Sleep is nice. For a few hours, the world fades away, taking all the problems and dilemma's away with it. Sleep is in escape to a dreamworld. And in Arkham, an escape is nice.

Most dreams feature the same person though. The Batman.

o o o o o o o o o

The leathery cowl filling his closing hands. The tightening neck muscles trying to find a non-existent supply of oxygen. A few final wretches of breath, the last ounces of life slipping away. The death of The Batman. Than gunshots. Blackness. A spectacular death. A happy death. Relief.

This was the only dream Deadshot had ever had.

The final moments of his spectacular death was normally the transition from sleep to reality, waking up smiling, like the blood of the Caped Crusader was still on his face.

Tonight was different. Tonight there was no spectacular death. Tonight there was whispering.

"Wake up. Wake up. I know you can hear me."

Deadshot tried to remain silent for a few moments. To maybe drift back to his spectacular death.

"I know you're awake. I'm not going to stop speaking. I can go on and on and on. I have a quite a few Riddles to tell if you'd like."

Deadshot gave in.

"What?"

"We have company." The Riddler replied.

Their are several levels to Arkham Asylum. It had been five years, but Deadshot found himself in the minimum risk sector. He found himself with a barred window, an adequate toilet and sink, and the occasional heavily censored paper back.

And outside these barred windows events were happening. Outside their were vehicles. Officers. Arguing. Deadshot looked for as long as he dared. Freedom was almost in his sight now and he wasn't going to blow it all, staring at a group of guys who had slightly different uniforms than the norm.

They were approaching the building now, brandishing papers. Particularly effective papers, the sort that could force guards back with a single glance, and grant access to some of the most dangerous minds in Gotham.

"Perhaps one of us is getting out?" Deadshot suggested.

"Optimistic. You believe it might be you?" The Riddler enquired.

Deadshot had had this conversation before. Often. It was a dance he'd rehearsed hundreds of times.

"This is a correctional facility. I've been corrected. I'm cured." Deadshot recited.

"For real Deadshot?" The Riddler replied, not bothering to hide the disbelief in his voice.

"I'm not Deadshot anymore. I'm Floyd Lawton. And how do you think I'm gonna reply to that question?"

"Nothing asked, nothing gained."

There were voices now. People were talking. This was unusual. Good sleeping patterns were necessary to aiding the rehabilitation of the psychologically damaged housed in Arkham. The people here didn't seem to care much for that. The voices were closer now. And angry.

"As much as I love to here your opinions, I'm afraid your opinions, I'm afraid you're no longer in a position where they matter. I however, recently found myself in a position where mine do. The Head of Arkham, position in fact. So I'm afraid you're going to be shown of my property now."

Everyone knew everyone in Arkham. They had the time. And now as the argument ended, all the familiar voices were gone. Now they were facing a strange unknown.

"Pick a door. The cryptic psycho? Or the angry psycho?" The first of the new voices asked.

"The cryptic. I'm not risking more than we already are are." The second new voice replied.

A normal guard would have had keys. He would have unlocked the door and restrained the prisoner. There wouldn't have been a bang. A creak of battered metal. And the shout of a deluded mad man. These men weren't normal guards.

For a few seconds Deadshot looked at his barred window, his adequate toilet and sink, and his heavily censored paper back. Than he thought of the sleep that had been interrupted by the cryptic psycho. Than he closed his eyes and went back to sleep. Back to his spectacular death.

o o o o o o o o

Hours passed. People slept again. What else could they do.

When Deadshot woke up again. He did so with a slow chuckling finding its way through his walls, filling up the room.

"You're alive. And back?" Deadshot asked.

There was a long pause, allowing Deadshot to contemplate all manner of possibilities, and finding each one to be as unwelcome as the last.

Finally the chuckling subsided.

"It's a shame you're so corrected. Cause otherwise you might be in for an interesting few months." The Riddler chuckled.

To Be Continued...

So that was like, a two week wait or something? Sorry. But at least now I pretty much know the plot and filled in a few possible plot holes. Updates should be hopefully quicker. Oh, also I refer to Deadshot as Deadshot in the text, that doesn't get annoying does it? I wasn't sure whether or not to use the villains real name or not. Anyway, please read and review!