Chapter One: "Make Gotham Great Again"
"Back to square one...Common criminals. We saved this city from certain damnation, but will we see any credit for our loyalty, our selfless bravery? Of course not! I don't want their thanks. Or their respect. You know what I felt, standing shoulder to shoulder with those people out there? Nothing. I... feel... absolutely nothing for those drab... boring people. That was me once. Minimum wage at a thankless job at the GCPD. 'Yes, sir. No, sir. Thank you so much, sir.' Picking up scraps from my master's floor. Shy, awkward... pathetic Ed. Common criminals? Never again. I've shown this city who I truly am once before, and I will do it again. They will bow to the Riddler, and they won't get up until I permit them to."
Reunification from Gotham to the Mainland took six months to completely finish, as the newly employed construction workers had to rebuild the fallen bridges. With Mayor Aubrey James back in office as the "born again" man of righteousness—okay—he made money moves such as reconstruction of all the buildings and residences that had been farmed out by the notorious villains of Gotham. To "Make Gotham great again", as was Aubrey James's election slogan, employment rates skyrocketed to appoint politicians and overseers of abandoned offices and businesses.
With the city in close shambles, all of Arkham Asylum's formerly escaped inmates were re-incarcerated by the new Commissioner James Gordon's depleted GCPD. Those who had left Gotham before Jeremiah Valeska's plans could come to fruition returned in hopes that they no longer would fear another tyrannical captivity of the city.
With the born again mantra of Gotham coming about, the city was in desperate need of a new Arkham Asylum owner, though the position seemed cursed due to every former owner becoming mentally unwell. The proof? Damascus Arkham, his son Jeremiah Arkham, and then Professor Hugo Strange, all went insane while in the position as proprietor of the Criminally Insane hospital.
While Oswald Cobblepot was referred to the BlackGate Prison for his many murders and extortion—collectively a ten year sentence in one lump sum—Edward Nygma went to the asylum for his crimes against Haven and subsequently every murder thereafter. By standards, it was established that Penguin go to BlackGate as he had already a certificate of sanity therefore committed his heinous acts while competent. Nygma's certificate of sanity was given to him by duress, and therefore found inadmissible in the eyes of the law. Although Gordon knew very well about the circumstances in Haven, it morally felt wrong to let 300 people's lives mean nothing in the event of a better, fair Gotham. So that was that about that.
Mayor James and Commissioner Gordon, along with seasoned Detective Harvey Bullock, familial minds of Lucius Fox and great judge of character Alfred Pennyworth collaborated to find a suitable warden whom should sit in the chair of Arkham's administration office.
Three months into the reunification process, the collective vote went to Moira Briarcliffe, a wealthy business woman with merely an addiction to collecting items of interest ("She's a hoarder," Harvey had mentioned as a downplay for her perpetual hobby. "In Gotham, that's innocent if ever I knew what that meant in this city").
Knowing very well of the job at hand, she was quick to buy the estate from the city.
Along with the idea of a new Gotham, Moira Briarcliffe had the old Arkham Asylum reconstructed with an idea to make the inmates and patients feel rather at home rather than in prison.
Mayor James allowed the new proprietor of Arkham Asylum to rename it infamously as the Briarcliffe Asylum. And so the new era began, with the idea of personal care and sincere therapy for the inmates in mind rather than a toss-away dump for the insane individuals who were recidivists, along with those who could not function in the BlackGate Prison, or deemed hopeless by the Gotham General Hospital. The patients ranged from the general population of the innocuous variety, addicts and alcoholics who had no rock bottom, or those under the delusion that they were a chicken, or people who were hypnotized and couldn't snap out of it—up to the heinous and much needed security ward, whether for others or for themselves.
Of course, the authorities couldn't just take her word for it. Many have trousered under a guise of well intentions and generous claims all the while manipulating the system and its patients for selfish gains.
So a few months after business going well and general high ratings of her establishment, Moira Briarcliffe prepared the asylum for a tour by Lucius Fox and Commissioner Gordon.
Such things must be in order…
In legal order.
Moira Briarcliffe seated herself in her office chair. A look of satisfaction on her face, poised by a prominent chin and high cheekbones. Her straight posture, and a head full of long, blonde hair and a smile on her face made her seem as if the office swivel chair was a throne.
Collecting items was a hobby of hers, indeed, as she had told Gordon and the Mayor. Innocent by trade, and a curious hobby as a front—but Moira's interest in the old asylum hadn't come from something generous and righteous.
She liked collecting people. A very curious hobby for a person to have to begin with, Moira fell in love with the idea of dictating the lives of the dark and mysterious and dangerous people in her very own zoo. Valuing darkness rather than light, valuing sadism and apathy over moral fiber, valuing brilliance and cunning over brawn and courage— Moira felt at home with those who were deemed throw-aways or misfits. But to her, she valued them all. Notable assets whom lined her metaphorical shelves.
One to note that she particularly was fond of was the Riddler. These days, he didn't much care for his real name. Two years of being the Riddler combined with an extra ten to being confined to an institution, Moira found his strength of mind to be impressive. He was the smartest of the bunch, a wicked but handsome smile on his face, glasses and all. Anytime she walked in the common room, he'd be around sharing riddles with anyone who competent enough to understand what he was saying. When Moira Briarcliffe walked into the common room, it was like the queen visiting her commoners. She certainly valued all of them, but there was an air of arrogance always to her voice when she spoke to them.
The promises of luxury and lethargy were kept...to a degree. Beds were more comfortable, the decor was finesse. The showers actually ran hot water. There were comfortable couches. They could play chess, or paint, play with dolls. Really, anything that they requested other than contraband was given to the patients...If they did as they were told.
Moira Briarcliffe liked to have control in their lives—when they slept, when they ate, what they ate, how they should act. And of course, what she thought was unacceptable.
Considered in the hospital by staff, orderlies, and even patients, they called her "The Zookeeper"; for if anyone was admitted, nobody was discharged from the Asylum whether they were sane or not. She hadn't made any certificates of insanity since she bought the property.
After a few years, she believed that even the least harmful of the bunch made her hospital noteworthy. So she kept them all. Every single one.
The new Briarcliffe Asylum housed more than 130 patients. If more came, Moira hired construction workers to add on more rooms, more dining areas, a bigger medical facility, a larger infirmary.
For ten years, there had been a quiet in Gotham; for there was no escape or odd things happening there. Gordon and Mayor James believed Moira kept her promises.
The staff certainly had their ways of controlling the unruly. The question of it being legal, well, what the authorities didn't know wouldn't hurt them. The Zoo Keeper always made certain that the beds were made, the bathrooms were clean, and all patients were presumably content, if not only to show Gordon and the Mayor that she had what the others didn't: control over their mental stability, a panache for running a growing establishment such as that.
Moira Briarcliffe resumed her paperwork on the desk, confirming the family supervision of a few innocuous patients. Some families of the generic mentally ill could visit on weekends, as long as they consented to a cavity search and their property examined by the security guards at the front gate. Moira wasn't for entirely isolating the patients from their relatives who still had hope that they would recover. Always, Moira would tell her Medical Staff to say "They're improving, but alas, they must remain here until Briarcliffe has believed that they aren't a threat to others or themselves".
She'd never let them go. But the families had to be reassured that, "one day", their loved one would surely be sane.
Moira heard a knock on the door, and she lit up a cigarette as quickly as she heard the knob jiggle and an older man, bearded and gray-haired, standing seven feet tall, ducked under the ceiling to stride to the front of her desk.
Moira grinned, sucked on the cigarette filter, and exhaled along with a gentle greeting,
"Ahhh. Dr. Arden."
"Good morning, Moira," said the tall doctor.
"Trouble?" Moira inquired, unconcerned.
"An unruly patient in the South Wing," said Dr. Arden.
"My favorite corridor," Moira reflected secretively, nipping the cigarette filter with her teeth. "You should be used to the South Wing, Dr. Arden. They've lost their minds for the most part. Unfortunate souls, given into blood lust and a desire to jump the fence at a given notice. What of the patient, Doctor? Slit wrists this time? More trips to the infirmary? Another riot in the middle of lunch time? The walls closing in or the walls not close enough?"
Moira chuckled, rising to her feet, pushing the consent forms away from her.
Doctor Arden, a man of dark humor and taste, regarded her aloofness of her most valuable possessions with a raised eyebrow.
"Moira, for a woman who loves her patients, you have quite a knack of mocking them for their very real illness." Dr. Arden commented gently.
"Surely not offending your sensibilities, is it?" Moira teased.
"No," Dr. Arden returned sincerely. "I don't much care for any of them. But I think it's pointless to keep as many under the supervision your small number of staff if you don't intend to set them free. Lots of fun for you, more work for me—to put it plainly."
Moira made a noise of sympathy,
"Aww. Feeling overworked? You're a great man. Best at what you do, even better when you say nothing about it to the policemen." Moira swerved around the desk to approach him. His height compared to her 5'1" height had her only come up to the middle of his belly. "Tall glass of water like you, can't handle a few riff raffs?"
Dr. Arden's mouth tweaked at the right side of his jaw with a small smirk.
"I know you're just trying to butter me up like usual."
"That's right," said Moira sweetly. "I'm the only woman for you, right?"
Dr. Arden shared in their work relationship with a small smile, returning the usual remark, as he had always said he was married to his job, with a note of sincerity, "The only woman who will keep me around."
She exhaled sharply and tapped her fingers on her desk.
"All right, Dr. Arden, what of the patient?"
Dr. Arden approached.
"Dr. Hugo Strange," he said, "is again requesting that you move him from the South Wing to the East Wing."
Moira grinned widely.
"So, he puts himself in the same ranks as Ed Nygma, does he?" Moira chuckled. "Quite a persistent doc, isn't he? Still getting the same tall tale every time he's sent to the infirmary? What happened this time? Did Professor Pyg find him distasteful today? One of the patients find his condescension especially unwarranted again?"
Dr. Arden gestured tiredly, for this was about the fiftieth time in five weeks that Hugo Strange bequeathed the administration to move him from the violent ward to the wing that hosted the intellectual and delusional minds of the hospital.
Moira took the issue personally, as Strange had been responsible for having Ed Nygma kill the people in Haven. So to put Strange in a ward where the very people he created and harmed were his fellow roommates seemed to be poetic justice. Hugo Strange resisted the idea that he physically killed anybody, merely being a man of mind—but by anybody's views, especially Ed Nygma's, Hugo Strange killed more people than anybody in the hospital.
"Moira, he is at best extremely obnoxious to the other patients as well as the staff," Dr. Arden explained calmly. "Your orderlies find it hard to feed him because he thinks that the food is putrid. The pastor of the chapel has his own dilemma to seek out his so-called God to help Strange as he violates the order of life and death with his persistent tales of a mad scientist. The psychiatrist has rendered Strange as a hopeless case; every time Dr. Thredson tries to have a therapy session, the roles are reversed and Strange is the one asking questions."
Moira listened to her Chief of Medical Staff, nodding, knowing all this to be unsurprising. She continued to smoke until Dr. Arden finished his list of difficulties, and when she put her cigarette out in the small ashtray on her desk, Moira gathered a bottle from her desk drawer and held it toward Dr. Arden by the neck of the bottle.
"Darling," said Moira calmly, untouched by Strange's non-compliance, "My dearest friend. Let me speak to him. Take a thirty and resume your work day with the rest of the hospital. No need to use all your resources on just one little man while others need your most undivided attention, Darling."
Dr. Arden looked as if she shut him down, but also relieved that she would take the matter in her own hands. He received the bottle by its body and watched Moira step out of the office confidently.
Maybe not to the others inside the establishment, but Moira made Gotham great again by not conceding to the demands of a raving mad Frankenstein. Dr. Arden sat in her chair to relax his nerves with a glass of her special liquor.