Thirty Years Later…

Jonathan Crane fell to the ground, gasping for breath, and felt the guard's stick crack across his spine.

"Stop it! Leave him alone!" shrieked Harley Quinn, who was struggling against the guards who restrained her.

"You just don't get it, do you, Crane?" growled Lyle Bolton, grinding his boot down on Crane's spine as he leaned over him, twirling his stick. "You're not special, you got that? You're just a sick, insane freak, and you're locked in this dump until you die! No point in trying to escape – I ain't gonna let you! I ain't gonna let none of you outta here ever again! You're all gonna rot in here forever for your crimes!"

The stick slammed across Crane's face. "You think you're such a genius, but you must be a real idiot not to get that," growled Bolton. He turned to go. "Lock him back in his cell, and clean up the blood," he muttered. "The doctors are doing their rounds later, and this place has gotta look its best for them."

The moment Bolton disappeared, Harley slammed her elbow back into the face of one of the men holding her, and kicked back at the other man, hitting him in the groin. They both released her, and she raced over to Crane, helping him up.

"Johnny, are you ok?" she whispered.

"I'm fine, my dear," he murmured, struggling onto his hands and knees. "I'm used to beatings, believe me."

"Well, so am I, from Mr. J, but I don't like 'em if they're not from the guy I love," said Harley, forcing a smile as she helped him stand. "C'mon, lean on me…"

"Mr. Bolton wants you both confined immediately in your separate cells," growled one of the guards.

"You wanna take me, pal?" snapped Harley. "I'll go to my separate cell once I see that Johnny's all right in his! It's the least I can do after he took a beating for me."

"I think Mr. Bolton was happy to exchange you for me," said Crane with a wry smile. "There's something he particularly dislikes about me."

"Maybe it's the fact that you're a sweetheart, and he's a total jerk," growled Harley. "God, I wish Mr. J was back here – he'd teach him a lesson about treating us like this!"

"Yes, I wish he were back too," agreed Crane, but that was more for his personal gratification at seeing the Joker beaten to a bloody pulp by Arkham's new draconian guard.

Lyle Bolton had become Head of Security at Arkham Asylum three months ago, and since then, he had ruled with an iron fist. Even the other guards were scared of disobeying him and facing his wrath, and he was absolutely merciless to the inmates. His attitude toward them was one of pure hatred and contempt, and the feeling was mutual. He constantly derided them as criminal scum who had to be kept in line, and he put this into practice whenever he could, chaining the inmates down at night and electrifying their doors. He said they deserved to be beaten to within an inch of their misbegotten lives. And whenever he could find a reason (and Bolton was good at finding reasons), he punished the inmates by doing just that.

That morning, during Bolton's daily cell inspection, Harley Quinn had forgotten to make her bed. Bolton had dragged her into the corridor to take her beating right there when Crane had grabbed his bar of soap and thrown it straight at Bolton's head, diverting his attention from Harley onto Crane.

"I can't thank you enough, Johnny," said Harley, as she helped him sit down on his bed.

"It was nothing, my dear – just what any decent man would do," replied Crane.

The Ventriloquist was dragged into the cell block at that moment, cradling Scarface and shushing him gently. "Arnie, what happened?" asked Harley, racing to the bars of the cell.

"Mr…Mr. Bolton didn't think I'd scrubbed my floor hard enough," murmured the Ventriloquist. "So he took Mr. Scarface, and he…he…"

"He held me over a can filled with termites!" shouted Scarface. "Termites! I saw my life flashing before my eyes – I was a tree, and then a little block of wood again, and I couldn't scream – it was awful!"

Harley bit her lip. "God, I wish Mr. J was back!" she sobbed. "He wouldn't tolerate this crap! He'd fix Bolton good, he'd…"

She trailed off, sobbing. "I've…I've tried to write to him for help, but I dunno where he is now!" she cried. "But he's gotta come back and save us! He's just gotta!"

"Scum! In your cells! Now!" roared Bolton, entering the corridor at that moment. "Doctors are coming!"

He grabbed Harley's arm. "Separate cells, sweetheart," he growled. "Or do you want me to give you that beating after all?"

"I could take it," snapped Harley. "You ain't nothing compared to Mr. J – you're half the man he is!"

Bolton smiled, and then wrenched Harley out of Crane's cell by her arm. He shoved her into hers, and then slammed the door on her arm, so that she shrieked in pain.

"I'm ten times the man that disgusting criminal freak is, sweetheart!" he hissed. "And when that giggling maniac gets dragged back here, I'm gonna wipe the smile off that ugly face, you just wait and see! That hideous, babbling psychopath is sick - you're all sick, that's why you're locked up in here! And you're gonna stay locked up in here for the rest of your worthless lives, or my name ain't Lyle Bolton!"

"Stop it, Bolton, leave her alone!" shouted Crane rushing to the bars, as Bolton pressed the door shut on Harley's arm.

He released it suddenly, and Harley fell the ground, clutching her arm. Bolton slammed and locked the door, and then cracked his stick against Crane's hands on the bars. "Don't try to be a hero again, Professor," he growled. "You ain't. You ain't nothing but a filthy piece of criminal scum."

Harley massaged her arm, sobbing quietly as Crane sat down gingerly on his bed, every fiber in his body aching.

"Mr. Bolton, I trust everything is in order in the cell block," said Dr. Leland, head of Arkham Asylum, entering suddenly.

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed. "All in perfect order, ma'am."

Dr. Leland looked from Harley to Crane. "Jonathan, what happened to you?" she asked, concerned. "You're covered in bruises!"

Crane glared up at Bolton, who stood behind Dr. Leland, smiling threateningly at him. "I…fell," he stammered.

"And Harley, what's wrong with your arm?" asked Dr. Leland.

"I…uh…slept on it funny," Harley murmured.

Dr. Leland turned back to Crane, studying his bruises suspiciously. "Are you sure you fell, Jonathan?"

"Quite sure, Dr. Leland, yes," he muttered. "I was very clumsy."

"O…K," said Dr. Leland, slowly. "Try to be more careful in the future, please."

"Yes, Dr. Leland, I will," he said.

"Yes, Professor Crane," said Bolton, smiling. "Do try to be more careful in the future."

"Yes…Mr. Bolton," hissed Crane.

Dr. Leland frowned, heading out of the cell block. She had a sneaking suspicion that Mr. Bolton was the one inflicting pain on the inmates, but she had no proof of that – none of them would confess. And she didn't have the power to suspend a man without good reason, especially a man who had come personally recommended by Mr. Bruce Wayne.

But there was something she didn't trust about Mr. Bolton. Something nasty in his eyes, that she had seen in the eyes of some of the lunatics – a burning obsession, a kind of zealous fanaticism which, sooner or later, would always lead to trouble.