The asylum is always cold. It always smells like damp and moss. Pipes leak through the ceilings and drip onto the floor. You get used to the noise, but at first it drives you mad.
People scream from the darkness. People cry, people sing. The noise of suffering is constant, and it's all the doing of the people themselves. Nurses and orderlies hurry around with medication and mops. It smells like piss. Psychiatrists attempt to 'help'. The patients aren't too helpful.
It's dark in the asylum. Lots of corners. Sharp objects are banned for this very reason. Unless it's the needles. Light bulbs flicker and eyes are forced to get used to it.
The main communal area is a large hall. It isn't clean or clinical. It contains plastic tables and chairs and there are bars on the windows. Natural light doesn't penetrate the shadows. Instead, bright, fluorescent strip lights shine out.
It is inhabited by the people it usually is. They set up a game of cards, as they always do.
The Mad Hatter sits aside from the main table, tossing tarot cards and giggling to himself. Occasionally he starts up a song, rising in pitch until he loses his breath and wheezily backs down to giggles again.
Clayface sits oozing and flaking onto the seats. He has his own. No one else will sit there. They don't want to be infected with whatever he has. He tells tales of his wife and all they did together. They try not to laugh at his love for a doll, as the last person who did so was melted into a puddle of diseased flesh, and it wasn't pleasant for anyone in the vicinity.
Maxie Zeus sits proudly in his chair and shouts about how the staff should worship him, for he is a god. The electric shock therapy has given him a sickly pallor which glows in the darkness, and he is so statically charged that he electrocutes anyone who sits beside him. He believes this is the power of the clouds and the lightening. He is surrounded at all other times by a gathering of worshippers, but he doesn't allow them into this 'sacred' room of gods.
Professor Milo sits in a huff, complaining about those around him. He is sane for now, he knows this, and he doesn't wish to go back to insanity. He worries that his brain is leaving him each and every day he stays there. But if the staff believed everyone who said they were sane…
Killer Croc lumbers up from the basement and sits in the puddles underneath the dripping pipes. He grunts and growls, crashing his elongated jaws together and showing his pointed teeth. He doesn't join in with the cards, he watches. He waits.
The Riddler talks to himself mainly, he doesn't trust the others to know what he is talking about. He sits with Penguin and they talk about business management. They don't partake in card games, thinking themselves above such trivialities. They speak of subjects of utmost importance, but from the outside, no one would believe it meant a damned thing.
Two-Face shivers around the main table in between Clayface and Scarecrow. His burnt side faces Clayface, but the distance is still noticeable. Clayface mutters and Two-Face nods along with it. He clutches his coin, flipping it to make any choices he needs to make. He jumps every time someone speaks to him. He causes the puddles on the floor when the coin tells him not to go to the bathroom. They've all tried, staff and inmates alike, but if the man wants to smell of piss and live his life through random chance, why not let him?
Scarecrow alternates with Jonathan. They talk to each other, bickering like brothers. The Fear Toxin has worn off, but sometimes he gets flashbacks and his skin drops its colour, his eyes widen and he starts to mutter and scream. Birds occasionally fly at him from the walls, but no one else seems to see them. He wonders what the hell is wrong with them. Scarecrow assures him it will be okay. Jonathan believes him.
The Joker strolls into the room and flops down on to his chair. His eyes flicker to the screen underneath his green-tinged greasy hair. He brushes it aside and licks his lips, tongue travelling to the scars cutting into his cheeks. He portrays an air of ease. The other inmates mutter greeting to him. Clayface offers his hand, and the Joker laughs, baring his yellowed teeth. Clayface laughs too, but it isn't funny. Not at all.
Batman follows close behind, sitting down with more grace than the Joker but portraying the same ease. The man is a billionaire, after all, and he retains the same cocky air he had before he was thrown into the nuthouse. The inmates mutter their greetings too. Because inside the asylum they're all together.
At the end of the day, all you're left with is your enemies.
Or, should he say, at the start of the day.
Nightwing appears on the news and the room becomes full of noise. There is sarcastic cheering, banging on the tables, heckling; and then it calms down to nothing, trickling away to silence.
He is Gotham's hero. The daytime hero. Everyone loves a bird; birds are clear and pretty and obvious, flying through the day. Bats are nightly creatures, secretive and terrifying. Hence why the Batman is sat with the other creatures of the night and his little bird pal is out there being worshipped on the news.
The Mad Hatter is muttering, the level increasing. His voice is feverish, filled with wheezing giggles and frenzied urgency.
"The day is here. The day will end. The night is coming. It's coming closer and closer and it will soon be here. You'll see. You'll all see."
He starts to laugh manically. Everyone ignores him. They've heard it all before. They're sitting and waiting for their time to return.
"Something big is coming. You'll all see."
Batman realised pretty quickly that the 'insane' were saner than the 'sane'. Inside these walls was a level of intellect that he couldn't have imagined.
"That bird," Jonathan said, laughing. "Doesn't scare me. I have a Scarecrow. We can scare him off."
"You can scare crows," Clayface spat. "Not Nightwings. Or Robins."
"Can too," Jonathan muttered. "I can. Can't I? Of course you can, brother. Of course. See! I can."
The Joker rolled his eyes.
"Yo, pestilence."
Clayface glared angrily at the Joker, and the Joker bared his teeth into a smile, stretching out his scars and contorting his face into the stuff of nightmares. He licked his lips.
"You wanna play, or wind up Scaredy over here? Huh? C'mon now. We're all friends here. We don't appreciate it."
Scarecrow leant over to Batman.
"You believe me, right? You believe Scarecrow could scare him off!"
Batman patted Jonathan on the shoulder.
"Of course I do."
"See!" Jonathan said, standing up and pointing across the table at Clayface. "The Bat agrees!"
Clayface also rose from his seat, leaving diseased skin behind. The Joker grimaced.
"The Bat don't know shit."
"The Bat knows plenty," Batman muttered, turning his glare towards Clayface.
"The Bat got thrown in here by that little prodigy shit of his, so how the hell can you lord it over us and claim to know anything? Huh?"
"The night is coming," The Mad Hatter shouted, his shrieking laughter echoing around the room. He shuffled his tarot cards and started to mutter their meanings.
The Joker rolled his eyes again.
"Y'know what I think? I think everyone should calm the fuck down before I get something in here to do if for ya's."
"Oh, and what are you going to do, clown?"
The Joker smiled, "Um, how about I, ah, melt your fucking face off?" He paused. "Oh no wait, that's already happened. My bad." He smirked at Clayface, who reached for his face. The Joker dodged backwards.
"Ah, ah, ah. You don't touch me. I'm not having my pretty face ruined by you."
"It's already ruined!"
"You burn me, man. You burn me. Hey, Batsy? You think my face is ruined?"
Batman raised an eyebrow at the Joker.
"Obviously not."
"Aw, baby, you're so sweet."
The Joker leant forwards to plant a kiss on Batman's face, and Batman cringed away.
"Get your rotten teeth away from me, man. And try fucking brushing them once in a while."
"Geez. This 'wound the Joker day' or something?"
"It comes closer day by day!"
Milo turns to stare at the Mad Hatter.
"Can no one shut him up?"
"Croc could shut him up."
Batman waved Croc back to the floor.
"No one is shutting up anyone."
"Fucking crazies," Milo muttered. "Seriously. Why am I surrounded by crazies all the fucking time?"
Maxie snorts, "No one is crazy."
"You think you're a god."
"I am a god."
"I rest my point."
Maxie gets to his feet, pushing the chair aside behind him, "What are you trying to say?"
The Joker coughs and they all shut up.
"See. That's better. A little bit of peace and quiet around here. Now, are we gonna get this game started or what?"
Two-Face's coin clatters to the table and they all stare at him. He looks up, half through hair and half through charred and blackened flesh. He smiles sickeningly, half of his teeth plainly visible through his burnt off lips.
"Yes."
The Joker smiles.
"If only that was the answer every time you need the bathroom. Which, by the way, considering you're this close to my feet, have you been anytime recently?"
Two-Face frowns, "I don't know."
"Do you think you should go?"
"I don't know."
Two-Face flips his coin, and then smiles.
"No. I'm okay."
"Alright. Well, look, if you piss on me again I'm gonna have to do something I'll regret, okay?"
"Okay."
Batman glares at the Joker and the Joker shrugs, starting to deal out the cards. Scarecrow narrows his eyes at Clayface.
"You will remember to, ah, wash the cards with disinfectant once you're done, yeah?"
Clayface growls and stands up. Scarecrow also stands up. Batman shakes his head. Penguin and Riddler look on with scorn. Milo tuts. The Mad Hatter continues to draw cards. Maxie and Croc ball their hands into fists, knuckles cracking. The Joker rolls his eyes.
"What you going to do? Hmm?" Scarecrow asks. "Ah, how about we calm down," Jonathan suggests, his hands in a passive gesture that is instantly shot down by his other half.
"You don't touch him," Maxie says, in his best gangster voice.
"Oh, look. I'm being threatened by half a crocodile and a godly mobster because I'm waving my hands towards a little prick!" Clayface spits.
"Hey, you're leaving a mess on the seats. Just sit down and shut the hell up," the Joker says.
"Who the hell are you to tell me what to do? Why would you even care?"
"Just trying to keep the peace."
"Why? Huh? Why?"
"Because," Batman says, through his teeth. "We're all in this together."
"And that means we have to be friends? Huh?"
"Fucking nutcase," Milo mutters, and Clayface spins angrily towards him leaving a trail on the floor and making a horrible squelching noise. Two-Face looks as though he's about to be sick.
"Hey, you're in here too. You're nuts too!"
"I'm really not."
"Yes! You are!"
"Closer, closer and closer," the Mad Hatter sings.
Commissioner Gordon walks into the room to see some of Gotham's most dangerous criminals on their feet pointing at each other and shouting. The only three remaining in their chairs around the central table are Harvey Dent, Bruce Wayne and the Joker, who is still dealing cards. He coughs, and they all stop dead, turning to stare at him. Croc retreats into the shadows with a growl, the Riddler and Penguin shift their chairs so that they can see him better, but the Mad Hatter keeps on.
The Joker whistles to himself, and then stops, looking up at Gordon through his hair.
"Commissioner. How delightful."
Gordon looks at Bruce, but Bruce is steadily ignoring him.
"I was wondering if I could speak with Mr Wayne? Alone."
Bruce Wayne smirks and looks at his old friend through deadened eyes.
"Anything you have to say to me can be said right here, Commissioner."
Gordon glances around, and then nods.
The Mad Hatter shrieks, and then shouts, "OUR NIGHT IS NEAR!"