deep down inside of her body, setting her throat on fire and making her head spin.

"Grace, let the poor nurse breath, we don't want to kill her." He smiled just before she passed out, saying only a few words that she could understand. "Until we see each other again; Lydia."

Lydia tried to move, she felt herself shake and contort within her bindings. She felt light headed, but she supposed that was to be expected from what she went through. A moan escaped her throat despite how hard she fought to keep it in. Her eyes wanted to open, but she couldn't muster the strength required to open them.

After a few minutes, she could make out the faint sounds of voices in the distance. She couldn't understand what they were saying, but it was a step in the right direction just to be able to make out that they were voices talking. Lydia shifted around slightly, trying to find her position on the ground, but she wasn't able to move, something was keeping her tied together. She began to move quicker, her movements jerky and unresponsive. Her eyes snapped open.

Instantly, she regretted ever opening them, light flooded into her eyes painfully. Her head pulsated with the pain of an oncoming migraine, she could feel the blood rushing to her head, filling in the crevices of her skull and swashing around. Her face flushed, hot pain echoed through her mind, her ears popped with the added pressure surrounding her brain. The floor was above her, she stared helplessly down at it before looking up.

All of the pain evaporated in one frightening gasp. The Joker stood in front of her, his body tilted to her left at his waist, trying to mimic her upside-down position, while still standing upright, causing him to take on a half crescent shape with his body. A wicked smile spread across his lips, it was all at once completely frightening and sickening. She wanted to lash out at the man, to claw out his beady little eyes, but the ropes that held her up contained all of her rage. As she twisted and struggled, the ropes cut in deeper, forcing her to stop when it became too painful to handle.

The Joker tsked, waggling his finger back and forth as the annoying sucking sound came from between his teeth. He stood slowly, exaggerating a stretching motion, bragging silently about his freedom. Grace growled through the cloth covering her mouth, words she wanted to say merely came out as unintelligible gibberish to the Joker and his men.

"I'm sorry dear, there seems to be something you want to say. What's that?" The Joker held a hand to his ear, pretending to try to listen. He started laughing a hideous, shrill laugh when she tried futilely to hit him with her head. The Joker continued to laugh as he walked up to a mahogany desk she hadn't noticed before. Slipping a knife him underneath his sleeve, he stabbed it into the desk, cutting his laughter short. The Joker walked around the table, pulling knives out of various pockets in his jacket. Lining them up neatly, he sat down in a chair, resting his elbows on the table and twining his fingers together, resting his chin upon the net they provided.

The wicked smile was back, but this time Lydia controlled her emotions, she stared back nonchalantly. They stared at each other for a few minutes before a couple of the Joker's men walked up from behind her and whispered something she couldn't hear to the Joker. The smile slightly vanished, a more business like expression found its way onto his face as he whispered inaudible instructions back to his men. He stood suddenly and started to follow the men out of the room, but stopped.

"Oh, where's my manners, I'm sorry I cannot be your host for a while, but fear not." He stopped talking, stared at her for a moment, and shook his head deciding not to continue his thought. "Too easy. Anyway, fear not, I have someone here to take my place while I'm out."

Without another word, the Joker left. For a while, the room was silent, Lydia hanging upside down, suspended a few feet off the floor, swaying ever so slightly, fighting the onset of unconsciousness once again. Her eyes refused to focus on any one object; instead, everything slowly swirled into a swatch of blurred colors and roughly outlined shapes. Lydia moaned, trying to wiggle out of her constraints warily enough to avoid making them any tighter. She idly wished that certain parts of her body weren't existent as she tried to slip the rope from around her arms.

A familiar chuckle slowly started from behind her, the sort of low, guttural laughter that started out soft and gradually garnered louder notes until she thought it would become a cacophony that could destroy the building. However, it remained low, soft, and utterly disturbing. She wanted to try to swing around, to see what he was doing, she felt helpless tied up as she was.

She felt his hand push up against the small of her back, trailing a line around her side and onto her stomach. Gingerly, he stepped around to face her. His black suit was finely pressed, no wrinkles in sight. A long black tie dangled from his neck, the fat lead tucked nicely into the closed jacket. With a smile on his face, he lifted his hand from her stomach, passing it over her body inches from her body. He moved with a measured patience, gliding his hand over her body, moving down to her ribs and outlining the contours of her body as he passed over her breasts. Lingering for only a second, he let his hand move over her face. It was then that she could see it, a small nozzle sticking out from his sleeve, the tiny hole poised in front of her face.

Her body tried to swallow, but found it impossible, even in that she couldn't hold control over her life. For a moment, he stood there, watching her reaction and staring off into the distance where the Joker had left. When he was satisfied that she knew the fear he could cause her, he closed his fist and stepped back.

Standing tall before her, he stared at her, contemplating something, something dark and evil. All-of-a-sudden, with blinding speed that Lydia's eyes couldn't follow, he plunged his fist into her stomach, the wind fled from her lungs as the pain shot through her body. She instinctively curled up, trying to comfort the hurt, but she couldn't curl up far enough with the pain coursing through her body.

Crane's eyes were wild as he crouched down in front of her. He passed a hand through his bangs, pushing them back farther onto his mane, out of his eyes. Lydia watched through tear-filled eyes as his smile widened into a toothy grin that resembled the mouth of a lion waiting to devour its prey. Carefully, he bit down onto his lower lip with exaggerated slowness, considering his options.

With a click of his tongue, Crane began to speak. "Feels…weird doesn't it? Being all tied up like that." He pointed to her ropes, slipping a finger through a loop at her arm and tugged on it slightly. "Not comfortable is it?"

Crane stood suddenly, letting out an exacerbated breath noisily. "Don't worry though; we've got plenty of things for that."

He disappeared behind her once again for a second. Lydia heard the sound of metal squeaking against metal. The sound stopped as Crane remembered something. Another second later, Lydia fell to the ground with a painful thud. Crane started back again. He walked beside her, pushing the cart that she used to carry the medications for the inmates. When he stopped, he put a hand under his chin looking at the pills. "Now, I know I may have a 'degree' in psychopharmacology," he used his fingers to add emphasis. "However, I've always been partial to just finding out which ones work best by trial and error."

Lydia's face contorted, tears streamed down her face as Crane picked pills at random from different bottles. Depressants, anti-depressants, hallucinogens, and other pills piled into his palm, too many at one time. They spilled from his cupped hand as he transported them to her. With his free hand, he pulled down her gag and raised her up into a sitting position on his knee. Pulling on her hair, he tilted her head back, forcing her mouth open as she cried out in a mixture of pain and shock. In that instance, Crane shoved the pills into her mouth and massaged her throat, holding his hand over her mouth to prevent any pills from spilling out. Involuntarily, Lydia swallowed, taking a few pills at a time. It took a few swallows, but Crane forced all of the pills down her throat.

When she had the pills safely within her stomach, Crane reached over to the table and procured a bottle of water, unscrewing the cap with one hand while smoothing Lydia's hair back with his other. With the cap off, Crane pulled her hair back once again, tipping the open bottle into her mouth. The water, that should have been refreshing, made her think of drowning and in a sense she was. Lydia coughed and gagged, trying to expunge the excess water from her mouth as she tried to swallow.

Giggling, Crane stopped pouring the water enough to let her swallow and then poured more in when her mouth was clear. He continued to do this until the bottle was empty. Crane let Lydia down onto the ground carefully, letting her head fall softly to the ground. Leaving the cart and Lydia where they were, Crane walked back to wherever he had gone before and started hoisting Lydia back up. It took longer than she thought it might if he wasn't being careful not to make her throw up. Regardless of his efforts, Lydia felt her stomach roil with the invasion of the alien medication.

Once in front of her again, Crane straightened his tie. "You see, the only true answer to insanity is a little medication. I've heard of all these 'methods' to curing patients with 'therapy' and other useless pseudo-intellectual crap, but nothing beats a few pills down the throat." Crane gave an uncomfortable laugh, but caught himself, adjusting his sleeves to make them even with each other, covering the nozzle once again. Crane looked at her, staring at her face, upside down. His composure regained, he began to speak again. "Now, you'll have to excuse my earlier rudeness I'm afraid. You see, it's not entirely you, but those damned guards that you always come in with. They never had the bedside manner you had."

His eyes took in her full body, roaming over parts that made Lydia's face blush involuntarily. His voice regained its seductive nature that used to make the female medical students faun over him when he batted his eyes their way. When he saw the embarrassment and rage filled expression on Lydia's face, he continued. "Oh, no I don't think you understand at all."

Crane ran over to her, sliding down and meeting her face with his. He grabbed her hair again, holding the hand with the nozzle to her face. "You think my thoughts are only lascivious, no I hate to correct you, but you are wrong. No, you never acted out of fear; you never exerted your power over me because you were afraid. Barry was, and look how he treated me, and well consequently look how he ended up, but that's beyond the point." Crane was rambling, losing his focus. He shook his head and looked at her eyes, staring at her with a concentrated pleasure. "Oh, how I'm going to love changing that."

With a shove, he let her head fall and stood up, walking over to the cart. He stood unmoving for a second, reveling in whatever it was he was holding. Spinning around, Crane held the burlap sack that he used to use to induce fear on his subjects. Dangling it with one hand, he waggled it before her, showing her fate to her.

Using both hands to pull the mask on, he let out a satisfied moan at feeling the itchy fabric once again brushing against his smooth face. It was like ecstasy feeling it again. The euphoric high he felt came rushing back, filling his entire body from head-to-toe. No longer was he Doctor Crane, no longer was he burdened by the thoughts of justice, the conscience that he had—what little it was, he was instead reborn into Scarecrow.

"Now Lydia, you look positively frightened." His voice lost the enticing, smooth, elegant quality and gained a new rough and gritty texture. Scarecrow loosened his tie while making slow deliberate steps towards her, hunching over as he progressed. The hand with the nozzle concealed behind the jacket's cuff twitched in anticipation. Scarecrow made low guttural sounds craning his neck and tilting it to the side to complete the façade of a horrific menace.

Lydia tried to contain her fear, but the sheer absurdity of everything was causing her eyes to widen to the point that she was afraid they might fall out. Despite being covered by the mask, Lydia could make out the outline of a smile spreading across his face. His hand moved up towards her face, his palm extending towards the ceiling, exposing the nozzle further. Lydia watched as the metal cylinder pushed its way from underneath his sleeve, her eyes traced the edges, watching as her fate was spread out before her like an open book. It wasn't everything she expected, her life didn't flash before her eyes, no white lights, but she suspected that was because she wasn't actually dying. No, this was going to be a living death, one that would last longer than she thought she could bear.

Scarecrow's arm moved with a trained precision, the small rope that was tied to his middle finger was taut, but not enough to release the caustic gas. He was toying with her, dangling her over the the edge of the mental cliff, but not letting her fall just yet.

"I don't usually let my patients last this long, you don't know how difficult this is for me. The fear, I need to see it, I need to feel your fear." He pulled his arm away slightly. "It's always better to let the fear manifest itself, to let it steep within your heart and mind, but I can never wait that long."

His arm moved, the string became tighter, she could hear the trigger clicking into place, the gas was only a mere breath away. She thought about what she could do; what options she had. Her mind was still hers for the moment; she would have to come up with a plan, some way to stall him. Nothing was coming to mind, nothing. She had a thought then, she remembered something from when Crane was still on the loose in Gotham. There was an antidote, if she could keep her wits about her long enough to find the antidote, she might be able to survive with her mind intact.

The sound of air expelling from the nozzle slowly hissed as Scarecrow's hand pulled up, readying the spray. His hand twitched suddenly, jerking back down, releasing its tension on the trigger. Lydia's eyes still transfixed on the dispatching method for the weaponized chemical gas that Scarecrow used, didn't notice Harvey's hand on Scarecrow's wrist, holding him back.

"No." His voice was hoarse like he had been screaming. The visible muscles in his jaw tightened when he looked at Lydia, her body draped casually above the floor. Harvey pulled Scarecrow's hand away from Lydia's face and pushed it away as if he were grasping a serpent.

"Come on Harvey, you know what--"

"Oh, come now Crane you're not going to ruin the fun are you?" The voice came from the desk; the Joker was sitting cross-legged on the desk. Lydia didn't know when he had entered the room, nor was she aware of him moving at anytime. A wicked smile was spread on his lips; the make-up that normally coated his face was mostly wiped away by beads of sweat that left trails of the make-up as they rolled down his chin. In conjunction with his make-up, the Joker's clothes were slightly disheveled. It looked like he had just run the greater part of a marathon before returning to the room.

Harvey moved away from Lydia, she didn't want him to, but he walked over to the Joker and stood by the desk, folding his arms over his mutilated chest. She saw the Joker's men walk into a semicircle around the desk, farther back, but still within a few paces. Among them, she noticed that most were doctors, nurses, and security guards, she wasn't sure if she could even spot an inmate in their midst.

Harvey opened his mouth to speak, but the words weren't there. He passed a hand through the side of his head that still had hair, pushing it back and letting it flop down lazily back where it had been. Casting a furtive glance towards the gathering of the asylum's staff, Harvey found his lucky coin in his pocket and began rubbing his thumb over it comfortingly.

It wasn't until Crane pulled his mask off that the silence was punctuated. "So, what are we going to do then? He does know right?"

The Joker merely smiled in reply, looking at Harvey to answer the question. Harvey's frown grew more pronounced. Something about him wasn't right, he saved her, but he was regressing, regressing back. Back to Two Face.

As if to reply to Lydia's silent musings, Two Face flipped his coin, catching it as it fell, not looking at the outcome and flipping it again. He began to walk, performing both tasks simultaneously as he thought about the best way to approach whatever conundrum they were talking about. When he caught the coin once more, he stopped suddenly and turned to her.

"You knew didn't you." It wasn't a question, but an accusation.

"Harvey, I'm not sure what you're-"

"Don't lie!" He slammed his fist on the desk. "I don't want to hear anymore lies, no more half-truths, or soothing words. You knew didn't you?"

"Harvey if you'll just tell me-"

"You know what? It doesn't matter; you know why it doesn't matter?" He waited a compulsory moment before answering the question himself. "Because it's not about me anymore, no, no, no---it's all about this."

Two Face held up the marred coin between his first two fingers and his thumb. He slammed the coin down on the table, letting the flat of his palm rest on it for a moment before walking behind the desk. Sliding open one of the drawers, he procured a revolver.

"You said it was okay, that she was resting in peace." He laughed through the tears that fell down the human side of his face, pushing the revolver to his forehead, covering his face. Lydia suddenly knew what was happening.

"Harvey it was necessary, if everyone knew-"

"I don't give a damn about anyone else! How can someone rest in peace if no one even knows? How can their family mourn? How can someone just disappear like that and no one know? How? How? How?

"Is this city so corrupt that we can just make someone vanish?" He flicked his fingers out, imitating the action of disappearance. His eyes were burning brightly, he was teetering on the edge of insanity once again, a line he walked constantly. Normally, she could keep him on the right side of sanity, but if he knew what the police did, how they kept everything about him and Rachel a secret…

"Harvey, it's not like that, it was necessary, if the people found out that-"

"So, her life isn't important, it was just a sacrifice she had to make, one that no one can even know about?" He was twisting her words around, making her seem like the villain. "She had to pay the price for all of those God forsaken peons? How exactly is that fair?"

Two Face picked up the coin and held it in his free hand as he paced back and forth in front of the desk. The Joker swung his feet perfunctorily, watching Two Face make decisions. He stopped walking again, turning to Lydia.

"She was much more than any, one of those vulgar scum, they couldn't hold a candle to her. Tell me how that is fair; tell me why it had to be her? They only saved me for their precious city, why was my life more valuable than her's? This city doesn't deserve her, it doesn't deserve any of it, what it does deserve is to be slaughtered, yeah, slaughtered like the animals that inhabit it."

Two Face caught himself, he stopped talking, almost snapping his mouth shut as an idea occurred to him. "It's not my choice though, that's not justice, no, not justice at all."

Suddenly, he was off, nearly running to the first doctor he could find. With the hand holding the coin, he gathered the man's coat in his fist, dragging the man to the desk. A sad smile was etched onto the man's bloodied face, but fear and pain were clearly displayed on his glossy eyes. Two Face rooted around in the desk for a few minutes while the man stood their chuckling nervously to himself. After a while, Two Face pulled out a piece of paper.

Holding the paper to the man's face, comparing the picture on his file to the man's adulterated face, he began to rifle through the file, pulling out a single sheet of paper. "'In accordance with the mandatory silence by the Gotham City Police Department, I, Richard Mansfeld, agree to keep everything I witness or discuss with my patients silent and confidential within and without the walls of the asylum. I agree to these terms under penalty of law.' Here at the bottom in the fine print it refers directly to 'special inmates', if you're not sure who they are, they're us." Two Face pointed to the other two men and then himself. "Well, let's continue on shall we? 'Under the circumstance that I have any encounter with any of the special inmates, I will not discuss, with anyone not assigned to those inmates, their mental or physical health. Furthermore, I agree not to name any inmates that are in my care, under penalty of law'."

Two Face took a breath, staring at the man for a second before continuing. "You see Lydia, you, along with all of your other cohorts; have been denying my life since I arrived here. All of that to protect your defective city, letting it fester for a while longer. That isn't justice that is bandaging an infested wound at the detriment of others." He lifted up the coin, visible to everyone. "We'll have to see that justice is served."

Two Face flipped the coin and slapped it against the back of his hand. The doctor swallowed subconsciously, liquid warmth flowing down his legs as he watched Two Face release his hand. Two Face frowned, a grim and foreboding frown.

"No! No! No!" Lydia was screaming before Two Face could even move his arm. It did little to assuage his motivation though; the arm completed its arc, the revolver lying in his hand like death itself. With his thumb, he flicked the hammer back into position. Punctuating the sounds of Lydia's frantic screaming, the doctor laughed nervously, not moving to save his life. Two Face whispered something that Lydia couldn't her over the sound of her own voice before squeezing the trigger. Blood and brain matter exploded out of the fresh hole in his head, which snapped backwards and bounced forward with the force of the bullet. The semicircle of staff members were splattered with the beginnings of the savage slaughter.

Without any hesitance, Two Face let the body fall to the ground, a doctor, and nurse from the semicircle moving quickly to move the body out of the way. Lydia could only stare into his glazed over, lifeless eyes as the blood streaked out from underneath him, leaving a macabre trail everywhere his body moved. Ignoring the organic matter splattering their clothes, the doctors and nurses chuckled nervously, watching their colleague being dragged out of the room by his limp feet.

Two Face pushed the cylinder of the revolver out of place, exposing the remaining ammunition. He slapped the gun down onto his hand, pushing the unused bullets away from the single empty casing and tossing the spent husk to the side. One by one, he replaced the bullets, pulling another one from his pocket and pushing it into the still warm slot that held the last bullet.

Nonchalantly, Two Face flicked the cylinder back into place and slowly made his way towards the next person in the semicircle. Lydia struggled in her bindings, trying to get out and stop him. Finding it impossible to maneuver, she gave up and decided to try to appeal to his still human half.

"Harvey, listen to me, this isn't you, you aren't like this." She wasn't even sure she believed herself anymore, what had he become? He was going to slaughter them all one at a time, who was she to say what he is and isnt'? "Look, there are other ways to go about this."

He stopped inches away from his next victim and snorted, a short exhalation that, if he didn't have her full attention, Lydia would have missed. "This is the only way, you still don't get it do you? Justice, justice, justice. That's what this is all about. I'm only doing what is fair, fair for everyone, fair for…Rachel.

"These people took her life; they all had a hand in it." Two Face motioned towards every one of the morbid faces before him. "Maybe not directly, but each and every one of you had a hand in suppressing her story, her legacy, her life."

"Harvey, you don't have to stoop to our level, you can be better than us, be better for Rachel."

"Don't you dare use her name, don't you dare try and use her to save your friend's lives." He growled, shaking the gun at the people in front of him as he spoke.

"Harvey, just think about what you're doing."

"I am." Two Face clicked the hammer back, revolving the cylinder into place as he held up the coin for Lydia to see. Using his thumb, he flipped the coin in the air, catching it as it fell. As he opened his fist, he looked up into the nurse's eyes, his next potential victim. His finger squeezed ever so gently on the trigger, tightening his grip on the revolver. Tears streamed down the woman's face, her legs were shaking, but unmoving otherwise.

Suddenly, with a loud click, everything went dark; a gunshot rang out. Lydia whipped around; trying to see what happened, but she couldn't see anything in the darkness. Something moved in the distance, a shadow passing among the darkness, only she was certain she was the only one that noticed. Another flicker of light, and the thing was gone. She strained her eyes, watching through the confusion to find the ephemeral shape that passed between the scattering semicircle of medical staff. Without knowing how it happened, Lydia was plummeting to the ground, hitting the cold concrete floor painfully.

She stared for a moment, watching as the shape weaved in and out of the paths of the panicking doctors and nurses, making its way towards her. The drugs must have been working because she thought it was the devil himself coming to rescue her.

Slowly at first, then rapidly, her bindings snapped off, alleviating the pressure on those areas. He was using some sort of oddly shaped knife to rip through the ropes that kept her bound. His face was shrouded in darkness, only allowing her to see a part of his face. The part she could see was set into a deep scowl, his lips turned upside down in frustration at the myriad of loops made by the rope, crossing over each other to make it harder to cut. He managed to keep his composure however, and cut through the majority of the ropes before the inmates became aware of his presence.

A loud uproar caused him to look up from his task; he watched the area with eyes that could see what everyone else's couldn't. Leaving the weird knife where it was, he stood up partially, keeping his knee planted on the floor. The Joker was rousing his henchmen to gather together, trying to keep them under his control through the fear the sudden change in lighting caused.

Quickly the devil bent back to his task, tearing through the ropes with renewed urgency. He quickly finished his task by the time the Joker had regained control over the doctors and nurses. Bending down so only she could hear, he whispered into her ear.

"Can you take care of yourself?" His voice was like acid, roiling and rolling with the pitch of his tone. It if nothing else, made Lydia think of Harvey's voice. A shudder found its way down her spine involuntarily. She nodded numbly, unaware that she even responded. When she did, her voice was weak and distant.

"I need to get to a hospital." She tried to look up, but he was already gone, taking her nod as her only reply. Lydia cursed herself for taking too long to respond because of the fear his presence induced. Struggling to stand up, she fell back down, her legs still not adjusted to holding her weight. More than that though, she knew the drugs were starting to affect her, she needed to get her stomach pumped, to release the toxins floating around inside of her.

When the devil disappeared into the darkness, Lydia remembered it, the small bottle on the bottom of the cart; she always kept it in case of an emergency. Slowly, she raised herself on her elbow, pushing down and dragging her still numb legs. One foot at a time, she crawled through the mayhem and confusion. Closer and closer, the exertion was almost too much for her to bear. She felt like her stomach was swirling around in a whirlpool of acidic destruction.

Finally, she reached the cart, pushing up the white, stained cloth that was draped lazily over the plastic surface, covering it from any water. Inside, on the bottom shelf was a bottle of ipecac syrup. Twisting off the safety cap with great effort, Lydia looked at the bottom and prepared herself. The odor wasn't as bad as she had imagined it would be; she looked in to the bottle, watching the dark liquid swirl around. She felt her stomach tighten involuntarily, deciding her fate for her. Tilting the bottle to her lips, Lydia let the liquid spill down her throat, tasting slightly like tree sap.

When she had drank all that she dared drink, Lydia let the bottle fall to the ground, spilling its contents all over the blood stained floor. Nothing happened at first, but quickly she felt her mouth fill with saliva, forcing her to spit some out, mixing with the drying blood into a murky puddle. She continued to empty her mouth until she felt her stomach clench tightly, Lydia cried out in pain loudly as she felt her stomach burst into her mouth, shooting out its contents violently.

Somehow, she gained the strength to lift the upper part of her body off the floor, clutching at her burning abdomen as acidic chunks spewed forth from her mouth, running in rivulets down to the drain in the center of the room. She fell down onto her shoulder painfully, still vomiting out all over the floor. Her stomach felt like it was turning inside out and being forced up her esophagus slowly and painfully.

After what seemed an eternity, Lydia fell into a fit of dry heaves, with nothing left to expunge from her stomach. Weak and woozy, Lydia reached up tentatively towards the cart, grabbing hold of only the white sheet that covered the cart. With all of the strength she could muster, she pulled hard on the sheet, forcing the containers of pills to fall on top of her, pelting her in the head repeatedly. With all of the objects now on the floor, Lydia rooted around in the dark until she found what she was looking for. Lying on her back, Lydia unscrewed the cap to the water bottle and sipped the water inside slowly, allowing her stomach a chance to regain its strength as well.

At first, she couldn't keep it down, the water coming back up her throat and back onto the floor. However, after about the first half of the bottle, she was able to hold it in her stomach. Finishing the rest of the bottle, Lydia opened the next, and last, one she could find, drinking that with a little more fervor. The empty bottle fell from her hand, rolling on the floor and stopping a few feet away. Lydia looked on the floor next to her and noticed that the majority of the pills were still whole and not digested at all. She sighed in relief, hoping that whatever did get digested wasn't dangerous, many of the pills on the cart were placebos, sugar pills that they would give to the patients who weren't really in need of many drugs. However, some were exceedingly dangerous and even fatal if taken in large doses.

She moved slowly, trying to get to her feet. After taking ipecac, keeping on the move was the best remedy for its negative side effects, namely drowsiness. She couldn't afford to be lethargic here, she had to be whole again, right, and fully aware of her surroundings.

Lydia struggled to her feet, swaying wearily, using the cart to keep steady on her feet. When she did, the cart moved and she fell on her knees, yelping with the shock of the fall. With her hands, she kept herself from falling on her face, but she felt drained and exhausted, she wanted just to give up.

Growling at her own weakness, Lydia pushed herself back to her feet, standing by herself without any help, straightening her back and pushing her chest out. Her head spun, causing the room to wobble and blur together. She moaned and rubbed her head, but stayed upright in the river of confusion. That was when the lights came back on.

She saw now what was going on. The Joker stood, holding one of the staff members, a pistol in his hand, aimed at the nurse's head. Harvey lay on the ground, seemingly unconscious, but still breathing with the revolver knocked out of his hand and far away from his body. Across the room, the Batman stood, holding an infected doctor by his collar, suspended a few inches off the ground.

"Ho, I didn't think you'd be here this soon, I almost didn't have time to…prepare."

"What have you done Joker?" His voice was just as gruff as she remembered, his tone demanding and direct.

"A little of this, a little of that." He waved the hand holding the nurse around in a circle. He motioned towards the other staff members and then toward the Batman. They began to move in, closing a roughly formed circle around him. His head swiveled around, calculating his options.

Deciding what he had to do, the Batman tossed the doctor he had in hand at a group of doctors closing in on him, creating a hole in the tight circle. He dove through the small opening, rolling to his feet on the outside. His black cape swirled around with his body as he connected his fist to one of the closest doctor's face, sending him flying. He ducked under a punch thrown wildly by an untrained fist and punched the man in the stomach, then using is body as a shield; he pushed through the next three men behind him.

This dance of violence continued, with the Batman ducking and weaving through a hail of fists and legs, thrown at him at awkward angles, the Batman himself not hitting with lethal intent. Using the flat of his palm, the Batman pushed one of the doctors onto the ground, out of his way, while trying to get to the Joker. He dragged his hand along his belt, retrieving one of the small knife-like objects he had used to cut her free.

"Uh-uh" The Joker's voice rose and fell. "Come now Bats, don't you think I might be a bit more forward thinking than that?" The Joker held high in his free hand, a small button, the base of which was form-fitted to rest easily in his hand. Explosives.

"You know, it's a fine line between funny and frightening." The Joker licked his lips, looking around for an exit. "Our dear friend Doctor Crane, please don't be shy."

Crane placed his forearm against his stomach, bowing as if folding himself over his arm. His hair flopped over his face as his eyes went wild with pride. The Joker continued, coughing loudly to draw attention back to himself. "Our dear friend here has graciously changed some of his special formula. You see, while he prefers fear, I promised him that if he saw to my little changes I'd find him a way out of this…establishment."

The Joker smiled, and began to walk backwards out of the room. "Now, that gas is stuck to these explosives, so if you really want to try your luck, go ahead, but I don't think that you want to do that. Now if you'll excuse me I have a pressing appointment to get to."

With that, the Joker pushed his would-be hostage at the Batman, running out the door behind him. The Batman moved to give pursuit, but the asylum staff moved in around him, blocking his way. Lydia could hear him curse aloud, drawing a grappling gun from his belt and shooting it at the roof. In a matter of seconds, he was airborne, dangling precariously from the ceiling, drawing some unpleasant memories.

His fingers flew as he input something into his belt, and waited patiently, his suit creaking as his muscles strained to keep his body from falling. After a minute of silence, a nearby wall exploded into a hail of plasterboard and mortar dust. A giant monstrosity of a vehicle emerged from behind the smoke. Oddly enough, it seemed different from the one she saw on the news, but just as terrifying. Staff members filed in around the car, completing the circle once more. The Batman clicked something on the gun and fell into the car as its roof slid open, sliding closed just as he fell into the seat.

Lydia's mouth was sprung open in a sign of awe that was dangerously close to becoming permanent. Roaring to life, the car jolted forward, forcing some of the staff to instinctually back away. Obviously, this was the Batman's intention as he jolted a few more times, forward and back, clearing a small circle of space for maneuverability. Forcing her mouth closed, Lydia brought herself back onto her feet, crouching low behind the cart so no one would spot her, wheeling it slowly towards the door opposite the one the Joker left through. Mentally, she recalled the layout of the hospital, searching for exits or hiding spots. She cursed the architects for performing their job with such precision.

By the time she reached the door, the car went silent, its roaring motor idling to a slow and steady beat like a beast readying itself for hibernation. She stared for a second, watching as the car rolled slightly forward, towards where the Joker had left through, creating a small hole in the circle.

Enigmatically, when the hole was big enough, the vehicle spread open and a motorcycle erupted from within, exploding into a fury of fire and smoke, passing through the thin echelon of staff members easily. Left behind, the gargantuan tank-like vehicle sat idle, stolid, and menacing. All of a sudden, a thick cloud of opaque gas shot out of the car from a number of vents. The closest staff members fell over, unconscious; soon after, the rest fell like dominoes, tumbling to the ground, breathing but not moving. Lydia wanted to scream, at first she though they were dead, but even when she realized they were only unconscious, she saw the cloud diffusing through the room towards her. Quickly, she ducked out of the room, taking the white linen covering the cart and shutting the door behind her.

As fast as she could, Lydia stuffed the linen under the door and backed away until her back hit the opposite wall. Jumping in surprise, Lydia sobered and looked around at where she was. Showerheads lined the walls, small plastic boards separating each shower were placed strategically, and a communal drain was in the middle of the room, transferring all of the dirtied water to the sewage pipes. She took a tentative step forward, feeling suddenly all alone. The room was dark, but she knew her way around easily enough. One more than one occasion, she was either called here to resuscitate an inmate who had tried to asphyxiate them self with rope or decided to slit their wrists in this room.

Lydia shook with the memories of the blood swirling down the drain, mixing with the water that was always dripping from the leaking pipes. She walked slowly, hugging her arms around her middle, staving off the memories in light of the threat behind her. In her mind, she followed the path, trying the different exits from the room until she found the most appealing. Off to her right, where the exit she had chosen resided, she heard something shift and move, crashing to the floor.

Stifling a scream of terror, Lydia had second thoughts about her decision, but remained strong in her choice. Warily, she walked over to the entrance of the dressing room, lockers lined the walls; some left opened when, presumably, the inmates ransacked their own lockers for their belongings. She saw the shadow of a figure stumbling out of the locker room, banging into one last locker as it pushed open the door to the hallway beyond.

Her rationality exploded in her mind, yelling at her to find another route, but curiosity nagged in the back of her mind pushing her forth. The clicks of her shoes on the cement floor echoed in the empty room, punctuating the silence with each footstep. She could feel her heart beating inside of her throat, each thump reverberating in her head.

Then, almost as soon as she had begun, she was at the other door, jiggling the handle and opening the door. Opening it slightly, allowing a shaft of light to slice through the darkness, Lydia peered outside, watching for any signs of movement. When she saw nothing move, she opened the door fully, stepping out into the hallway. Instantly, she recognized where she was, the staff rooms and custodial rooms were along this corridor.

Lydia's eyes adjust to the new light, watching as the rest of the corridor came into focus, stretching straight for a few feet, and then suddenly turning to the left. She passed by the doors, checking the handles and finding many of them locked or damaged, barring entrance. Frustration was about to get the better of her, when after rounding the corner, she happened upon an unlocked door, and opening it slowly, she felt suddenly uneasy.

The door creaked open; revealing a dimly lit office beyond, it was the asylum's namesake's office, Doctor Jeremiah Arkham. A large mahogany desk was situated in the middle of the room; candles were lit on its surface, flickering as wind rushed into the office from the open door. Lydia noticed that there was a mostly drained bottle of bourbon on the desk next to glass filled with still-solid ice. The dark blue chair was turned to face the painting behind the desk. It depicted Doctor Arkham's father, the previous owner of the Asylum, a man of much renown and respect.

It was Doctor Arkham's curse and blessing, his abilities as both a doctor and a man were always scrutinized against his father's example, causing him to become obstinate and tyrannical at times. He never hid the fact that he felt responsible for the asylum, responsible to each patient to cure them of their problems. At times, when he was the most obsessive, his actions and rational could be compared to that of any of the inmates. Doctor Arkham would spend nights in the asylum, sleeping at his desk, trying to reconfigure the asylum's rules and regulations to make it a more efficient and productive.

Surreptitiously, he would increase hours and make people work harder and faster. In fact, it used to be four nurses that dealt with administering the medication, but according to Doctor Arkham, the job was too menial to necessitate four nurses for the job. So, being the youngest and the most supple, Lydia was given the position of administering all of the medication to each inmate. The job, once manageable, became cumbersome, requiring several hour's worth of work.

When the "Kings of K" were sent to the asylum, it seemed like he became a recluse, taking lunch in his office and delegating duties through sporadic phone calls. He would come out late at night, and when he did, he went straight to the garage, leaving as quickly as possible.

To this day, this was the first time Lydia had seen the inside of the office. Disappointingly, the office wasn't what she expected from a mentally unbalanced man obsessed with his work. She didn't know what she expected, but she knew this wasn't it. In the corner of the room, a small water tank rested with cups still stocked in a tube on the side of the tank. Thirst begged her to move, coaxing her feet to function and take a wary step forward.

When she was halfway to the tank, the chair swiveled around; the man sitting in the chair stared at her for a brief moment before realizing what he was looking at.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" His speech was slightly slurred from his inebriation. His eyes roamed over her body, taking in her curves and a grin pierced the side of his lips. Grabbing the bottle of bourbon, he tipped it over into the glass, spilling more than went into the cup. "I know you."

Before he continued the thought, he took a long sip from the glass, inhaling sharply when he finished. Slamming the glass back down on the table, he stood and grabbed the gun, aiming at Lydia. "You're one of them, one of the crazies."

"No!" Lydia threw up her arms, holding them out at chest level as if to push back the misconceived notions he was harboring. "I'm not one of them; I'm a nurse here, my name's Lydia."

"It's all the same; they all turned on me…me, their boss, their master." Still holding the gun at Lydia, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a packet of cigarettes. Smacking them against his side, he flicked one above the rest. Taking it out with his mouth, he put the pack back on the desk.

"Doctor Arkham?" Lydia found the nerve to ask when he was distracted by lighting the cigarette. Arkham took a moment to answer, taking a long drag on the cigarette and letting out the smoke.

"These can kill you, you know." He took another drag. "Doesn't matter really, we're all going to die at one point or another. Might as well have fun before you go right?

"I really only use these because they calm me down, not because I'm addicted or anything." Arkham pinned the cigarette between his first two fingers and let his hand drop down to his side. "What are you doing here?"

Lydia didn't know how to answer that, she wanted to tell him whatever he wanted to hear, but she couldn't fathom what that would be. Excuses came to her mind, ones she had been forming since Doctor Arkham had become obsessed with the asylum, but none suited her purposes. Instead, she took a subconscious step backwards, turning her hands towards the ceiling; suddenly she forget even her own name.

When Lydia wasn't forthcoming with a response, Arkham grunted and let the gun fall to his side, placing it back on the desk. He grabbed the bottle once again, half spilling, half pouring it into the glass again. Walking back around the desk, Arkham flumped into his chair and ripped the glass from the desk, drinking the entire glass in one gulp. As he replaced the glass onto the desk, he remembered his hospitality and picked up the cigarettes. Pushing one of the cigarettes to the top of the pack, he offered her one.

"Want one?" His arm was shaking, drawing an invisible figure eight in the air. When Lydia shook her head, Arkham dropped the pack onto the ground, thinking it was the desk. "Suit yourself."

"Doctor, we have to get out of here, the building is rigged to explode at any minute." Lydia stepped forward, but stopped when he began to laugh. For an instant, she thought she made a mistake, she thought that he was already infected. He stopped though, and leveled a glare at her.

"This place has always been rigged to explode; I was the only thing keeping it from exploding. You don't honestly think that with all of those mobsters getting an insanity plea when they are completely fine, this asylum could run like any other do you? Well, the answer's no, I had to keep everyone separate. "He began to separate the imaginary inmates with his hands. "I had to keep everything tidy, or else things could get out of hand. I'd never let that happen though, I control this facility and as long as I'm here, I'll keep it that way."

"But Doctor-"

"Who the hell do you think you are that you can just talk to me like that?" He thumped his chest with his free hand. "I'm the damn master of this domain, you're all my slaves, I could kill you right now, and no one could touch me for it."

The gun was once again in his hand, trained on Lydia. "You can't touch me, you can't do anything. No one can, no one has the power to dethrone me." His voice raised and lowered as he spoke, talking down to her like a peasant. "Do you see this? Do you see this?"

He pointed to the painting with the gun. "This is my power, this is my invincibility; I come from a line of powerful men. You think you can strip that from me? You think you can just take what I've worked for? Everything I've put my blood, sweat and tears into? You're wrong then, I won't let you, I'll sooner die then let you take it from me, let you usurp my power from my hands."

Arkham's chest swelled as he was drawn into the passion of his speech. Heaving slightly, he swayed, unsteady from the massive amount of alcohol swimming around in his blood. His finger twitched on the trigger, expectant and ready for the bloodletting about to come.

He gave an irritable sigh and dropped his arm back down to his side. "You don't understand do you? No one knows how hard it is to keep this shit hole running, with all of those freaks moving about as they please. I put my life into this place, I kept it floating, I kept it from going under." He pointed with the gun at her. "Do you know how many times we were almost shut down? Heh, more than I can count that's for damn sure."

Arkham sat back down and stared at the gun in his hand, twisting it as he thought. "None of that matters now though, they've taken it…taken it all." His voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. Sniffling, Arkham tossed the gun onto the table and looked up at her. "So, you used to work here then?"

"Doctor, we have to get out of here, there are explosives; the building is going to blow up."

"So you've said, so you've said." He stared at her for a while before redirecting the conversation. "You know captains would go down with their ships, felt it was their duty to stay with their ships even to the bitter end. Kind of noble if you think about it, living and dying for something bigger than themselves."

"Jeremiah…"

"What you don't think I could do it? You don't think I'm worthy of that fate?" Laughing, he took a swig of the remaining bourbon, finishing off the bottle. He looked at her, his eyes were burning hot; the asylum was getting the better of him, and he was answering the sultry entreaties of insanity in kind. "You're like the rest of them then? My father could do it better right? Screw you, screw you and your goddamn standards, I'm never good enough right? Dear old daddy always did it better, he never would have let the crazies take over the asylum, he never would have let the asylum sink so far beyond repair, he would never have put his whole life into this failing hellhole. Well, you know what, he can have the damned place, I never wanted it to begin with. It was derelict when I got it, he had the gall to drop this piece of shit into my lap and die like the mutt he was."

Arkham spit on the ground and walked back to the bourbon bottle, trying to get anything from the bone-dry glass. Cursing loudly, he flung the bottle at the wall. Glass exploded into tiny shards, flying in all directions and littering the ground as a sparkling demolition. Arkham cursed, wiping his hand through his short hair and walking up to the painting of his father. He made an obscene gesture before taking the painting off the wall violently.

He tossed the gun back on the desk, replacing it with the edge of the painting. A sadistic smile spread across his lips, metamorphosing into a toothy grin. Lydia backed into the corner when his gaze changed from the painting to her. "You love him don't you? You've always loved him."

"Doctor Arkham, I've never met your father."

"Don't lie to me whore!" Arkham snapped back. "I've seen the way you looked at him, the way you'd glare at my mother when she wasn't looking. Making plots to off her behind her back; then smiling when she turned around. You really think I'm that naïve? You really think that a child can't see past his father's naked back at the woman's face under him? The look of shock as they both quickly came up with an excuse. 'Oh, we were exercising,' 'Listen son, your mother doesn't need to know about this.' I've had it with the lies, with the excuses."

Arkham suddenly threw the painting into his chair, grabbing the gun and shooting his father's painting repeatedly. Just before the clip ran out, he stopped and reached into his pocket. Putting the gun back down again, he flicked open his lighter and nurtured a spark to a roaring flame. Using one hand to hold up the pocked painting, Arkham held the flame to the canvas. Slowly at first, then rapidly faster the painting caught fire. After a few seconds, it became too hot for Arkham to hold so he let it drop to the floor. The oil popped and hissed as the canvas burned hotter and brighter. Lydia could only stare at the conflagration as it consumed the portrait of what she thought was a once great man.

A laughing howl came from within the depths of Arkham's belly, causing Lydia to jump and look on in horror. Arkham took to spitting on the image of his father and making even more obscene, grotesque gestures. When the fire died down, reducing the painting to nothing more than a pile of dust and a remnant of the carpet, seared into black goo, Arkham formed his fingers into a gun and shot the painting once more, blowing the imaginary smoke from the barrel of his index finger.

He was soon looking at her again, his eyes betraying his true intentions to her. "I'm sorry my father's not here to…quench your needs, but if you don't mind," He was in front of her before she even knew he moved. "I hope I can be of some service."

His breath reeked of the bourbon and other alcoholic drinks that were probably hidden somewhere. He licked his lips, hoping to put them to her's soon. Lydia tried to back away but she was already in the corner, trapped.

He reached out and seized her wrist, pulling her tightly against his chest and reaching around to grope her. She brought her arm up, blocking his advance; Lydia stomped down hard on his foot and elbowed him in the stomach. Arkham let out a cry of pain and jumped back away from her. Lydia ducked into the opening she created and ran to the other side of the room.

"Don't you touch me!" She screamed, looking for the door again. When she spotted it, he was already in front of her, the gun back in his hand. Arkham clicked the hammer into place, an unnecessary threat to an already menacing gesture.

"Settle down," Arkham barked, pointing to the chair across from his desk. He laughed slightly, clutching at the pain in his abdomen, rubbing it until he felt some semblance of comfort. "You've got an arm on you."

Arkham moved closer, his gait unchanged by her previous attack. When he was standing right in front of her, he suddenly backhanded her across the face. Lydia went tumbling to the floor, knocking the chair on its side as she fell. Her jaw throbbed and she could taste the metallic flavor of her blood in her mouth, as the warm liquid trickled slowly into her wounded mouth. She stifled a whimper, spitting out the blood pooling under her tongue and raising herself onto her knees. Arkham grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her to a kneeling position.

"You think I'm not good enough? You have no idea who I am! In this building I'm invincible!" Tears streamed down Lydia's face, she regretted trying to convince the man to leave the building with her, she realized now that she wouldn't have to worry about the explosion, she only hoped that Arkham would be done with her quickly, and end her life even quicker. He shoved her head down, turning his back to her and walking away a few paces. "I'm invincible…invincible…invincible. Hah…hah…hahahah!"

He turned around suddenly, his face displaying both extreme excitement and enlightenment. "Dear old dad never was invincible, just look how he turned out; look what happened to him. Got himself gutted in this place. Knifed clean from groin to chin like a fish. One of his patients, crazy as a clock, found a knife and thought it best to stick him with it. They found him, you know, eating his entrails, like some sort of animal, predator, and prey all in one." Arkham let out a low whistle, admiring the cruelty of it all. "The building never chose him, no, no it didn't. It chose me, chose me to be the one, to be the one to bring it to greatness."

Arkham lifted his hands so that they were perpendicular to the rest of his body and twirled around slowly, making two revolutions, and stopping where he had been facing. "You see, I am invincible, I am chosen. They were wrong, all of them were wrong. Those damned board members, those 'officials' and their 'regulations', all wrong, all faulty." Tears of joy dripped from his eyes lovingly, forming rivulets of unrestrained happiness and freedom. "I'm the true heir to my ancestral legacy. My father was merely a puppet, serving the asylum's needs until I came of age. Merely a shell, used until it was discarded, quite fitting really."

"Jeremiah, you don't know what you're saying, just listen to me. I can help you, but we have to get out of here, get out before the whole building explodes."

"Hah, listen to you? Listen to you? You who would take me from my throne? I don't think so." Arkham spun the gun around his finger as he paced around the room. "No, I think this epiphany has taught me something about myself. I have a calling that I can't ignore. I have a purpose and a directive to follow. The asylum is calling me to channel all of my skills and influence into one direction."

"Jeremiah, please that's insane, the building can't talk, it can't direct you, we need to get out!" She felt her fear encroaching on panic. "Stop all of this, you're not invincible!"

"So, you're a skeptic then? You'll believe me soon enough." Arkham looked at the gun. "You know, you've got a point. This body, it's not perfect, it's fallible, I can never be perfect and flawless in this husk. It's bringing me down, it's like an anchor weighing me down, drowning me in this scum."

Arkham was pacing the room, contemplating his next move. The realization of what was keeping him from attaining unbridled greatness was astounding to him. He was unsure yet how to go about purging himself. "It's this flesh; the flesh is keeping me bound to this alien world. I must come one with my family's legacy. I understand now. Oh…ho, ho, ho I understand now. My father, he was wrong, he was treating this as a burden and he almost succeeded in making me see this as a burden, but that was only because I didn't embrace it. I didn't welcome it with open arms. I know what I must do." He laughed, chuckling at the freedom he was experiencing. "It's wonderful; I know what I must do!"

Arkham raised the gun slowly into his mouth, ignoring the screams from Lydia, he was already gone, gone to another world that was waiting for him. His eyes closed on last time, taking in Lydia's pained face one last time, muttering something incoherent.

"No! No! Don't!" Lydia was standing before she realized she had moved, holding her hands out while pleading with him to be reasonable. "Stop, Jeremiah, please!"

Arkham was lost to the gun, lost to the solace he was finding in the building, the uninhibited rapture. He couldn't hear anything now except for the beating of his heart, mixing in with and matching the beating of the asylum like some sort of low guttural chant that was calling his name. The sweet beckoning of death, death that promised everything he desired and needed, a place where he ruled, where he was king.

"No!" Her screams were supplemented with the sound of a single gunshot. Arkham's head jerked back as a spray of blood spurted out of the back of his head, the hole from the gunshot widening and breaking apart with the force of the shot. Organic matter coated the window of the door, dripping down gory chunks in a macabre river. "Shit! Shit! Shit!"

Lydia put both hands to the sides of her head as she screamed, backing up until she hit the desk. She stood staring at the body, running her fingers back through her hair as if to assuage the revulsion of the image of his last seconds from her mind.

After a few minutes, she got the resolve to stand up again, shaking unsteadily for a moment. She had to look away from the body when leaving, but turned around again in the doorway. Lydia couldn't help but feel that if she had his gun, she might be safer.

Slowly, she stepped warily through the gore left behind and diverted her eyes from his face as she blindly reached for the pistol that had fallen out of his mouth when he fell. Within a few blind grabs, Lydia felt the pistol and after prying it from his hands, ran back out the door to the hallway beyond. Mentally, she tried to wall off all of the events that had unfolded in that room.

A few deep breaths later, she searched the pistol, trying to figure out how to work it. She accidently ejected the clip, the clip clanging noisily to the ground. Quickly, her hand shot down and retrieved the clip. As far as she could tell there was still ammunition in the pistol, she pushed the clip back into the butt of the pistol and cocked the slide.

Her knowledge of weapons was limited to movies and whatever the security guards had told her about them during their lunch break, so even as safe as the pistol made her feel, she knew it was unlikely for her to actually hit anything with it unless her target was only a few feet away.

Lydia walked down the hallway, away from both the office and the shower room. She continued on, putting the tragedy behind her. Since being employed in the asylum, she's had to develop a "thick skin" the security guards would call it, and so as much as it bothered her, nothing really stuck with her anymore. She became immune to the crazier things in life and to a point has become apathetic to adversities in her own life.

After getting the feel of the pistol, Lydia placed it inside her waistband, hoping it would be tight enough to hold. She tied the string that served as her belt tighter to provide more security before walking further down the hall. The first thing she noticed was that the Joker had stripped the halls bare of their navigations signage, obviously trying to confuse anyone without an intimate knowledge of the building.

The hall, as bare as it was, was still ingrained in her mind. She could scroll over every hallway in her mind, now she could think clearly. Self-made blueprints unfolded before her as she navigated the maze of corridors and rooms. Lydia turned a corner where the paint was smudged and then turned another where the paint chipped to form what looked to her like a little oak tree, naked to the elements. Seemingly endless, the hallways cut and sliced through the building, never providing more than a few strides distance until she had to turn again.

Much to her dismay, she nearly got lost more than once, failing to recall which turn among many she had to take. Slowly, she made her way through and around the pandemonium rampantly taking over the asylum. When she would see a crowd of inmates ravaging someone like a group of hyenas picking apart their prey for dinner, she would turn around, praying that they hadn't seen her and find another route around. For the most part, she was successful, only having to run away two times. Both times it was unavoidable, she had either turned right into someone or someone rounded a corner behind her. Luckily, she knew of a few rooms that the inmates wouldn't know about.

When she turned the final corner, she saw it, the area they had been before, the first explosion she had experienced. The wall was torn to shreds, parts of the rooms were exposed, and the network of metal wires and pipes in some areas were still holding strong. Lydia had to stop and look at the carnage; the conflagration was still burning, but dying out slowly. Smoke was finally diffusing throughout the air and the dust and debris was resting on the ground, coating it like the first frost of the winter. Tables and beds were scattered around haphazardly, making the hallway into a maze of sorts that Lydia had to navigate.

She stepped gingerly around the debris in order to get to where she was going, moving slowly to reduce the chances of tripping and hurting herself. With one last look at the tattered remains of a hallway, Lydia forced herself to stop shivering from the onset of memories from the explosion she and Harvey were in earlier in the seemingly endless night. When she was clear of all the debris, she hurried down the hallway adjacent to the rubble, where she and Harvey ran down to the entrance hall.

"Where do you think you're going?" The voice came out from the shadows before she was able to get a few feet down the hallway. It brought back the shivers she was trying hard to hide, the voice raked through her mind, making her stumble. She turned to see the owner of the voice staring back at her, his eyes hard and unrelenting. She was in trouble.

He stood there, the gun held in his hand, dangling just under the elbow of the other arm, his arms tucked into each other. Lydia couldn't say exactly how she knew she'd find him somewhere around here, but she also couldn't say why she didn't try to avoid him either. Maybe somewhere deep down she wanted to help him, wanted to help him escape himself.

His jaw clenched tighter, the row of pearly white teeth displayed through the tattered remains of his cheek strained under the pressure, moaning low as he moved them over each other slowly. Harvey unfolded his arms as he came out of the shadows, training the gun on her body.

"Did you really think we'd let you just waltz out of the front door? After all, you have done to us? Used us, tested things on us?" When the look of confusion passed over Lydia's face, Harvey burst out laughing. "What, you didn't know?"

Harvey turned around and took out a folder from the shadows. The folder flew through the air when he tossed it, sliding on the ground a few papers spilled out when it came to a stop. Lydia bent down and picked up the folder.

Pages upon pages of Doctor Arkham's handwriting filled the folder; each page detailed a list of inmates in the asylum. Next to each patient's was a chart of which pills were given to them, each page represented a grouping of pills. Lydia read on, going down the list of drugs, she had never seen before. When she reached the last page, it all became clear to her; the last page wasn't like the rest, it was a confession page.

Damnit, I know what I'm doing is wrong, but it's the only way. I can't keep this place without doing the testing. I know what it can do to these people, but what other choice do I have? They're already crazy and if any of these drugs work, then maybe some of them can get better. That's the only way I can live, the only way I can feel good about the choice I've made. These drugs, while they may be potentially dangerous, with side effects that are farther reaching than their benefits, they just might help some of the patients get better. I can only hope that I've made the right choice. What other choice did I have really? Regardless of the repercussions of my actions, I can only hope that if anyone finds out about this that they can forgive me, I did what I had to do.

Lydia let the papers drop from her hands; she couldn't believe what she had just read. What had they been doing to these people? People? They barely treated them like animals, what would give her the right to start to refer to them as people? They were merely test subjects in one giant pharmaceutical experiment. Who was she to humanize them now?

But she didn't know.

"Now you understand? The good doctor thought it'd be a great idea to make a little side cash by giving us the drugs that companies weren't even sure were ready for public testing yet, not sure that they'd be safe enough for human testing!" Harvey slammed his fist against the wall. "We were glorified lab rats! And you, our rider on the pale horse came and gave them to us each day— as per the schedule if you'd look on page four."

Lydia ignored his mocking comments, she still couldn't believe what she had been doing to the inmates all of this time. She thought of all the inmates she had to coax into taking the pills, no wonder they didn't want to take them, they were probably burning holes in their innards. Then she thought about Harvey, how he must have hated when she came in and spoke to him, calming him down. She made him believe that the drugs were helping him; he must have believed it was the only way to stop the hurting, to stop the pain Rachel's death caused him.

She thought of Crane, and forcing the drugs down his throat, being the only with any actual psychopharmacological education, he probably already knew what they were doing to him. As she came to the realization of what she did, she also realized what happened to her; the drugs she thought she swallowed weren't the drugs that were on the cart. Her head began to spin, she hoped that she had gotten them out of her stomach in time, on experimental drug is terrible enough, but taking that many is outrageous and suicidal.

Lydia reached out and grasped the wall for support as Harvey continued. "Oh, but don't worry, it's not your fault. I mean, how could you have known other than to say, question why you were only allowed to give out the drugs? Did you ever wonder why you were the only one allowed to give out the drugs? Why Arkham himself picked you? You were gullible, stupid and naïve."

"Stop it!" Lydia found herself screaming, unsure what she was asking him to stop saying. There was nothing false about what he was saying; he was speaking the truth. Lydia lost her balance and fell to her knees, she could hear herself convincing the pills into the bellies of half of the asylum, and forcing them into the other half. She was grabbing her hair, trying to pull the memories from her mind.

"Why should I? You think it's fair that you forced the inmates into taking experimental drugs so Arkham could turn a buck? Now that I'm talking about it, putting it out into the open, you want me to stop? To silence me— silence the truth?" Harvey pulled out the coin from within his pocket. "Let's flip for it. You want me to stop; I want to tell the whole world, to make you all suffer what we suffered. That's fair, right?"

Gunshots rang out in the distance, echoing through the halls. A cornucopia of manmade howls and screams coalesced into one cacophony that rivaled the gunshots. She could hear the sounds of a megaphone futilely trying to overpower the noise. The police had breached the building and were trying to calm the inmates and staff members down into an orderly group. Lydia's mind raced, trying to think of ways to get to them; she thought of the passageways and hallways that led towards where she thought the noise originated. She was having trouble focusing, as her mind was still fixated on what she did to the inmates.

Harvey stood, stolid and unwavering, holding the coin between his index finger and thumb. Lydia imagined he had a self-satisfied smirk on his face, but she saw no evidence to support her fantasy. Part of her wished he would just end her life, she thought about his obsession with justice and fairness. Allowing her a chance at survival would be unfair and unjust, yet he was giving her that opportunity.

The coin rotated in his hand until it was balanced perfectly between the nail of his thumb and the middle of his index finger. Lydia suddenly plunged into an icy lake, her breaths coming in, in ragged pulls. A shudder ran down her spine, radiating into her arms and making them go numb. Harvey flicked the coin into the air. It was as if the air had thickened, forcing the coin to spin slowly like it was moving through the same icy cold lake Lydia was drowning in. Her eyes pushed against her skull, tears wanted to scream out, but she couldn't cry anymore.

Then, as quickly as it had started, the coin fell back into Harvey's hand. He flopped his hand onto the back of the other and removed it slightly so only he could see. There was a slight hesitation in his eyes as if he saw the outcome but considered going against what the coin read. A frown creased the flesh-covered side of his face as he brought the gun up.

"Half of me wished this turned out differently, but I can't deny what's happened." Harvey's voice was gentle, gentler than she had ever heard it before, even when he was still whole. His thumb pulled the hammer back, but his index finger froze. He was visibly shaken with what he was going to do, but he couldn't forgo his beliefs for anyone.

Lydia thought it was just a cliché, but she really did see a white light growing from Harvey's chest. It started out faint, but grew brighter and brighter with each passing second. Harvey didn't seem to notice it either. She knew she was going to die and all she could do was stare at the light on Harvey's chest. Her body slackened until her butt rested on the cold tiled floor and her arms bent loosely at the elbows. Lydia said a few prayers, hoping that it would expunge any sins that she had committed by using the patients at lab rats. Somewhere deep inside she was hopeful yet unsure whether she believed it or not.

Stop it. The voice came from somewhere else, distant and yet close. It was as if the voice came from another world, and yet was directed to her. It called again, Stop it Harvey.

Harvey? Why was it talking to Harvey? She looked up at Harvey; the light on his chest was the size of a mere baseball. Lydia looked over and saw where the light was coming from. Only a few feet away was a man standing with a gun drawn like Harvey, only he was wearing a long trench coat.

"You don't want to do this Harvey, not again." His voice was stern and purposeful, but there was a sympathetic tone coming through.

"You don't know me; none of you ever knew me."

"Don't say that Harvey." The man's face drew down, his moustache wrinkling as his lips frowned. "Just put the gun down, you're not like this."

"You're treading a fine line Gordon, don't step too far." Harvey's grip tightened on the gun.

"Harvey, what would Rachel say…?" Gordon's voice trailed off, he knew he touched a sensitive subject, but he needed to appeal to the old Harvey. Harvey's hands came to rest of either side of his temples, a loud guttural scream exploded from within Harvey.

"Shut up! Shut the hell up!" Harvey's voice broke; he wrapped his hands around the back of his neck and cradled his head in an attempt to shield himself from the onslaught of painful memories. Lydia could only watch as Harvey fought an internal battle, trying to reclaim ownership of his mind.

When Gordon saw that Harvey was preoccupied, he took a ginger step forward. Harvey lashed out, shooting near Gordon's foot but narrowly missing. He stood up to his full height and glared at Gordon. After a long silence, Harvey's stare softened; he had come to some sort of understanding with himself. Lydia could see the ghost of a smile on his lips. He then began to laugh the most sinister sounding laugh she had ever heard.

"Gordon, what is it you want to happen here? You want me to just pick up and leave my whole being behind? You want me to forget everything and live in the perfect little world you had planned for me?" Harvey put up his hands to indicate that he meant no harm and started towards the papers he had shown Lydia. Bending over, he picked them up and tossed them over to Gordon. "You see, it's pretty obvious that this city wants nothing more than to bring me back to the brink of destruction whenever I think I might be willing to deal with what it has already done to me. When I'm about ready to consider living again, it puts me back in the deep grave in which I'm buried. So, I ask again; what exactly do you want to happen here?"

A mixture of confusion and suspicion overtook Gordon's face as he leafed through the pages of the folder Harvey threw to him. After a few minutes, Gordon shot Lydia a glare that she understood as a condemnation of what the asylum had done. "Harvey, I'm sorry I didn't know they were doing this, I can assure you that we'll launch an investigation into this, but please right now just put the gun down."

"Gordon, I don't have time for this nonsense." Harvey sighed, it wasn't a sigh of anger, but of frustration, that Gordon couldn't understand that he wouldn't change his mind. I'm through trying to be reasonable, there are people out there who bypass justice simply because of some suit who can smooth talk his way down to a life sentence instead of what's fair. I've had the most precious thing taken from me already, it's time this city feels what I have been feeling." With his free hand, Harvey violently grabbed the back of Lydia's jacket, thrusting her in front of him. The gun came full circle to her head, she nearly cried when she felt the cold of the barrel against her temple. Harvey walked towards Gordon, using Lydia as a shield to dissuade Gordon from firing.

He brushed past Gordon, heading down the hallway Gordon had been blocking. When he was far enough, Harvey shoved Lydia toward Gordon. Gordon caught Lydia under her arms and stood her on her feet. "Stay here."

Without another word, Gordon fled down the hallway after Harvey. Lydia was left alone; the darkness and silence were her only companions. It was a cruel metaphor for how she felt. She knew all of the things she had caused, she still couldn't right any of the wrongs she committed, but she also knew now that Harvey was too far beyond to be helped. It wasn't that she was giving up; no, she would be more than willing to help him, only if he wanted her help though. There was no point in trying to help someone who refused help. If she pushed him, he would push back and become more violent, and since he was unlikely to request help, she resided to the fact that he was beyond anyone's help.

Slowly, she came to her feet wearily. For a second, she thought that her legs wouldn't hold her up, but she used the wall to balance until she could stand on her own. The strength came back rapidly after that, allowing her to walk once more. She started down the hallway that led to the entrance hall once again.

Off in the distance, she could see lights coming from down the hallway. The entrance door was opened, the police must have gotten into the asylum through that door, the entrance was opened; she was free. Lydia's pace quickened, her heart raced with the prospect of finally being free of this nightmare, hoping thinking that she was going to go back to school and get a real nursing degree. She laughed at how silly the concept was, forgetting for the moment everything that had happened.

Unconsciously, Lydia's legs grew stronger and carried her faster, she felt good, and numb to the pain that was previously inhibiting her. Only a few steps later, she stumbled over something. In the faint light it was hard to make out, but after a little bit of focusing, she could see what looked like wires sticking out of a box. Her eyes went wide as she realized that the building was still rigged to explode.

Lydia looked back to the doorway and saw that the police were exiting the building with all of the inmates subdued. They made their way out in single file; the short line of people flew into a panic when a voice came out over the loud speaker.

"Well, what do we have here? Gotham's finest has finally decided to join the party have they? I'm sorry it wasn't as exciting a shindig as I normally have, but I have something that might spice it up. Around the building are explosives as I'm sure you're aware. I'm also sure that you're bringing the bomb squad around as I speak." The voice was unmistakably the Joker's; he blew air through his teeth into the microphone trying in a mock attempt to get the police's attention. "That means I can see you. Heeelloooo. Sorry, I'm getting off track and I'm well aware you intend to be off, but that's the thing. I can't end this without a bang. What kind of host would I be if I didn't send you all off with a memory you're not going to forget for the rest of your life?"

Lydia didn't wait for him to finish, he began to laugh hysterically, but she couldn't hear any of it as the wind whipped past her ears. Her heart hammered in her chest and her sides burned with the agony of running. Before long, her legs felt like iron, they stiffened but she pushed past the pain. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, spurring her to run faster.

The shock wave of the first explosion caught her off guard, pushing her forward and almost causing her to topple. Lydia gritted her teeth and prepared for the next explosion. As with the first explosion, there was no preparing for it; Lydia was nearly picked off the ground as the next bomb exploded. A melody of concrete and wood collapsed behind her in violent growls and moans.

Lydia screamed as she forced her legs to work faster; she began to cry and pray that she would make it through the entranceway. Her mind ran faster than her legs did, she began to recall things about her life that she never thought she would remember. It was a sort of self-imagined eulogy, or what she believed was the cliché of having your life flash before your eyes. The night has had her in death's grip too many times for her to know whether one thing was another.

A third explosion was too close, Lydia couldn't compensate for it. Her body flew through the air, tumbling on the ground. One again, the world spun, thankfully, Lydia was too exhausted to feel her bones breaking and her head slamming against the ground. With every spin, Lydia could see the flashes of light from the conflagration pouring down the corridor at her. A river of fire rushed onward with a dark, black center growing rapidly. The fire came closer and closer as her body bounced and rolled along the floor. It seemed she finally couldn't evade death any longer.

Then the oddest thing happened, just as she was slowing down and accepting her fate, the dark center f the fire swallowed her, engulfing her body in its dark shadow. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt her body get tugged from the ground. It was a sensation that was foreign to her, but she assumed her lungs were searing within her body from the intense heat.

Just as the world was collapsing inward, she heard the fire talk in the raspy voice befitting a raging inferno; it said: "stop struggling". She wasn't even aware that she was struggling; she didn't even think she could struggle with her arms lying useless to her sides, floundering about as she moved. Apparently, she was still running, even though she was dying she was still trying to flee her fate. The fire pushed down harder on her chest, pinning her to its chariot. Her head rolled as another bomb went off and rocked the chariot violently.

She could feel the inner drumming of her heart slow to a more normal pace as her legs stopped working and her body went limp. She felt outside of her body, as if she was watching herself die from somewhere peaceful and tranquil.

Suddenly something burst open under the fire's chariot, spilling cool liquid all over her body. The world came crashing back into perspective. Her eyes focused and her mind cleared enough to see that the splotches of black within the fire formed a leg and what she thought was a chariot under her limp body purred like an enraged lion. She felt the jolts in the ground as the vehicle ran over debris in a mad dash for the entrance.

A soft moan escaped from Lydia's mouth, the pain was also coming back, and she only realized that her arms were useless when she tried to rub her aching forehead. She gasped in fright; she couldn't feel her arms and feared that they might have been ripped off in the turmoil. The dark body above her pressed down harder on her chest when she tried to move.

"Not yet, we're not out yet."

Lydia rolled her head to look at where the voice was coming from, but another explosion created a brilliantly bright light that stung her eyes. The fire roared up closer to them; it was moving faster than they were going. If they didn't get out of the building soon, they would be engulfed in the flames.

Her heart quickened again, she was fully aware of what was happening; she didn't want to die, not after everything she survived through the night. The entrance wasn't far, but the motorcycle wasn't going fast enough. She flopped her head against the man's thigh, too tired and afraid to watch what might happen. He grabbed her back and pushed her tighter against his stomach, urging her to stay still.

When the fire came too close, the man growled and flicked a switch on the motorcycle. The vehicle lurched and screamed down the hallway, blue flames jetting out of the back. Lydia was forced tighter against his body; she bore her teeth against the pain now jolting through her body. The motorcycle weaved in and out of the way of falling debris. Chunks of ceiling fell all around them as they flew through the hallway.

It was over almost right after it began. Lydia could hear the wind whip past her as they soared into the night air. Flames shot out of the doorway an instant before the front of the asylum collapsed in on itself. The motorcycle slammed on the ground and skid to a halt before a line of police officers.

"It's the Batman!" She heard one of the men scream. "He's got someone there, it looks like a patient!"

"Hold your fire!" Another screamed farther to the right.

"Just put her down Batman and turn yourself in."

"Stop it, all of you!" It sounded like the commissioner's voice. "Can't you see he's saving that girl? Put your guns down!"

"But commissioner-"

"But nothing; put them down now!" Lydia heard footsteps coming up to the motorcycle. She felt arms under her body, picking her up from the motorcycle. Her face brushed against the rough fabric of Gordon's trench coat as he cradled her in his arms. A choir of EMTs shouting orders and organizing a stretcher for her echoed in the still night as Gordon backed away from the Batman. Shortly after, she could feel the soft padding of a stretcher underneath her.

"Batman, you know we have to take you in." Gordon's voice was hollow as he spoke.

"I know Gordon." The motorcycle roared to life as he sped off, weaving in and out of the gunfire from the pursuing police. Gordon stood with his shoulders slumped, the emotional weight of what was happening was killing him slowly. He sighed and pushed his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose. Turning to a detective nearby, he started with his questions.

"So, what do we know? Have we caught everyone yet?" Gordon folded his arms as the medics put an air mask on Lydia's face.

"Not everyone yet sir, we still haven't been able to locate The Joker, Harvey, or Doctor Crane." The detective looked like he wanted to run away from Gordon's stare.

"We can't let those men run loose detective, we need to find them and find out what exactly happened in there." Gordon pointed back towards the rubble of the asylum. Fire fighters had just begun to put the blaze out, they were fighting an uphill battle that would likely last well into the night. The detective rubbed the back of his neck, trying to think of a way to express what he wanted to say.

"Well, we may have found someone who might be able to help with that problem sir. He's not on the force, but we think he might be able to help piece together what little information was left behind and help apprehend the suspects."

"Who might that be?" Gordon sounded skeptical, he wasn't sure if he wanted someone not on the force to be poking around in an official police matter. After weeding out a majority of the crooked officers from the force, introducing someone who wasn't even a police officer to a high priority case such as this was the last thing he wanted to do.

"That would be me officer." A man walked up behind the detective wearing an odd all-green suit with a white undershirt. He had a smile on his face and inquisitive eyes. From within his jacket, he withdrew a pad of paper and a pen. "I specialize in taking the unintelligible and making it plain for the layman."

"So, you're like a private investigator." Gordon unfolded his arms and cleaned his glasses on his coat.

"That's a rather puzzling deduction; I don't believe I ever said I was a P.I." The man chuckled and reached inside his jacket once more, this time retrieving a business card. "No, think of me as more of a consultant of sorts."

Gordon took the card and stared at it for a minute. He reached out and handed the man back his card. "Well, I'm not sure we're going to be needing your services just yet mister…Nigma."

He just smiled and pushed Gordon's hand back. "Keep it, I'm sure we're going to meet again sooner than you think, and please call me Edward."

Epilogue

Lydia stared at the man sitting on the couch before her; he was a man in his middle to late forties, complaining about how his wife never complimented him on his skills in bed. She inwardly moaned, the man had no wife and refused to accept the fact that she died years ago.

After the incident, she had decided to go back to school and become a full-fledged psychiatrist. She vowed to help anyone she could; it was her way of making up for everything that had gone wrong in the asylum. Lydia was never really the same afterwards, but she felt some semblance of encouragement sitting in the newly built Arkham Asylum, that was graciously funded by Wayne Enterprises, helping the inmates cope with their ailments and quirks.

Thankfully, with a new building also came a new staff of doctors and owners to run the asylum. Wayne Enterprises set up a board of doctors to run the asylum so that none of the shady dealings that went on before would occur again. Lydia felt at home within the walls once more, caring for the patients, and issuing the right medication to the right patients instead of just administering them.

About a month after the building exploded, the police found out what had happened and caught up with the three escapees. Eventually, Commissioner Gordon broke down and hired the private consultant who met him after the explosion. He found out where each of the three were hiding and led the police to their hideouts.

Now she just sat day after day, trying to get into the minds of patient after patient, hoping that she could reach some of them. During her lunch break, she would reminisce about that night, thinking about how it changed her and how she could now do more than she ever dreamed as a nurse. She looked at the nurses when she first arrived as a licensed practitioner and pitied them for what they would have to go through, but she couldn't extricate her own memories from what she imagined they had to do now.

A security guard walked into the break room and shuffled past Lydia, walking towards the coffee machine. He looked around until he found a mug on the clean dish rack and poured himself a cup. Opening the fridge, he poked his head inside and fumbled around.

So, life went on and she still hadn't seen Harvey, he refused to have sessions with her, despite her pleading with him. She took a bite of her sand which and waved to one of the inmates as she passed by the break room. Eventually, she would get through to him, even if it took years, Lydia was patient. She owed it to him to help him get over Rachel and break his fixation with his coin.

"Excuse me Miss, but if you'd be so kind, could I have that creamer?" He asked, his voice sounded familiar, but she pushed the thought from her mind as she reached for the open carton of Half-and-Half. As she turned to hand it to him, her hands went numb and she could feel the blood draining from her face. The carton fell to the floor, splashing its contents all over the tile. The man smiled slightly, breaking into a toothy grin. "Why, you look positively frightened."

The Joker broke into a cackle as he walked towards her with a bloody knife.