(Author's Note: I'm retouching the chapters of this story, since there were grammar errors, and some parts that could have been said better, and parts that I left in before I had changed the course of the story. After I go back through the chapters, I'll begin work on the new one.
SfaW is seemingly the only one of my stories that my elusive Muse is willing to help me with, and this story kind of got forgotten in my haze of writing Chosen Again.)
"Good morning Jack." A patronizing voice echoed out in the room, waking me from a sleep deeper than death.
That wasn't too great of an idea, anger and an unholy bloodthirst running through my veins as my eyes opened to view only empty walls of cold longing.
I took a breath then, steeling myself for a view inside my mind, and found a surge of memories and emotions racing towards me.
Judging from just the barest sensations that whipped at me, screaming in laughter and rage, I learned of my new found fate.
I'm a psychopath.
"That's… a new one."
This was… twenty-six, from what I could remember, but I couldn't remember too much, well, besides some of my previous lives.
I always remember the last one, and the first few, the others coming along within days until I'm once again a jumbled mess of memories and faces, all bearing bloody marks on my soul.
It was… almost painful, having so many thoughts and memories bombarding my senses, as I came to terms with who I now was, and the fact that no longer would I answer by a name I had grown to know.
"Goodbye Morris Jones, hello… whoever I am…"
Normally it came slowly, bit by bit… But this… This was torture, not even knowing enough of who I was supposed to be, only seeing madness and carnage flashing before my eyes as I slowly crawled my way back to control.
The sudden end of it, was what brought me back to the doctor standing at my door, looking at me expectedly with a twitch of her head.
The aged woman didn't seem pleased that I was ignoring her, as my new body shifted on the room's cot, calmly turning to face her, her eyes beady and sharp as she seemed to tear apart who I was in a second.
I don't like her, but before I could say a word, my lips found their own motion and began to speak.
"Hiya Doc', what's up? Lost your marbles yet? Maybe we could look together?" I found myself saying in horror, as what I could only guess was the man I was meant to replace, pushed me aside.
A smile found its way on my face, as the man pushed himself to his feet.
The doctor didn't seem pleased by my smiling face, but that man said that the staff had always hated him, and by extension, now me as well.
"Might as well maintain the status quo." I thought to myself, before I was instantly interrupted. "Well except for the burning drive within me screaming for me to degrade and murder the status quo. That's a better idea."
The man in my head gave a feeling that he was only enjoying my mental anguish, and fully agreed with me.
"Jack, I have already told you, your jokes only hold back your recovery." The woman said with a scowl, as she looked at me with disdain. Jack, the man who I had stepped into, only sneered at her. He and I both had the same thought then, as a subversion of stereotype came to life before us.
"What kind of doctor says jokes are bad for your health?"
"What happened to laughter being the best medicine Doctor?" I asked her, as I turned my wild gaze to the woman, a grin tearing at my face in pain as Jack felt he was too funny to be denied.
"That obviously wasn't said by a doctor." The doctor… Carnoline, if I remembered correctly, said with no patience at all. "Now, you have group therapy. Time to get moving."
With that, she held the reinforced door open for me, gesturing to the hallway.
The man that used to own this body gave me a nudge then, but I could almost see him out of the corner of my eye, and the man who laughs was angry.
Jack gave a shallow nod then, and seemed to disappear on the spot, leaving me alone in our body.
For now at least.
With the silence now in my mind, Jack's presence still wavering close by, I moved towards the woman.
Her words struck a chord with me, and I learned something very important.
I'm trapped in an asylum.
Joseph, otherwise known as Jack, Henry Napier.
He was born on the lower edge of Gotham City, having grown up in the Bowery with only a shell of a mother to raise him.
Raised in a place where the police rarely wandered, and where the screams of the innocent were dulled by the sounds of violence, lust, and savagery.
Napier was doomed to such savagery and madness, and he did not defy fate.
From looking through the memories of the man, I saw that he didn't remember his childhood much, the path likely being too scarring for even him to want to remember.
Something truly troubling, however, was that he remembered more than one… A splitting crossroads that would branch and lead to the man I now was.
In one such origin, he had been raised by an abusive father, beaten to an inch of life daily, never knowing kindness until the man had fallen dead to Jack's own hands, clenched tightly around his father's own pistol, the dark blood staining his lips as he grinned at his mortal deed done.
However, he remembered another, and another…
From a drug addict mother, to a failed comedy career, to a dead wife, to police brutality, to being left for dead on a battlefield, to being scarred forever by a mad man very similar to Jack himself…
How he got to Arkham Asylum was a confusing thing to figure out, as Jack didn't remember that either, and no staff member of Arkham was there when he arrived.
He had just been there one day, sitting alone in a secure cell, no one knowing who he was or why he was even there.
But there he stayed, never accepting the chance to leave or defend his sanity.
He just sat there.
Silent. Nonthreatening.
Smiling.
I couldn't quite make sense out of the entire disaster that was the man's mind, but I felt a sense of impending dread rising within my gut…
I could feel the assimilation between he and I beginning… and I could only imagine what kind of man I'd be at that point…
I could also feel excitement…
"Bruce Wayne has returned to Gotham!" The cafeteria's television squeaked out, before being silenced by the doctor as she ushered me forward into a circle of other… men, who all looked at her in anger.
They were likely annoyed at her for cancelling their daily dose of television time, likely the only entertainment that you could find in the unholy hell of a place I had landed myself in now.
While I would have once felt a sense of fear at my fellow inmates, this new entity that had taken control of me, only looked at them with a sideward glance.
They were his entertainment.
I found no fear from them, especially the man who was eyeing me up like I was a brand new canvas.
Before I could question that, I was pushed into a cheaply made chair, and forced to meet the eyes of the other maniacs.
Around me sat five different men, all of different mental states and manners, which was obvious enough from their appearances.
With each one, Jack began filling in the details, almost gleefully giving secrets and pasts like a gossiping housewife.
Apparently he loved me being here…
The man to my left, was a wall of muscle made into a man. His eyes were beady and small, almost unused to the lights as he flinched under their harsh gaze.
Jack stated that the man was used to wearing sunglasses, which the staff forbid him to, as they insisted that impaired eyesight would only set back his recovery.
Apparently he went by the criminal name of 'Defenestrator.'
He was renowned for his fighting style, which was just to throw people through windows.
Remarkable.
To his left, was a pale, unremarkable man dressed in plaid.
He was the kind of man that you'd see walking past you in the supermarket, and not bat an eye at, that you wouldn't pay more than a second thought.
If it wasn't for the heavy scars marring the right side of his face, like a scalpel had decided it wanted to try being a bonesaw.
It wasn't a pretty visage, that was to be sure.
This man, was known as the Dollmaker.
He made dolls out of people…
I didn't want to think more on him…
Apparently, he liked my new face.
He said he wanted to make a doll with it.
I was attached to my face, though Jack wasn't too repulsed by the idea.
Unfortunately for him, I'm steering now.
To his left, and directly across from me, was a seemingly sickly man, with almost glowing green eyes that said that he definitely wasn't human.
I had seen Inhumans before, and if this man was a human, I was a freaking archangel.
The stranger looked like he would drop dead any second, but he didn't show a single sign of death, which I was pretty good at noticing by now.
He looked… almost otherworldly, in a dark sense. I noticed what seemed to be fresh dirt beneath his nails, and what I swear was something growing from his scalp…
This was Jason Woodrue, a 'super villain' that had once held the powers of the Earth at his fingertips, until some guy called Atom had defeated him decades ago, and sent him packing to our little abode.
His powers were supposedly gone, but Jack had heard rumors that Woodrue had been seen whispering to the cracks in his cells, almost like he was talking to someone.
He wouldn't stop talking about the "Green" and how it wouldn't let him rot here.
He was definitely dangerous, but since he had been here for almost thirty years, I'm sure he wasn't going anywhere.
To my right, sitting much too closely for my liking, was Frank Russell, a man that had apparently clung onto Jack ever since he had arrived here.
Frank was a young good-looking man, who had gone insane during his tragic childhood, and apparently thought that Jack was his uncle.
That odd familial worship had twisted the man's mind, and made him willing to do anything to please Jack, even murder.
Jack hadn't denied the guy, so now I was stuck with my crazy 'nephew.'
Thankfully, Jack wasn't affectionate with the guy, so I wasn't having to hug some random guy on my first day.
And before I could forget, Charles Bradbury, an insane man of sixty-eight years, who was extremely sure that Benjamin Franklin, (Yes, that Franklin) was haunting him.
Considering my 'special' connection to Death, I'd been able to see spirits in all my lives, no matter my form.
Bradbury was just fucking crazy.
"Now, it's Friday. Who would like to begin today's therapy session?" Doctor Carnoline spoke up, interrupting all of our staring contests as she entered her own gaze for consideration.
I wouldn't grade her more than a four out of ten.
I grinned at her impatience.
Woodrue yawned.
Frank raised his hand eagerly, almost as if he couldn't contain himself.
I almost felt bad. From what Jack told me, the guy was almost thirty, but no older mentally than twelve.
Perhaps Jack let him believe they were related out of sympathy.
He wouldn't tell me.
The doctor sighed then, as I assumed that Frank often went first.
I could see why this amused Jack so much, as her reactions were hysterical.
"Yes… Frank?" She managed to say, as her eyes almost seemed on fire, the pencil within her grasp beginning to bend from her grip.
"Hey! That's a perfectly innocent pencil!"
I blinked then, as that bastard once again shoved his ten cents into my mind. I could only hope that the assimilation would stop this, as I couldn't see myself getting used to his constant interruptions.
"Well, I had a dream that Uncle Jack took me to the circus, and we saw a big elephant!" Frank joyfully exclaimed as he clapped his hands. He reminded me a bit of Creevey here, with the way he kept staring at me for confirmation, as if I had to approve everything he did.
I think I actually sighed in sequence with everyone else here, as we all sat in for a long session.
The guards with assault rifles pointed at our heads ensured our peace.
I could have sworn that Doctor Carnoline muttered something about me not being his uncle, but apparently she'd tried many times before to make that point clear.
I had a feeling Frank wouldn't listen even if I said it.
"Anyone else? Please…?" The doctor asked aloud, as she looked at the rest of us for help.
I could almost feel my green hair growing longer as we sat for who knows how long waiting.
Sadly, Jack didn't know why his hair was the color, as the man's memory was shattered worse than all those Time Turners…
I just shrugged, it was a nice change from the usual black.
To all of our surprise, however, the elderly Bradbury slowly raised his hand, as his eyes strongly locked his eyes on hers.
Jack himself was surprised, as it seems that the man barely moved except to eat.
"Yes, Charles?" The doctor asked of him, her brows lifting as she relaxed in surprise, her notepad ready to record what she must have assumed to be a breakthrough.
The man straightened his little glasses, as he opened his mouth to speak, a whisperous cough breaking through.
"Mr. Franklin doesn't like you much."
Most of us went back to being bored, as that wasn't too surprising or interesting.
What was interesting, however, was what happened right after.
Doctor Carnoline shifted into a burning rage, as she stomped over to almost scream in the man's face, which almost made me wonder if she was crazy as well.
She would fit in well here.
"Charles, I've told you before. Benjamin Franklin is de-"
To all of our shock, even the guards, Bradbury began to enter what appeared to be a seizure, his body dropping to the ground as he began to go into what I recognized as cardiac arrest.
Then the doctor's head exploded, as greymatter and gruesome fragments of what once was a skull flew at everyone.
I was sure I had a tooth in my hair.
At the same time, I felt almost a jolt, as I knew that Jack's memories had fully synchronized with mine.
This was…
Within my mind, I began to scream in agony, as it almost felt like I was being attacked, that it was my head that was exploding.
Out loud, however, I just grinned an almost demonic grin, one that seemingly reached from ear to ear.
I began laughing.
To all of our shared surprise and joy, old little Bradbury was apparently a telepath.
At least Potter said as much.
A real shame though, was that the security guards had instantly filled him with lead.
"I was just starting to like that guy too!"
Despite that, I just couldn't get the image of that bitch's face out of my head.
The split second where anger had bled into fear, as her brains bled everywhere.
I didn't really know who I was anymore, only that I was somewhere in between the funny madman, and that stuck up Potter guy.
I had decided that I kind of liked the name Harold Jack Napier.
Harry Jack sounded just swell in my opinion, and just seemed to roll off the tongue.
Something that I really wanted to roll off my tongue, however, was that new girl they'd hired to replace the frigid bitch that Bradbury had relieved us of.
Seeing her, I decided that the old guy was going to be my new hero, as I got a look at her when she opened my cell to collect me for the latest therapy session.
After the bloodbath of the last therapy session, the Arkham staff had decided we needed to do individual therapy from now on.
The rest of us had argued venomously to continue the group setting, after seeing how much fun we could get up to together, but the stupid Warden had decided that we didn't get a vote.
"Look at me monologuing, when this piece of work is here!" I thought as I laid eyes on her once more.
Her skin was flawlessly pale, her eyes a lively shade of blue, and her blonde hair had almost a golden allure in the dim lights of my cell.
In the part of my mind that I'd labeled 'Potter', I could have sworn that I knew her from somewhere, maybe just her face…
But, what a face it was.
The fact that she was escorted by two guards didn't stop my admiration, as I just smiled in a decent way, as I actually tried to suppress the aspects of me that scarred people mentally.
I wanted to impress her, oddly enough.
"Mr. Napier, it's time for therapy." She said almost like a mouse, though she was obviously trying to sound stern.
Her dinky little glasses made her adorable.
I just had to grin.
"Of course doctor."
Unknown to many, far from Gotham's shores, and even farther than many had even gone, lay a fortress buried beneath a valley of death and darkness.
Forgotten by the world, and guarded by those sworn to secrecy and the will of action, housed those that prided themselves on being almost inhuman.
One among them actually was.
A seemingly aging man sat atop an ornate throne, his hands resting together, as he stared off into nothingness, obviously lost in thought.
Most wouldn't be able to even consider what the man may be thinking to be lost, when he was usually aware of any and everything, constantly on guard against threats of any kind.
His gaze only slightly hovered on the young woman approaching him slowly, her head bowed to him as she reached his side.
"Daughter." He acknowledged, as he maintained his stare into nothing, almost as if he was seeing something no other could.
The woman bowed then, as she kneeled before him out of respect. Only after he nodded, did she speak.
"You're worried about him, aren't you father?" She asked of him, her eyes coming to rest on his face with interest.
The man's usual, stone-set face shifted, as something flickered through him.
Perhaps anger, perhaps concern.
He wouldn't tell her of course.
"No… The boy will survive. He has learned all I could teach him… If he has the strength to deny me, he has the strength to do what he will." He spoke with something akin to pride coloring his words, as she could have sworn that she saw a smile grace his lips.
She almost made to interrupt then, but he merely laid a hand upon her head, as he began to stand quickly and sharply, as he instantly became alert and tense.
"Begone Talia, there is still much work to be done." He barked out, as he began a slow stride from the room, heading to a place of study.
Talia just nodded, as she tried to hide the sadness within her from him, and perhaps from herself as well.
She understood of course, as they all did.
It was a known fact, and one drilled into the minds of each and everyone of them from birth.
As he never rested, never shall the League of Shadows.