I've never actually played Arkham Asylum, but I did watch the walkthroughs (like a noob). While I was watching Batman beat the tar out of this group of inmates, I wondered if any of them was smart (or cowardly) enough not to leave their cells. And thus Cripps the in-and-out, repeat offender was born. The poor guy.

Of Mice

Cripps was jolted awake by the earsplitting shrieks of the sirens.

Now this was hardly an uncommon occurrence at Arkham, considering how many psychopaths inhabited the massive institution, so he hadn't been too alarmed at first (annoyed more than anything) and had settled back under the thin, scratchy material that the administrators dared to call a blanket, to continue accruing dislocated discs in his back against the hard cold metal of his 'bed'.

The mattress had been removed due to the blood splatter left by his former cellmate (They'd had a falling out, so he hadn't felt the need to be gentle the day he rearranged the contents of Ricky's head) and the maintenance guys hadn't bothered to return it yet.

He had been fairly unconcerned as he listened to the guards stampede through the halls like spooked cattle; until-

Ding-Dong

"Paging all psychos, murderers, lowlifes, and degenerates! This is the Warden speaking-" Cripps choked in horror.

Only a complete idiot wouldn't recognize that oily voice.

Oh, hell no.

"-there seems to be a BAT infestation plaguing my Asylum, and I won't stand for it. So kill a guard! Grab a gun! And. Go. Fetch!"

A familiar, high, whiny voice came over the com.

"Here ya go, boys! Make Mistah Jay proud!"

The cell's electronic lock beeped, and with a whirr, the heavy barred door slid open.

Cripps stared up at the grimy ceiling as he grasped the situation.

The Joker had taken over the Asylum. Joy.

Harley, the shrill blonde harpy, was of course with him. Wonderful.

Now, Cripps had been around the bend before. He had worked with the madman a couple of times and had a fairly good grasp of how he thought, sort of.

Basically, the Joker was going to cause as much chaos and death as possible.

It didn't take more than two brain cells to rub together and figure out who the Joker was probably going to recruit, especially where the BAT was concerned. The likely suspects were…basically every other supervillan in Arkham, the Death Row convicts, and the mental patients in the penitentiary (who would no doubt attack anyone within range).

Mass chaos and death for everyone involved. Hurrah.

So here's the equation :

Joker+Control of Arkham+Supervillans+psychos+more psychos+Batman= Copious amounts of pain and or death.

How motivating. He had always hated math.

Cripps sighed wearily to himself and weighed the pros and cons of answering the Joker's summons as the Harlequin continued to cackle about his 'party' and taunt Batman over the com. Stay in cell, or head out into known danger.

Pros: Can stretch legs and enjoy momentary freedom; indulge in the high of mass mayhem and terror; kill and or terrorize the guards and doctors that pissed him off; possibly get an eyeful of Poison Ivy or Harley; get chance to off other inmates; bask in victory if the Joker won (IF he won); and escape Arkham.

Cons: Get killed by other inmates, get killed by guards, get killed by supervillans (he was only human), get killed by Joker, get experimented on by Joker, get experimented on by Joker and then die, get captured and given a longer sentence, get beaten up by Batman again, or just get beaten up in general.

Unfortunately for Cripps, the Cons were exactly the same if he chose to ignore the Joker. Damned if you do, screwed if you don't.

Maybe he could lock his door again and play dead till the excitement was over. He was getting too freaking old for this crap anyways (forty-eight was as good as fifty if you rounded up). Growing older tended to put the things that younger guys ignored in perspective: things like dieing.

So that's what he did. Cripps rearranged some wires in the lock and holed himself in, content to count the cracks in the concrete walls and listen to the coms, pretending it was just one of those radio dramas his gran used to listen to when she was stoned.

For the most part his plan worked, and he only shit himself a little bit when the three drooling penitentiary escapees trying to squeeze their way through the bars of his cell were suddenly taken out by a massive black shadow. However, Batman's comically bewildered expression upon seeing an inmate sitting obediently in his cell, almost made up for it. Cripps wished he had a camera. The revenue the copies could bring in would have left him set for life.

He waved lazily, while the Bat composed himself and swooped off to beat the crap out of the less docile criminals. For the most part, Cripps' plan seemed to work.

That is, until Poison Ivy's Titan infused plants tore through the steel and concrete walls of his cell, compromising the strength of the floor, sending him plummeting down into the darkness.

When he came to, Cripps realized that he was soaking wet and floating in liquid too thick to be only water. He sat up and found that he had fallen into the sewers beneath the Asylum. From the looks of things he had been carried off by the current and washed up in the shallows.

Still dazed, Cripps staggered to his feet, his flailing causing the waist high sewage to splash and froth. The pipes made the noise echo ominously making him freeze. This was Croc's lair. If he didn't find a way out, he was as good as chum.

However, his decision to be 'smart' had inadvertently sealed his fate. By the time he had managed to locate an escape ladder, Croc had already found him.

And as he stared into the eyes of death, frozen on the third step, Cripps wondered if he should have been born more stupid, because for some reason, in this universe, the idiots got to live.

He just couldn't win.

As the ground-shaking steps came closer, Cripps made his last stand and gave Croc his most defiant, stupid-man smirk.

"So. Were you invited to the party?"