Trigger Warning: Scenes of drug use, extreme violence, torture and other mature content.

She looked at the woman before her with repulsion. She had always been vain about her appearance and it disgusted her that she had to accept the woman before her as herself now. What once was round and soft was now gaunt and hardened. Her tan skin felt layered with grime and mould, her blue eyes looked vacant and dusty.

The girl she once was no longer existed. Her entirety had worsened, not just her appearance. How old are you now? Ada asked the woman, the familiarities sinking back to her as her eyes took in the dark mole on her collarbone. She could remember her doctor wishing her a happy 21st birthday. How long ago was that? She did not look 21 any more.

Her cracked fingernails combed at a choppy dark lock. Well, at least your hair is finally the length you wanted, whispered a reminder of her former self.

She had let the shower run hot for too long and it had started to mist the mirror. She would enjoy being able to shower without a guard watching over her, even if it took a little time for her to adjust to the strange loneliness. Ada turned away from the fogged doppelgänger haunting the mirror and stepped under the hot rain. Her body sighed at the sudden contact. She forgot that showers could be comforting. The water felt like warm caresses compared to the pelting pressure of the Arkham showers. And there were no time restraints on how long she could be in one place. She could stay under that shower forever if she wanted. She cricked her neck and moaned and let her broken mind drift off in the foreign bliss.

8 years, her thoughts offered. Was it 8 years in all? She squeezed the shower gel onto her hand, briefly noticing the male brand, and vigorously got to work on washing away the previous 8 years.

Her mind wandered back to earlier events, a haze of chaos and madness. The impatience was tangible. She wanted out but everyone around her wanted destruction. Bangs rang out as doctors, guards and patients were shot. Arkham had fallen and Gotham's insane were released. The Joker had twirled her around in manic glee as she passed him. "This city is breaking," He told her with a lap of his lips. "It's beautiful," he said darkly. She had stayed with him for the duration of the riot, following him as he delighted in kicking those who were down and wishing the walls farewell, and waited as he met up with his cronies. "Dollface," he said to her, "you're part of the gang now. I'm taking your pretty little brains with me. Keep close."

She wasn't quite sure the order of the following events but she was in the back of a van; staring at the sky; being given a tightly wrapped burger; crushing a man's fingers beneath her feet; and following a hallway to a bathroom.

Ada snapped off the flow of water and stepped out of the shower, wrapping her red skin in one of the towels and her hair in another. Before Arkham she had always needed a separate towel for her hair because it was so thick it acted like a mop. Without assistance, her hair would take the whole day to dry by itself. She dried her body and examined the clean clothes left out for her. Unsurprisingly they were men's and were way too big for her. She pulled the t-shirt over her towel-wrapped head and easily shimmied into the khaki slacks. She didn't feel picky about the ensemble but she wished she had nice underwear instead of the dirty beige bra and large white boxer shorts from the asylum. When she had the chance she would burn them, along with the orange jumpsuit with 'Moore. #1786' branded on it. The khaki's fell down slightly as she bent to pull on the pair of thick socks and she irritably noted that she needed a belt.

You should be lucky that you're finally out of there, she thought. You're not the same girl who stupidly worries about what she's wearing. Ada pulled her snug-fitting combat boots on and fiercely tightened her laces until the action reminded her of garrotting.

Tightening the towel around her hair she unlocked the door and left the steam filled room to find no-one waiting for her. Padding around the run-down house she heard a few voices coming from what she found to be the kitchen. The whole house had a cabbage-like mildew smell clinging to the walls, but this room was filled with the smell of smoke and cannabis. To the right of a worn looking fridge was an awning window with the glass pushed up. A man was sat on a platform outside the window. He looked to Ada as she walked in and gestured to her.

"Dollface, right?" he asked. Ada lifted a brow but nodded all the same. She never minded people giving her nicknames before and she cared even less about it now. Once your entire person is defined by a number you care less about trivialities such as names. "I'm Patch," he said, and motioned for her to sit beside him on the roof. She climbed out and silently did as she was told. Patch inhaled deeply and passed her the joint. His voice was changed slightly as he kept from breathing the smoke out, he said, "Want some?" Ada wordlessly took it from him and dragged. The end of the spliff crackled quietly as she inhaled, burning the paper and the contents inside. Her throat filled with the smoke and she choked. She coughed and automatically passed the joint back to Patch who chuckled at the attempt. "Non-smoker I see."

"She aint much of a talker, neither," said the other man on the roof with Patch. This man took the joint from the latter and inhaled leisurely before saying, "Girl hardly said a thing on the way here." Ada recognised him as being one of Joker's men who assisted them in their jailbreak. This man had carried an impressive submachine gun, reminding her of a SWAT team. He hadn't introduced himself back then and if he never did, Ada would call him SWAT.

"That so?" hummed Patch with a lazy grin. "I always did prefer the quiet types," he jested with a wink, causing SWAT to bark a quick laugh.

"Girl looks like one of my African women with that towel around her head," he remarked back.

Ada breathed in deeply through her nose, wondering why this man refused to talk like she was, in fact, right next to him. He could clearly see her there. Instead of showing any acknowledgement to the men, Ada looked out at the darkening city and realised that they were somewhere in the Narrows. It had been so long since she had seen anything of the city she lived in that wasn't padded rooms or dank hallways. She pulled her legs to her chest and laid her chin atop her knees. Freedom felt strange.

Patch studied her with obvious interest. "Why so quiet then, dollface?" he asked.

Why so serious, dollface? asked a man with wild eyes as he peered into her dark cell.

Suddenly the evening air breathed through her and she shivered. She retracted her arms into the sleeves of her t-shirt so that her cold skin could find some warmth. Her arms hugged her slim body and reminded her of her yellowed Arkham straight jacket. She must have looked pathetic. After a short silence had passed, SWAT dismissed her, "Pff, she aint gonna answer us. Brother, just leave the loon alone. Girl is probably crazier than-"

On impulse Ada's hand shot out of her t-shirt and grabbed the handgun at Patch's side. The bullet rang out instantaneously as it drilled through SWAT's right eye. Patch's panicked cry forced her to turn the gun on him in case he tried anything and the man stilled under gunpoint. He held up his hands, stringing shaky pleas together for Ada to lower his weapon.

Ada flicked her hard blue eyes to the slumped body of SWAT to see that he had dropped the joint to the floor in his bloodied mess. With the gun still pointed at Patch, she crouched over and retrieved it. She placed it between her lips and inhaled the strange tasting drug. After holding in the smoke for a few seconds she breathed out, successfully this time, and lowered the gun. She passed Patch the joint and lowly warned, "Don't call me crazy."

Patch hurriedly took the joint from her and with wide eyes stammered, "Y-yeah! Of course not!" He shakily brought it to his lips and inhaled. He was too stunned to do anything much other than stare at the girl disconcerted. He had clearly underestimated the girl, forgetting that there was obviously a reason his boss had brought her with him. His boss. He remembered The Joker saying eerily the exact same thing before, Don't. Call. Me. Crazy, though it sounded much nicer coming from this girl.

Patch thought that if he hadn't just witnessed her murdering his comrade that he would pity her, looking at her as she was now. She looked way too tiny and meek to be caught up in Bane's Gotham, or in The Joker's hideout. Still, it was emasculating how powerless she had rendered him in a mere second.

Without knowing what to really do, he continued to sit with her and get high next to the corpse of his friend.


She'd spent her time imagining what she would do if she left the asylum, where she would go. She would leave Gotham and explore the world until she found somewhere quiet. The idea of living alone in a wigwam in the middle of a forest - maybe with Callie - seemed idyllic. It still took her a minute for the jarring image of Callie's slumped body to breakthrough her daydreaming and remind her that her dog was in fact dead. There would be no living with Callie. There would be no leaving Gotham. As often as the thought of an ideal life came to her, so did the realisation that she might not ever leave the asylum. She was psychotic. A criminal. A murderer. She was in Arkham. The only reason you would be sent to Arkham was so that you stayed in Arkham. You could only get out if you escaped, and that required help.

Ada had kept hold of Patch's gun. It didn't have much ammo left but it made her feel less pathetic. She felt lost and shambolic now that she was free.

She felt like she was waiting for something that wasn't going to happen.

What do you have left? the voice whispered. Nothing, was the answer. Nothing to lose.

Ada stared at the busted television as it re-ran propaganda news and informed her of all that she had missed. Essentially, Gotham was to be destroyed and everyone in the city had become hostages unable to leave. Ada wondered what her part would be in all of this. No-one cared what she did and it wasn't like she could do anything anyway. If you're not trapped in the asylum, you're trapped in the city, she thought.

Her hair was still wet and it soaked through her t-shirt, the towel disregarded on the floor beside her. She had left the shell-shocked boy on the roof and further explored the shabby house, finding the television in a tiny recreational room. Not to be misleading, the only thing that made it 'recreational' was the television, a dart board and littered beer bottles over every surface. With Gotham in such apparent chaos she was surprised that people had even bothered replaying the news. It seemed as if the headlines and reports were specifically for her. The thought made her paranoid that she should be doing something in that case.

It was then that she heard people entering the house and she wondered if she should seek them out or not. She had yet to move from her seat when The Joker burst into the room. "Dollface, there's a revolution and we're headlining acts. Hurry up!" He threw her a heavy-looking jacket and yet another handgun.

Excitement bubbled up in her at the chance to take the city for herself. She tugged on the jacket and adjusted both handguns in her clothing. The Joker giggled at her as she did so and purred, "How'd you get that then, deary?" He gestured to Patch's stolen handgun. Ada shrugged, impatient to leave and help destroy the city that offered so little to her. Maybe when there is no Gotham, I can leave Gotham.

Studying her, The Joker caught the mad twinkle in her eye as she outwardly shrugged and could sense her madness rising. Though she seemed silent and composed, The Joker could see the power building in her as she readied herself and hurried out of the room before him. He chuckled and swept out of the room as well.


They had driven to a wealthy neighbourhood with intent to loot and kidnap. All in all there were 6 of them, each of them wearing a clown mask except for herself and The Joker, who of course had fixed himself into his familiar make-up and attire. On the way, one of the henchmen asked Patch (she knew it was him from his voice) where Marlon was. By the way Patch's head twitched her way she knew that Marlon was undoubtedly SWAT, who she had killed irrationally. "He's dead," Patch said carefully. He sounded unsure if he was allowed to say those words. Ada felt sickly pleased to be intimidating.

The Joker had noticed the exchange and had given Ada a wide yellow-toothed smile. "One in, one out. Ay, boys?" he cackled.

The next events were out of order for Ada. One moment she was smashing pretty china into the flowered wallpaper, and the next moment she was shoving a middle-aged woman into an elevator. One of the masked henchman followed her into the elevator with a middle-aged man. Ada's processing skills returned and she was able to think freely. She noticed that the captured couple were both bound and that they were finely dressed in nightwear, as if they were asleep when she and the men had broken in. Ada was holding the handgun she had stolen from Patch and could tell that she had yet to use it.

Another clown entered the elevator holding a refuse sack. Then she remembered shoving open drawers and greedily scavenging for clothes and underwear. The styles weren't all that great but they'd fit her better than the clothes she was wearing.

In her reverie she had just stood and watched around her, waiting for the next thing. It meant that the clown next to her had to awkwardly lean across her to press the 'down' button. The doors closed and she realised that it was Patch. She wondered what he'd do if she stared at him long enough.

The doors opened and Ada kicked the screaming woman out. She waited for any clue as to what she was supposed to do with her captive but was at a loss.

She turned to Patch and asked, "What now?"

He jumped as if the sound of her voice alarmed him. "Wh-what?" he stammered. Ada made a 'tch' sound as she searched around them but made no further conversation.

The henchman with the refuse sack was luckily more co-operative. Just about. "In the van," he grunted and half-jogged to the van doors, opening them.

"No! Please, no!" the woman shrieked and struggled against Ada. It was irritating because Ada wasn't the strongest of people so instead she yanked back on the woman's untangled, enviable hair and cocked her gun against her temple. The woman sobbed miserably.

"We'll do anything you want!" The man cried, spurred on by her actions. He'd been accommodating for the whole thing. And he'd better stay that way, said a dark voice.

"Do what we want and you'll be doing what we want! It's fucking simple, really," spat Ada. She shoved the woman into the back of the van and the male captive followed suit. The co-operative non-Patch clown slammed the doors behind them and entered the driver's side.

Ada wondered whether to climb in the passenger side or not when another van pulled up alongside them. The back opened up and The Joker called out, "Next stop!"

Her and Patch climbed into the second van and readied themselves for whatever next. The Joker wasn't one for explaining his actions, Ada decided. The whole night seemed unplanned and yet thought out. It was strange not knowing what she was supposed to do and yet being able to do it. She felt exhilarated, her body moving of its own delirious adrenaline.

The voice in her mind acknowledged that the her from 8 years ago wouldn't be able to comprehend the feeling. Sheltered thing that she was.

Boring. Pathetic.

Now look at you, she thought.

The Joker looked at her in sick ecstasy. She realised that she was having fun.