Chapter 1- Allen Woodley

He looked out of the window, the moonlight shining through the steel bars. He sighed loudly and the noise seemed to stretch on forever to him. Every moment was slow and methodic, no variety, no… fun. Of course, he hadn't had much time for fun nowadays anyway. He licked his lips and thought about Him. That man who completed him and who gave him his purpose and reason- if he could call it that. He liked to think he didn't have a purpose. What was it about Him that fascinated the man

so? Why was He the only thing that made his life fun? He stopped looking at the moon at instead focused his attention on the dead rat outside of his cell. It had been there for about four hours after a particularly big-boned guard had stepped on it. The memory of the incident brought a grin to his lips and a chuckle escaped him, one that escalated into a huge and frightening laugh, that echoed through the walls of the asylum and never seemed to stop, until it died away slowly and the man sat back on his bed and looked at the moon again.

Arkham was always a frightening place, even in the daytime. The stained walls, rusty equipment and constant shrieking from the patients could eventually turn even the bravest employee mad. Despite its fearsome reputation, corrupt guards and terrifying inmates, Allen Woodley had successfully held his post at Arkham for three years now, which, for a man of only twenty eight, had won the respect and trust of the newer employees, and even some of the older ones.

It was the first time in his life that Allen had felt truly respected and believed in. Despite his perfect grades and fun-loving attitude, he was never taken seriously enough to amount to much for most of his life. Even his own parents had tried to persuade him to choose a different career.

"Psychology?" His mother had said. "How about choose something a bit less out-there like… biology? Or physics?"

At that moment, Allen was walking down the halls of Intensive treatment, making his way to Dr Jeremiah Arkham, the head psychologist of Arkham Asylum, who had summoned Allen to his office ten minutes ago. He had sent a young, blond-haired intern who had stared at Allen with stars in her eyes and a longing which he picked up on immediately. If his parents could see him now.

When he had first applied to Arkham, his friends had laughed at him.

"What, old baby-face?"

"He'll never amount to anything"

"He hasn't got the guts for Arkham"

He could still hear their jeers. Or was that just the screaming of the inmates? He had gotten so used to them it was hard to tell anymore.

As he passed some of the patient's cells he heard a couple talking to the doctors and orderlies.

"Where's Alice? You took her. Give me back my Alice you thief!"

"Mr Scarface is going to be very angry with me when he finds out what I've told you."

"My babies! Wilting in the dark! They need sunlight! I can hear their cries of pain!" He started to walk faster, and left Intensive Care as well as the cries and moans of the residents behind.

He remembered his first day here and how frightened he had gotten when he first heard their shrieks echoing off the walls. The masked orderlies and the constant stench of fear and sweat. It was horrible.

You spent six years in university for this, he had told himself. He never wanted to go back. But Dr Arkham had convinced him. He was the first person to tell him that he was great. And he was right, Allen thought. "You've got the potential to be great," Jeremiah had said. "I haven't seen a mind like yours in years".

And now three years later, he was finally somebody. People were acknowledging him for who he was, rather than just a guy who was way too proud for his own good. Well maybe that was true, he thought to himself, smirking as he rounded the last corner to the office. I am way too proud for my own good. As he walked, three orderlies were wrestling an inmate to the ground and holding a syringe to his neck. Another escape attempt, he thought. Arkham has seen too many of those.

Smoothing back his dirty blond hair and patting down his white medical coat, he knocked sharply on the office door embossed with the words "Jeremiah Arkham, head Psychologist".

"Come in", a deep voice answered, and Allen opened the door slowly before making his way inside, closing the door behind him. Jeremiah was sitting in a comfortable looking chair behind a wooden desk, covered in papers- case files for various patients, Allen guessed. The back wall of his office was covered in certificates and awards for his work. Apart from that, however, the room was rather bare.

Jeremiah himself was a tall, thin man of about forty-five, with thick black glasses and a receding hairline. He certainly looked the part of a psychologist, and acted it too. He had a serious, quiet and respectable demeanor about him. The way he looked at you made you feel that he knew your every secret. Placing down the case file he was holding and looking up at Allen with tired eyes, he said,

"Ah, Dr Woodley. You got my message?" Allen nodded.

"Yes, sir" he replied. He sat down on one of the hard, metal chairs in front of his desk.

"Now Allen, I called you here to discuss something very important with you." He looked at Allen solemnly. "You've only been here for three years, and you are only twenty-eight, but you have had several huge successes during your time here that even our most experienced psychologists weren't able to do."

Allen laughed to himself and looked proudly at Jeremiah. "I assume, sir that you are referring to Edward Nashton and Harleen Quinzel, formerly the "Riddler" and "Harley Quinn"?"

Six months after Allen had arrived at Arkham, he was given two of its most high-profile and dangerous inmates, the Riddler and Harley Quinn. Even though Allen was only supposed to have one session with each, Jeremiah was so impressed he gave him more work with them, until they became his full-time patients. After two grueling, frustrating years working through their problems, they were both released from Arkham and were now leading relatively normal lives. Allen still loved to point this out to anyone who would listen, and was now met with many rolling of eyes and exasperated chuckles every time he brought it up.

"Your work with them was extraordinary" Jeremiah affirmed. "After two years, you turned two of Gotham's most dangerous criminals into normal, functioning citizens."

"I'm sorry doctor," said Allen. "I don't like to use the word normal. That would suggest some kind of uniformity and conformity to their actions which is just not true. Edward and Harleen are two of the most vibrant and unusual individuals I have ever met."

Jeremiah nodded wisely. "Good philosophy Allen. How are the two getting along now?"

"I believe that Edward is now studying to be an engineer and Harleen is seeing a man who doesn't wear clown makeup and blow up buildings. Respectable. Clean cut." Allen snickered. "I still see them for weekly sessions, as I'm sure you know."

Jeremiah nodded before continuing. "Remarkable. I remember seeing them myself but to no avail. You are truly one of the greatest minds we've had here for a long time." Allen sat up straighter and soaked in the praise. "But before I tell you what I would like you to do, I need to share something personal" Jeremiah continued. Allen leaned in closer, intrigued.

"For many years now I've worked here at Arkham and I've always held a certain… belief that I was going to be able to do great things here,"

"But sir," interrupted Allen. "You've done so much work here…"

"Please let me finish, Allen," said Jeremiah sharply, and Allen sank back into his chair. "Over the years I've seen more sadness and despair than most people would see in a lifetime. And I find myself… scared. I've never felt like I need to be away from this place more as every day goes by. Sometimes…" he looked out of the window overlooking the grounds. The guard towers stretched menacingly up to the sky. "Sometimes I can't even sleep at night. The sounds, smells and sights of this place echo around my head non-stop like a broken record and… this place eventually gets everyone. Something about it's past and it's patients. It eventually drives them away. Not everyone can retain enough willpower to stay as long as you Allen, and certainly not me. But even so… I think I'll leave here soon. I've had enough."

Allen sat stunned in his chair. Jeremiah was leaving? One of the most respected and brave men he had ever met was just giving up like this? But Jeremiah took advantage of the stunned silence in the room and continued, his voice resuming it's authoritative tone.

"Now onto the other reason I've brought you here. As you know, a certain man has been with us for quite a few months now," Allen snapped back to attention and frowned slightly. "He has refused to cooperate with any of our efforts to rehabilitate him, and I'm starting to wonder if he can be cured. So far he's attacked three of his therapists during his current stay, and the rest he's just ignored."

Recognition dawned on Allen's face. He knew who Jeremiah was talking about. He had studied his case file extensively, picking apart everything about him…

"I am, of course, talking about the Joker," Jeremiah continued, a slight scowl developing on his face as he said the man's name. Allen could understand why. He had killed hundreds of people over the years and had escaped from Arkham more than five times.

"He is partially the reason why I'm leaving," Jeremiah fidgeted with his hands. "I cant deal with the responsibility of him. And the fact he keeps escaping again and again, people blaming me for it as he murders and pillages. Dr Silverton is still in the hospital!"

"You don't need to leave sir." Said Allen, sitting up straight and looking the doctor in the eye. "None of what he does is your fault!"

"It's too late, Allen. I've already submitted my transfer papers. I'm starting my own clinic. Somewhere away from all… this."

Silence fell upon the two as the anger built up inside of Allen. How could Dr Arkham do this! He was the one who had told him to stay and that he was going to be great! And now he was leaving just because he didn't feel right. He clenched his fists and controlled an angry outburst hovering on his lips.

"There's something I would like you to do before I leave at the end of the year," said Jeremiah, interrupting the silence. "Now, I'm not going to force you to do it, but I am asking, as a colleague and a friend."

"What is it, Sir?" Allen practically spat at the doctor. How dare he ask for his help? He pretended not to notice as he continued.

"None of us have been able to do anything to help him, and he is getting cockier every day. The staff is counting the days until he escapes again and I just want one more attempt to try and help him. Allen…" Allen looked up with suspicion, and dreaded the sentence he knew Jeremiah would deliver.

"I want to you accept the Joker as a patient,"