Chapter 1

Him

There were rumors.

Most people said he was dead.

Others said he had escaped, and some even claimed that they had seen him.

Some said that he was the sole inmate of Arkham Asylum.

She intended to find out.

It wasn't a difficult task for someone like Harleen Quinzel. At the age of twenty-four, she graduated Gotham State University with a Bachelor's in psychiatry, with minor in criminal psychology. She had obtained a perfect score on her MCAT before entering into the graduate program to obtain her PhD. Four years later she began he residency requirement at Blackgate. At her current age, thirty-one, she was considered a prodigy. She was amongst the top doctors, admired by many for her high level of competency at such a young age.

It was there at Blackgate she caught tale of the Joker being held in Arkham. For the longest time, she had believed he had been executed. That's what most thought. However, the hushed voices of two of her colleagues she had heard around the corner of the hall a few weeks ago said otherwise.

She had always been fascinated by him, even more so than the man called Bane, who had superseded him in his reign of terror over Gotham. It had been just over a year since the Batman had put a stop to Bane and the nuclear bomb that almost obliterated Gotham and its people from existence.

Since then, organized crime had been all but eradicated. The streets were almost as clean as they had been when Harvey Dent was the district attorney. The police had been hard at work re-capturing all the escaped prisoners of Blackgate. But the wounds of the city were still healing. That was a slow process. There was still reconstruction in many parts of the city. Bane sympathizers, they still posed a threat. They left their mark around in the form of graffiti, vandalism, even protests every once in a blue moon.

Bane wasn't the only one with sympathizers, though. Over the years, victims had popped up here and there decorated strikingly similar to the way the Joker had liked to leave his victims. Red smeared across the face, eyes blotted out with black. Some perpetrators even took the time painting the stark white foundation, and giving the green tint to the victims hair. Laughter written in crimson, and that signature Glasglow smile took their place in the graffiti that decorated the grimier parts of town.

Harleen had pulled up everything in the public records she could find about him. But she found very little. No name, no finger prints, dental records, no DNA matches, place of birth, not even his age. Nothing. No one knew anything about his past except the stories he told about his scars, but of course no one knew if any of that was true. All they had was his present identity-a highly intelligent psychopathic terrorist bent on anarchy and chaos, and a long list of the heinous crimes he had committed.

Shortly after hearing these new rumors about the Joker being at Arkham, the flame of her fascination rekindled, Harleen had tracked down the judge who had sentenced him, who had apparently been ordered to keep quiet about the fate of the Joker. It didn't take much convincing for her to get it out of him; all she had had to do was slim down her wallet a little bit. He was old and retired now. He confirmed that the Joker had been sentenced to solitary confinement in Arkham Asylum.

Locking him up in Arkham in isolation was a very ingenious sentence. There he would have no one to "play with" any longer. No one to terrorize, nothing to destroy. It was like prison, but better. Solitary confinement was one of the worst punishments you could possibly give to a human being. Perhaps it was even a punishment worse than death, she speculated. She wondered if it actually bothered him as much as it would bother a normal human being.

Not only did she get the whereabouts of the Joker, she also obtained the means to contact the man who ran the place, Dr. Jeremiah Arkham. Officially, the asylum was owned by the county, however, Jeremiah had asked to be in charge of overseeing most matters, and his request had been granted, given he was the nephew of the man who built the place, Amadeus Arkham.

It took weeks for her to get a hold of him. He was a very secluded man. Rightfully so, he had been housing a top-secret prisoner in his facility for many years, and he was creeping up on the elderly side. Not only that, but Blackgate was planning on transferring a good number of its patients over to Arkham. She had been assisting in the process of selection for several weeks now.

It wasn't difficult to keep Dr. Arkham's attention, once she had it. She showed him her impressive resumé and strategically topped it off with the primary reason why she had such an interest in the Joker- the research project she had been working on for years, which involved an in-depth psychiatric and psychological study on several different categories of mental illnesses and disorders. She explained she was writing personal evaluations on a variety of people for each category of illness or disorder, and it was in her very good interest to include the Joker.

This, combined with her reputation which preceded her, had him thoroughly impressed, and after their long interview over a cup of coffee in a small café on the outskirts of the city, he agreed to let her conduct an extensive evaluation on the Joker.

Today was her first day there.

A rush of anticipation coursed through her body as she stepped out of her car and beheld the entrance to the run down institution. Its full name was "The Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane." The arch over the wrought iron gates read simply "Arkham Asylum." It had originally been owned by Dr. Amadeus Arkham, who had named it after his deceased mother, Elizabeth.

It was said that he actually helped his mother kill herself. After that, he vowed to change the way mentally ill people were treated, and built the asylum. His wife and daughter were later on killed by one of his patients which had escaped. Rumor also had it that he electrocuted the patient in "electroshock therapy" and slowly descended into insanity himself, eventually dying inside his own institution.

Then there was Dr. Jonathan Crane, who had secretly been testing psychotropic drugs on his patients, until he quite literally was given a dose of his own medicine and ended up locked up himself, courtesy of the Batman. There were many more dark stories that stemmed from the early days of this place. She was intrigued by its history.

The sky was a solid grey color outside, with a distinct wet chill in the air. It had been raining for days. She was thankful it wasn't raining now; she was wearing heals and it was a nice walk up to the front entrance.

She met Jeremiah in the lobby, a large room dominated by a large wooden staircase. The walls were covered with wood paneling, and the floor in a faded crimson, ivory and burnt gold carpet. "Hello again, Dr. Arkham." She said, with her usual bright, red lipped smile. "How are you doing on this fine, dreary day?" She said, as they shook hands.

"I'm quite well, and you, dear?"

"I certainly can't complain."

"Good, good. Well, let's get started, shall we?"

"Yes sir."

He proceeded to lead her on a tour of the facility. Her bright cerulean eyes flitted around, taking in her settings as Dr. Arkham showed her around, instructing her on everything she needed to know. The fabric of her fitted black pencil skirt moved in rhythm to her pace and the click of her heels on the hard floor. The flickering lights overhead bounced off of her light blonde hair, which she kept pulled back in a neat bun resting on top of her head.

She could see evidence of reconstruction in many places. "I see you've been renovating the place." She said. "I assume in preparation for the new company that will be arriving soon." She had already mentioned to Dr. Arkham that she had been involved in the process prior to the transference.

"Ah, yes. The place has become increasingly in need of repairs over the years, and now that it will be in use again that need has become more pressing. We also plan to greatly increase the security measures in this place. There will be multiple cameras in every hall, with visual and audio feed, as well as motion detectors, guards on every level for twenty-four hours a day, and requirement for ID scans from all staff, including myself on every level."

"That's very impressive, and I'm sure it will be ever bit necessary."

"Yes, indeed." He paused for a few moments. "Would you be interested in a job here, once the inmates are transferred?"

Harleen smiled, genuinely happy. "Why yes, of course. I am honored that you would offer me the opportunity."

"Swell! I think you would make a very good contribution to our staff."

He showed her everything there was to know about Arkham, which would have seemed pointless had she not known that Blackgate would be transferring prisoners soon. They started with the first floor, where he showed her the medical supplies and food storage rooms, the dining area, kitchen, recreation rooms, gym, therapy center, and rehabilitation center. The second floor held four maximum security cell blocks, intensive treatment and Arkham's medical facility.

The place held an air of abandonment, and ghosts of insanity. The atmosphere was a call to Harleen, rather than a warning. Among the criminals and madness was where her intelligence thrived.

Lastly, they went to the basement, where the last two maximum security cell blocks were, as well as the penitentiary, where the Joker was held. They entered the elevator once again, and Harleen felt her heart skip a beat in expectancy. She watched as Jeremiah pressed the button for the bottom floor, and in seconds they arrived.

The doors opened, revealing a dimly lit hallway. The walls here were painted a two-tone duo which consisted of a grungy pastel green top, and a dark sage bottom. She wrinkled her nose at the combination silently. The air was musty and stagnant. Not surprising for a basement, of course.

They walked through the old cell blocks, with dim flickering lights over head. And at last, they reached the prison block. It wasn't much different than the others, but it was different. The atmosphere, it was colder, more drab, more precise looking.

They stopped at a particular cell, one that stood apart from all the others. This one looked just a little newer, and much more fortified. There was but a small, grimy window placed in the vault for a door, barred up with iron.

"There he is." Dr. Jeremiah said.

The label on the door read "Inmate #0801 The Joker."

She walked up to the window, peering through, her heart beat quickening.

He sat slouched on his bunk, which faced the right wall of the cell. Other than the bed, there was only the toilet and a sink, with a bar of soap on the rim. He was humming to himself, his eyes floating around idly. The passage of time was visible in his face, though it did not diminish his looks.

His torso was wrapped in a dingy white straight jacket. They had cut his hair short, so it was just a greasy mess framing his now bare face, and he had a shadow of a beard. She supposed they didn't let him around razors too much, if at all. She could see the two jagged scars on either side of his mouth plainly now that they weren't covered in crimson paint, as plainly as you could through the grimy glass she was peering through.

He seemed to suddenly become aware of their presence, his humming ceasing. He looked out through the bars at them. His gaze flitted from her, to Dr. Arkham, then back to her. They locked eyes for what felt like a long moment to Harleen. She was looking at a man few had laid eyes on in over a decade. Many never wanted to lay eyes on him again. Some never had. But he was in front of her right now, this very moment, locked up tight in his cell which was modified just for him.

She couldn't bring herself to look away, though his eyes seemed to bore into her. It was as if she was fixated.

A second or two passed, then suddenly, he scowled at her, jolting her out of her daze. She jumped a little, her eyes widening with surprise.

He snickered at her, finding amusement at the small fissure he had created in her composure.

Harleen took a discreet breath through her nose in attempt to calm her now racing heart, her cheeks heating up. "He sure looks cozy." She remarked wryly, in attempt to cover up any sign of discomfort she might have given off.

"Quite." Dr. Arkham replied with a grimace. "Shall we go now? I never do like spending much time down here."

"I don't blame you." She said, and followed him away.

His faint laughter followed them down the hallway, leaving her with a deep, unsettling feeling. She couldn't help but feel thrilled in spite of it.