A Need to Injure

by Piccolo Sky

When a mass breakout occurs at Arkham Asylum, Batman gears up for the worst. But the following investigation reveals there's a lot more at work than his "rogue's gallery" up to their standard murder and mayhem. As he tries to get to the bottom of it, the dark knight finds himself facing a sadistic new villain, and under increasing temptation to "look the other way"...

2. Where the Dead Go

Lionel Gorman reached the printer before it was done. The "all-in-one" in the Arkham Asylum security wing was so slow that even though he had taken his time after hitting "print" in his office and got up to walk down the hall to the side room containing it, it was still giving off a loud hum and spitting out the first page on arrival. He had to stand there and wait for the second to come out. But at last, both had been produced. He took up both sheets and looked them over for a moment.

If there had been anyone still in the branch at this time of night and not already on duty patrolling the halls, twice as earnestly after the last breakout, they would have seen that this document was clearly in letter format. It wasn't "private", necessarily, but Gorman wasn't ready to reveal it yet. He'd be leaving it on his desk shortly before he went home for the day…forever, he supposed. After making sure it had printed cleanly enough, he turned and exited the small "copy room" and looked down the hall back toward the office of Head of Security. It actually had several names on it, as it was a shared office that fell to whoever was currently there, including his own. He went ahead and reached up to remove the magnetic tab that had his name on it on arrival, before opening the door and walking in.

Almost immediately, he noted that the lights were out. A look of confusion came across his face, clearly not remembering turning off the lights…but he moved to hold the door open anyway as he went in, intending only to leave the letter on his desk, after all…

As soon as he was in, however, the door shut behind him and clicked. The lights came on a moment later, freezing Gorman in place…but not nearly as much as the object on his desk.

A ruined metal head with shreds of padding around it and a large, burning hole through the center; all soaked in foul-smelling lake water.

A dark voice spoke behind him.

"Forget to take your 'package' home with you, Mr. Gorman?"

The head of security snapped around, dropping his papers as he did so, and recoiled as he saw the tall and imposing figure of a man in a black cape and cowl, glaring at him with burning eyes that seemed to blaze in the darkness, blocking the only way out. He said nothing more. He merely stared at him motionlessly, almost like a dark statue.

A moment passed, and then the man swallowed. He straightened himself up and calmed. "…I don't know anything about what you're talking about, but if it's an admission of ineptitude you're looking for like the police and the rest of the Arkham staff, then you'll get it tomorrow along with everyone else." He pointed to the floor. "My letter of resignation."

"I'm afraid you won't be getting off so easily." Batman responded as he took a step into the room. Gorman, in turn, backed up a step, but managed to keep most of his composure. "That head there came from a machine in a set of eight crates…one for each escapee from Arkham. The shipping labels may have been destroyed, but eight refrigerator-sized crates from Latvia isn't exactly 'commonplace'. I already looked up the record in local private shipping companies. While the address of origin may have been confidential, and 'whoever' paid for their delivery may have used cash, they also had to sign, and they did…'Lionel Gorman'."

The man hesitated on hearing this, but still didn't show much emotional change.

"That's not all." The dark knight continued. "An 'associate' of mine called me not one hour ago having tracked a boating company that was also paid in cash discretely by what they could only say was a high-ranking employee of Arkham for certain. After some 'prodding', they further admitted they had parked here last night, accepted a load of 'eight human-sized bundles that looked like they were moving', and dropped them off the same place where that head was found."

The man stiffened a bit, but other than that still no change.

"Last but not least, there was only one person out of the sixteen on staff yesterday who could have had easy access to the hashes to the security cameras, and the police should be getting the tip off right about now to look for evidence of doctoring." The eyes narrowed. "You're looking at more than 'disgraceful resignation', Mr. Gorman. You're looking at five to ten for aiding and abetting a mass escape from Arkham Asylum."

Gorman was silent. He stared back at the dark knight for a long time. Batman immediately noticed something, however. He wasn't reacting like the typical 'rat in a trap', for sure, but that wasn't anything new. Yet neither was he acting like the traditional 'stand-up guy' who managed to keep a straight face in moments like this. To be honest, he wasn't really acting like anything. He just stared at him, as if thinking over everything he said. Furthermore, as more time went on, more and more of his earlier 'fear of the Bat' seemed to ebb, until he was almost normal.

Finally, he did react. Closing his eyes, he let out a slow exhale that sounded almost like a sigh.

"Bitter irony…going to prison for 'aiding' those eight…" He muttered aloud. His eyes opened a moment later. "So be it. I didn't think I could keep you or the police off of me for even this long, to be honest. So long as it's too late, I don't care. Alright…" He drew himself up a bit more. "I did it. I doctored the cameras. I paid for the shipment of those crates to that warehouse. It was my job to secure the boat as well. After that, I just looked the other way. Is that what you want to hear from me?"

"I want to hear why you helped them escape and where they're at." Batman retorted.

Almost to the dark knight's surprise, although he didn't show it, the man actually flashed a dark smile of his own. "Escape? Heh…hardly. The 'law' can send me to jail for that if they like, but I assure you…I did not, in any way, shape, or form, provide those eight with an 'escape'."

Batman's eyes narrowed. "…And who did? You mentioned 'my job'. I take it that means there were multiple Arkham employees in on this."

"So what if there was?" Gorman spoke back, almost challengingly.

Again, Batman was a bit surprised at the boldness, but kept up his end. "You were all working together, and you all had a common cause. You all had vendettas of one form or another. You also had ties to a man in Latvia."

Hearing that last part actually showed a visible change in the man. For just a moment, he blanched. That was something, it seemed, he didn't count on Batman or the police finding out. However, it faded just as quickly…the sign of someone mentally reassuring himself: "One person…meaningless by itself."

"I can assume you were all out for revenge against these inmates, but if you wanted to simply kill them, you would have had more than ample opportunity to try while they were locked up in here. Yet you smuggled them out instead, didn't you? Where are they?"

Gorman's smile actually grew a bit.

"…Wouldn't you like to know."

His smile disappeared a moment later when he was seized by the uniform shirt, swung around, and smashed rather hard into the wall of the office. In a moment, he found himself suspended a foot off the ground as the fists of the dark knight tightened audibly. His burning eyes were soon a lot closer as he got in his face.

"Not the best answer you could come up with." He stated coldly.

However, his "intimidation" didn't work as well as he hoped this time. In fact, Gorman soon scowled as he glared right back at him.

"What are you going to do, huh? Smack me around? Dangle me outside a window? Threaten my life? End up turning me over to the cops so they can slam me with a prison sentence for helping to orchestrate a mass kidnapping? Nail me with worse than that once you do find out what happened to those eight? Have me spend twenty behind bars and never see my wife again?"

Then, Gorman did something Batman didn't expect in the least.

He spat in his face.

"You make me sick." He sneered. "You and every last cop in this damn town who couldn't just take one of those godless, evil freaks into a back alley, put a slug in their heads, and then just say 'they tried to run for it'. You're not going to scare me. You are the last damn person on Earth I'll let myself be scared of. Not after I had a goddamn mortician call me up at 2 AM in the morning…" He changed the pitch of his voice slightly. "'Mr. Gorman, I'm sorry to wake you up so late, but we need permission to cut your son's facial muscles. You see…that 'venom' he uses makes them lock unless they're cut. We'll cover up the incisions. You won't know the difference.'" He glared even more fiercely, almost madly, at Batman at that. "Do you have any idea what it's like to have to tell someone to mutilate your own son's corpse so that the twisted freak could 'have a good laugh'?! How many more kids died after that, huh?! How many more men had to stop their wives from slashing their own f***ing wrists a month later?! You can go to Hell, just like they did! And if I had the power I'd send you with them!"

Batman was silent. He showed nothing, and he never did. No matter how many people ranted or raged or raved at him no matter what. He merely held the man against the wall for a moment of silence. Gorman continued to glare fiercely back at him, as if he was nearly mad himself. His teeth were clenched and his face was red. Yet as he held on…he began to see his eyes start to water. A moment later, and in spite of his furious, hateful look…tears began to run down his cheeks. Nevertheless, he held where he was.

Without a word, Batman took a step back and let go of the man. He slumped to the ground in a heap. Even if he had been ready for it, he wouldn't have held himself. He collapsed like a broken doll and sat there. Only staying upright because he wasn't against the wall.

A moment later, Batman turned and began to leave the room. He paused only long enough to take up the headpiece of the machine. He left Gorman in the silence and darkness of the office.

Only when he exited and finally wiped the spit off of his cowl did he hear Gorman's sobbing become audible.

---

Alfred Pennyworth held a small "tote basket" with him as he descended the long, stone staircase. He would have much preferred if Master Bruce would allow him to just keep a "supply closet" in the Batcave, but he supposed that whenever he had "special guests" over it would not be good for his image if they were to open a side compartment and find nothing but basic ammonia glass cleaner, pressurized air, and bleaching wipes. He still remembered how paranoid he had been three years ago when he found that the butler had left his feather duster there while he had the Flash over… Nevertheless, he expected some "peace" this morning as he intended him to be gone all night through the next day, so he figured getting an early start to tidying up the Batcave would be a good bet.

Therefore, as he came down the last few steps and turned the final bend, minding a few of the local "residents" taking off and squealing (he did so hate to clean up after them…although he found club soda worked well on guano stains), his eyebrows lifted slightly on seeing Master Bruce in full regalia within the lab section, hunched over one of the electron microscopes. The Batcomputer was fully active and showing off detailed molecular information in addition to close ups of the view he was receiving, although he seemed to want to see it himself.

"Two nights in a row, sir?" Alfred stated as he came down, moving for the usual corner where he set his supplies, and put them down. "Somewhat of a counter-intuitive strategy to what I'm accustomed to in dealing with numerous escapees…but I can hardly argue with the effectiveness considering the latest news report is still of a quiet Gotham City."

"Assuming they're still in Gotham, Alfred." Batman answered.

"Really?" The butler answered as he got out the pressurized air can. "Do you really think they fled the country this time?"

"They may not be in the country…but they didn't leave by choice." The dark knight answered as he adjusted a dial on his microscope. "The more I find out about this breakout, the stranger this case becomes. At first I concluded like the police did, that it was just another mass breakout. Then I started to wonder if it was more along the lines of a revenge scheme, based on the history of the people supervising the inmates. That would have been unusual enough…but now I'm starting to wonder if it was even that simple."

He switched off the view and looked up from the microscope as Alfred went over to the keypad of the Batcomputer and started to spray under the keys. He was paying attention, just doing his duty at the same time.

"I interrogated Lionel Gorman last evening. I realized I wasn't going to get much out of him, but from what he leaked multiple individuals were involved in this. However, based on his wording…I don't think this was just an attempt to take these eight out of the city limits and execute them. This was more revenge-minded…something designed to make them suffer, I'm guessing."

Alfred again raised an eyebrow. "Really? Yet all of them remained in Arkham, so they didn't get revenge themselves. Could they have been hired by someone who had a greater desire than them?"

"Or someone exploiting their desire for revenge." Batman answered. "Apparently…someone who has access to a great deal of scientific know-how. Remember the drug sample I brought in the other night?"

The butler gave a nod. "Yes. The one that was supposed to be standard tranquilizers from Arkham Asylum, as I recall."

"It was more than that on further analysis." Batman responded. He gestured to one of the readouts of the computer. Alfred looked, and saw in addition to large spherical units that made up the drugs that were normally powdered inside the capsules, there were numerous smaller beads as well…with the readout making them translucent. "Microscopic particles were mixed in with the drugs in some sort of enteric coating. It was extremely non-viable. It eroded so quickly that I estimate only about 0.1% of the original contents survived to the point where I took them as a sample. It explains why it was so hard to find. What I found inside was interesting…a virus."

Alfred immediately turned to him. "A virus? Good heavens…does that mean-"

"Don't worry." The dark knight cut off. "It's even less viable than the coating. It can't even survive airborne. Hence why whoever wanted the inmates of Arkham to get it had to trick them into ingesting it."

"But what does it do?" Alfred responded.

In response, Batman turned in his chair to the adjoining table in the lab, opposite the microscope. Alfred took only a moment to finish spraying before he began to move over to that table. As he neared, he saw that two small specimen cages were out, either one holding a single white mouse. The one on the left was acting pretty much like any lab mouse would, sniffing around, standing on its hind legs to see if it could find an out, moving about and occasionally cleaning its fur. The one on the right, however, was sprawled out with eyes closed, not moving but still breathing.

He came to a stop at a good viewing distance and looked them over.

"I must say…it is rather what I expected."

"Perhaps not." Batman answered. "I infected the one on the right with the virus four hours ago. Until three hours ago, it was just as active as the one on the left. After that, I gave it a few trace amounts of a sedative that both had built up an immunity to weeks ago when I was testing them out for a separate project. The one on the left is still fine…the one on the right, clearly not."

"It enhances the effects of drugs?" Alfred asked.

"Not directly. What it does, it seems, is knocks out the body's ability to manufacture proteins that bring drug tolerance." The dark knight explained. "The end result is even a regular drug that they had been taking regularly would have knocked them out. I'm guessing even Poison Ivy and the Joker would be capable of being drugged if this was the case. The question is why someone would go to all the effort to drug them. They obviously wanted them 'out of action' for longer than it would take to get them to a secure place in Gotham. And whoever did do this obviously had access to some research or was someone well versed in virology to begin with. Which brings me to what I found in the shore warehouse…"

He turned in his chair again. Alfred followed his gaze, and soon both were looking at a table with the soggy remains of the machine from earlier. What had survived intact had been mostly "dissected" and analyzed by Batman at this point, but a number of "reverse engineered" schematics were already displayed as well as the intricacies of the machine.

"Even without the analysis, I already could guess what this drone was for." He stated. "The CPU was somewhat 'common' black market stock. One of many cheap AIs that could do fairly menial labor tasks that were put out by defunct Eastern European and Asian companies. In this case…restraining. It's the machinery that's the 'big' part. The entire chassis is lined with miniaturized shock absorbers built at the nanite level, in additional to larger scale vibrators and elastic systems. Its body is overlain with an expensive Kevlar variant that was designed to allow quicker recovery time on people wearing vests made out of it by taking more of the 'punch' out of the bullet. Now, however, I think it's been adapted for battery. Plus the servos and weight distribution emphasizes 'anchoring' into the ground to avoid being able to flip or push over."

"It sounds like quite a durable machine...I think." Alfred responded. "Ideal for crowd control."

"Not just crowd control. It kept trying to grapple and seize me when I fought it. The lenses on its head were false targets. The blows I struck took more out of me than it. In other words…this machine was designed for someone to 'rage' against it, get tired out, and then get restrained by it. Even when it's immobilizing someone it's designed to have them waste as much power as possible going against it. The end result is for the opponent to be exhausted and have the 'fight' taken out of them, so to speak."

Alfred mused over this for a moment. "Sounds almost like an 'external straight jacket'…sort of the same principle behind a padded cell."

"Exactly…which brings me back to the tip Oracle gave me…and the name 'Klaudius Labdaris'. She said he was a psychologist that had fallen out of governmental and public favor. Perhaps he adapted these machines, having them originally used for restraining wild patients."

"Well, he certainly picked the right kind of patient for him if he's behind all this." Alfred responded. "It sounds as if you have a good suspect."

"Unfortunately, no." Batman answered, turning back to the microscope, but looking beyond to the computer. "Between the part of the world where he did the bulk of his work, him operating in regions with little contact beyond spoken word and old landed lines, and his apparent 'dislike' for public exposure, I've found little, just like Oracle has found little. Even the accreditations he received were from institutions that had just recently 'upgraded' past being pure 'apprenticeship' institutions to actually recognized at the national level. Any education he received had to have been mostly self-taught. The computer has been trying to compile any record of him or any other Latvian-background individuals coming to Gotham City, but my guess is that would have been a private flight, and so far none happened within the window of the past few days. I'm expanding back further in time, but even if I find something that only would point me to Labdaris, not where the eight inmates are."

"If I may ask, sir," The butler continued as he moved over to the keyboard. "Do you think now might be a good time to notify the police about these changes in events? Perhaps this should be turned from a 'manhunt' to a 'kidnapping' case, as it were."

"This wouldn't be the first time someone thought revenge would be 'clear cut' against these people." The dark knight answered. "The one who is likely in danger, if anyone, is Labdaris. I wouldn't trust any one person or group to even be able to get revenge against the Joker, let alone all eight of them together. Still…this isn't going to be an easy one. There's nothing 'obvious'. I have only the other Arkham workers as leads, and if they 'clam up' like the first one did, this isn't going to get very far."

He hesitated a moment, leaning forward a bit, raising his arms and balancing on the table so he could prop his head up.

"That look in Lionel Gorman's eyes last night, Alfred…" He said after a moment. "The way he talked… I'd seen it before. I knew exactly what was on his mind." He paused. "I saw it a lot for a good twenty years of my life."

Alfred said nothing. He merely stood and waited.

"It's been almost two decades…but sometimes I still think back to almost the beginning." He went on. "That night with the Reaper. I think about where I'd be if he had been just three seconds slower. To this day…I don't know what I should feel about that night that he shot first. Angry…or relieved." He paused again, and then turned to him.

"You were there by my side the whole time. You even cleaned and reloaded the guns I practiced with." A pause. "If I had gone through with it…would you have stayed here? Knowing what I did?"

"Let me pose a 'counter-question' to that, Master Bruce." Alfred calmly responded. "When you think back to that young man that you saw, I presume, whenever you looked into a mirror, with that fire in his eyes, and that almost single-minded obsession?"

Batman paused for a long while. His head turned away.

"…I think I see a confused, reckless, unthinking young man who should have thought harder about what he was getting into, and what he wanted to become, before he put on that mask."

"And I agree wholeheartedly." The butler calmly responded. "But I like to think I know a thing or two about what it means to be a brash, reckless young man. And what it means to have faith in such a young man that he will 'mature' if you give him a little time and breathing room, rather than try to bar him outright. Even if I hadn't made a promise to two old friends years earlier, I wasn't about to let you see it through to the end, no matter your choice, alone."

In spite of his thoughts, the dark knight managed a hint of a smile. "I also wish some nights that there were more people like you and less like me in the world."

"Well, I'm afraid we do live in a rather undisciplined age, sir." Alfred drolly answered before turning to get the ammonia cleaner. "I suppose I should be thankful. It means I'm worth more on the market, as it were."

Batman let out a single chuckle before turning back to his work. It was getting late, or early, yet again, but he wanted to see if there was yet time to shake down at least one of the other Arkham workers before dawn…

---

Harvey Dent felt like he had just gotten back from a night out of drinking. It had all the signs, after all. His mouth was dry as a bone, his head was pounding like someone was hitting it with a hammer, he felt nauseated, and, most of all, he did not wake up in a bed but on something cold and hard. In fact, he wasn't sure the "night" was "over" based on where he woke up. For what greeted his eyelids was darkness like night, and where he was at felt cold, wet, and bare.

Letting out a grunt, he forced his eyes open, trying to remember how he had gotten there while simultaneously trying to get a grasp on where "there" was. He saw little. Cracking open his eyes only gave him more darkness, save for a dim red light, very faint and very small. He grunted again, blinking a few times as he looked around, but all he could make out in the dim light was stone walls. Old ones. Very old. They were put up with mortar, and looked as if each one had been hand-hewn. The stone itself seemed almost black…or perhaps that was just the effect of the light. They were wet in places, and the area was cool. He noticed the floor he was on was flatter, but also made out of stone and mortared together.

Definitely not Arkham, which was the last place his recovering mind could remember.

He got his hands underneath him and began to push himself off the ground. Only on doing so did he realize just how cold he was. He was clad in rather thin clothes, and when he looked down over them…he realized they weren't the clothing they issued to patients at Arkham. This was far more threadbare. Other than covering essentials, it was practically good for nothing. And being pressed against the cold floor had numbed him after a while, but on putting fresh skin on it he realized just how cool it was. In spite of his splitting head and feeling a little weak, he swallowed his nausea and looked around.

As the stone had indicated by its existence, he was in a room…or a cell. A rather blank one as well. About the size of a standard prisoner's cell with not so much as one "frill" like a light bulb. The door looked like it was solid steel. A bit rusted on the outside, but effective none the less, he supposed from the look of it. There were only three items in the chamber with him. A lit candle, which was providing the only light in the room…a tin pot, which, even though he was no medieval historian, he could guess the purpose of…

And a tape recorder.

An old one from the 1980s, but it seemed functional at first glance.

Harvey looked over it for a moment, but then ignored it entirely. He instead focused on getting up. It wasn't easy. He felt like a slug, his body protesting and refusing to work. Even when he did rise, he felt a bit "wobbly" and weak-kneed. Yet he pushed through it. He had woken up in worse places under worse circumstances. He went straight for the iron door. It was a bit hard to get a good look on it as he blocked the candle's light, but he noticed there was a portal on it. It was shut from the other side, however. A moment later, he tried to find a handle, but didn't locate one. And it could only swing open from the outside. Old as this cell was, the seam was pretty flush with the wall. No chance of opening it, especially if it was latched or locked.

Where in the hell is this? He thought at this point. And how the hell did I get here? This sure ain't Arkham. Even if they still had cells in the places that look like this, there's no way they'd use them. What happened to me?

Harvey tried to think, but only came up with what he did last back at Arkham. He had just leaned back with his two papers for the evening…a copy of the Wall Street Journal and a local racing form. He had been expecting the nightly medication soon and had already flipped for it, and elected to be "good" this evening and take it without any troub-

Wait…my coin!

Immediately, the man went for his new "pants"…only to find no pockets. Cursing, he looked back to where he lay, and actually moved over there and began to search the ground as best as he could. But to no avail. His coin was gone.

Harvey took a moment to curse no less than the seven "bad" words, many of them more than once, before he seized the tape recorder, the only object that was capable of being damaged, and nearly smashed it into the wall. Yet before he could, he managed to catch himself. He looked back to it, and noticed, as expected, there was a tape inside. Obviously whoever had brought him here, and however he got here, they wanted him to listen to it and get some idea of what was going on.

He hesitated, and looked around himself again. It didn't take a genius to realize that this wasn't Arkham-affiliated or some therapy session being held by his moronic doctors. This was something different…and he had a feeling not nearly as pleasant. He might not have been intimidated easily…in spite of the fact he realized this wasn't exactly a promising spot to be in…but there was no sense in taking an unnecessary risk in not knowing more. With that in mind, he calmed and held the tape recorder in front of him. After staring a moment, he reached out and pressed play. He didn't know how many years it had been since he listened to one of these, but it brought back nostalgia to hear the click, the whir, and, after a moment, a voice.

The voice in question sounded rather old, withered, and perhaps even a bit weak from age. Yet the tone behind it was calm, measured, and slow…like a man who had rehearsed this hundreds of times and was now executing a "perfect" sequence of events…

"Good morning, sir. If most adults see a toddler reaching for an open flame, they yank their hand away and tell them to beware as if the toddler could comprehend cause and effect, or conceptualize consequences. I, on the other hand, prefer to let the child singe himself once and let the fire 'be the teacher'. Ruminate upon that as you go through our 'ice breaker' exercise for your time here in Sheol."

The tape clicked. It was over.

Harvey had all of half a second to ponder what this meant…when the door before him clicked and swung open just enough for him to easily open it the rest of the way.

He nearly dropped the tape recorder in surprise, looking up to the opening. Immediately, he put the device down and pressed to one side, assuming someone would come in that he could ambush. Yet a few moments passed after this, and nothing happened. The door remained as it was. Harvey remained cautious, but eventually broke and decided to check it out himself. Slowly, he crept up to the door and placed his hand on it. He held a moment, and then pried it open more. Only a little at first, so that he could look outside.

Nothing on the other side…at least, not in terms of any person. Instead, he saw a circular chamber, which had various other doors just like the one to his own cell. It was reasonable to assume that there were more cells in this chamber. He couldn't make out the total number or anything else, but the fact that he could see it at all was something. Just like a medieval dungeon, lamps for oil had been set up in periodic locations to provide illumination. Even so, they were intermittent and flickering so dim he couldn't make out much. He also heard movement outside, like someone moving around and feeling the walls, scuffling on the floor. A moment later, he saw the source…

A man in clothes similar to him, and yet bald; his body criss-crossed with scars that looked like someone was "counting time" with them.

Harvey grit his teeth, peeling back the flesh from his "bad" half. Out of all of the inmates in Arkham he could have seen stuck here with him, he had to see him: Zsasz. He hoped that there was someone else around here for him to kill. He'd rather not have to deal with trying to beat a lunatic off of him without a weapon… Yet the alternative was shutting himself in this cell again…and he didn't want that. He still didn't feel too good after getting here, and he had no idea what had happened to him while he was out. Who knew? Maybe if his assailant came after him, Zsasz could "have his fun" with him… Sighing, he reached out and grabbed the door, pulling it open.

Immediately, Zsasz snapped around to him, noticing the sound. Hardly able to be missed as much as the rusted door creaked. Yet Harvey himself got a much more shocking surprise when a face suddenly popped in front of his.

"Surprise! Happy birthday!"

The disfigured man's eyes bulged and he staggered back, nearly tripping and falling on the very candle he had in his cell. He was shocked for only a moment, before his brain recognized who had gotten in front of him. Even if he hadn't, his "ears" would have a moment later as he began to hear the same cackling he had heard countless nights in Arkham over the years when he was trying to sleep, prompting him to frown a bit as he got his feet underneath him and stood tall, facing the green-haired, pale-skinned, grinning man in front of him…

"Oh, Harvey…you have no idea how long I'd been waiting to do that. I thought of doing it to old Zsasz over here, but popping out to scare a raving lunatic? That's just plain crazy."

Harvey merely grit his teeth at the man. "Is this your latest twisted idea of a joke? Shoving me in a cell out of a horror picture and then yelling 'boo'?"

The lanky man drew himself up, waving a finger at him. "Now you ought to know better than that. If I was to knock you out, take you out of your cell, and ship you into some dark forgotten hole to rot, I'd be a bit more creative than this. I'd probably bury you alive with a box of matches so that you'd use up your oxygen trying to see where you were, for example. Plus, dungeons aren't exactly my taste. I'm afraid Zsaszy and I are in the same boat as you. But that's not all!" He cheered at the end as he gestured to the other cells. "Seems we have lots of company along for the ride!"

Harvey looked out and glanced about. Stepping a bit further, he soon noticed that the circular chamber he was in had four exits into dark, stone tunnels…but none of them were illuminated. There was only enough light to show that they were in this circular tunnel. Aside from that, there were eight separate doors. Four of them, including his, were already open.

"…So where's the fourth one?" He asked after a moment.

"Who knows? Maybe he had a case of gout and the atmosphere was giving him too much joint pain." The Joker answered with a shrug. "Curious as to who else has been invited on this little trip?"

Harvey didn't plan on answering, but a moment later a voice rang out from a cell.

"Ugh…another damn hole… I can't hear any of my babies…"

"Ah!" The pale-faced man exclaimed. "Is that a vision of loveliness I hear? Oh wait, that's just my echo, ha!"

A moment later, some clanging was heard on one of the doors. "How do I get out of this box?" A female voice nearly demanded.

"Use your imagination." Harvey snorted, not really caring whether or not she had a tape recorder in there. Yet as he said this, a clicking was heard from a cell nearby. Harvey turned to look, and soon saw the cell door swing open, allowing another figure dressed like him to walk out, although this one held himself up a bit more.

"Quite atmospheric, isn't our host?" Edward Nigma stated as he walked right out. "Yet obviously someone with some technological know-how in spite of using such antique tape recorders. These rusted cells have wireless locks that obviously responded to a frequency on our little 'introductory' messages."

"What did yours say?" Harvey asked.

"Clearly a riddle designed to imply he's wanting us to try and escape so he can 'punish' us for doing so." Edward smoothly responded. "Hence why we're able to leave our cells and no guards are posted. Not exactly the smartest of folks if he's thinking letting all of us out together is a wise idea."

Another click soon rang out, causing everyone to turn again, this time to see a hawk-nosed, dark haired, twisted man come out of another cell. Most never saw him like this, but the Arkham inmates knew him all too well.

"If this was his best attempt to scare me, he's already wasting my time." Jonathan Crane muttered as he exited. "Other than being an unpleasant situation, and feeling sore for whatever happened to me, all it served to do was be annoying. His tape was an equally wasted effort."

"Oh, look who all showed up!" The Joker chimed, clasping his hands together in delight. "Why, with you three here, this quaint little hostel almost feels like home sweet home! Who could be behind our final door to make this all the more memorable?"

A moment later, a light female voice came from the final cell. "Puddin'? Is that you?"

The Joker's face fell. "…Oh. Harley's here too." He said in a disappointed voice. "I had my fingers crossed for the Ventriloquist."

"What was that?" The voice returned. "Get me out of here! I don't feel too good!"

"Whatever you do, don't press the button on that tape recorder, Harley!" He called back. "It will give you a nasty surprise!"

A moment later, one of the cells clicked. Soon after, the limping, dizzy-looking, green-skinned form of Pamela Lilian Isley came out, holding a hand to her head. "…Don't listen to him, Harley. Just play the tape recorder…" She muttered. Afterward, she gave them all a glare. "The rest of you can stand around listening to this psychopath make more of his lame jokes if you like…but if you don't mind I'll be doing something constructive like looking for a way out."

"I'd honestly rather look for our 'host'." Crane responded as he straightened out his attire a bit. "As grateful as I am for getting out of Arkham…this isn't how I expected it, and I would like to show him my 'appreciation'…"

"I'll pass for now." Harvey answered, rubbing his brow a bit. He still felt that chill about him and that weakness, after all. "I don't even have a knife, and I'm not about to go try getting him when he could have two dozen bodyguards with guns on him."

"I suppose I'll have to restrain myself a bit longer as well…"

The five looked to who had spoken, and found Zsasz finally tearing himself off the wall. He turned and looked to them with a rather hollow stare, his face tighten and seeming "leaner" than usual.

"These stones are perfect…not one shard capable of coming off… I'm not about to make myself 'unbalanced' even if I can throttle them…"

Nigma gave a short chuckle. "Well, it would be such a tragedy if you were 'put out', wouldn't it? I myself would prefer to look for an exit, but I'm assuming whoever put us in those cells is expecting us to do so based on the recording. Perhaps we should stay together, given the circumstances?

"Hey!" A shout came from nearby, before the door finally opened to the last unopen cell, causing a blond-haired woman in similar clothes as everyone else to run out. "You ain't gonna leave me behind, are you?"

"Ah, but Harley, you'd make the perfect diversion, my dear!" The Joker answered with a smile. "Just scream so loud in agony from whatever torture they put you in, and it will cover our escape perfectly!"

"Works for me." Harvey answered, ignoring the Joker and responding to Nigma. "If we come up on a guard with a gun, he can shoot some of you first and give me time to get in there and grab his weapon."

"How nice to know I'm so 'valued'." Nigma answered.

"Fine. I might as well for the time being." Crane added. "Especially since I'm feeling a bit under the weather after everything that happened…"

The Joker, at that, went over to Isley and patted her on the ass. "I guess it's decided. Lead the way, toots!"

"…You're lucky I know kissing you won't work." The woman hissed in response as she looked toward one of the dark halls. She soon began to walk toward it. "As for the rest of you, understand this…I'm only trying to get myself out. If you happen to follow me I'm in no shape to do anything about it, but don't forget I'm not 'helping' you."

"Well, if we're all quite sure we 'hate' one another, can we be off before some trap is sprung?" Nigma asked. "I'm sure there's security cameras all over the place watching this entire conversation…"

Harvey, on his part, didn't bother wasting any more time with chatter. In spite of what they "had in common", the seven of them were far from "partners". More like people who simply knew each other in the same "line of work", not to mention from the Asylum. He honestly wouldn't trust himself with any of them in a room alone. However, they did have a common cause at the moment…and, right now, he was missing his coin. His ability to make decisions was impaired. He was even feeling a bit ill about it… That meant he was stuck with them, and so he followed.

The seven hadn't gone far before they realized this wasn't going to be easy. Each of the four hallways led only into darkness. They could feel out for the walls, but all they found was cold stone that was occasionally wet. It was impossible to see where they were going after a minute in the pitch blackness. A bit further than that, and Harvey suddenly felt the ones in front of him stop, forcing him to halt as well.

"What is it?" He called out.

"The path splits." Isley responded.

"You might call a warning next time?" Crane asked. "I don't want to risk touching you by running into you…"

"That's not my problem." She dully answered.

"So which way, red?" Harley asked.

A moment of silence went by.

"…Don't you know?" Harvey asked.

"I never claimed I had a 'sixth sense' about this." She hissed back. "I'm just trying to listen for my babies. I'm not hearing anything so far…"

"So you could be leading us into a booby trap." The scarred man sneered.

"I never said you had to come."

"Oh, ease up, Harvey." The Joker answered. "Just keep a good distance and she'll set it off first, eh?"

He snorted and said no more. After a moment, however, Isley began to go off to the left. After letting her get a bit ahead, the others followed.

Unfortunately, this was by no means the only "turn". Just a short distance ahead, they began to run into other turns. Some of them were basic "ells". Others were forks like the ones they just ran into. Still others were four-way intersections, with halls opening to other side. But all of them stretched on into darkness…at least at first. After a while, they came to another glimpse of fiery light at a corner. But as they went up to it and looked around the corner that led to it…all that was there was a lamp on a wall adjacent to a closed door, with the hall going on in either direction.

"Hey look! Let's go that way!" Harley suggested. "I mean…whoever works here had to have 'left the light on' to get out, right?"

"Or maybe they'd like to lure us that way to spring whatever it is on us." Nigma answered.

"Now let's see…how does that 'Monty Hall' problem work?" The Joker mused. "You always take the one he didn't take away or…"

"Quiet, all of you…" Isley said with a minor hiss. "I'm trying to listen, and I'm already getting a headache."

"Go right ahead." Nigma responded, pushing right by and going down the "lit" hallway. "Maybe I'm just inviting danger, but I don't suppose just opening the door and taking a peek inside will hurt."

"Clearly this man never saw the movie 'Saw'." The Joker muttered to the others.

"Can't very well shoot nails at me through a metal door, can they?" Nigma answered. At any rate, he soon reached the door. Once there, he moved off to one side, pressing himself against the masonry, and then reached over to grab the handle, give it a twist, and open it up a crack. He held a bit, but even before he looked in, the others could see there were lamps inside lit, giving a fiery glow. A moment later, he tentatively crept around the edge of the threshold and looked inside.

"Hmm." He answered. "Interesting…although I'd like to stay out of there if I could…"

"What did you find? Anything that can be used as a weapon?" Zsasz asked.

"Not 'easily'." Nigma answered. "Let's see… Chains… Live batteries with large electrodes… Primitive water cannons… What looks like a large 'mouse wheel'… And something that seems like a variation on a fictional 'Iron Maiden'. Well, it seems our host is well versed in torture…"

"Does that bring back memories?" The Joker chuckled. "Or give you all ideas?"

"Again, not too terribly frightening unless they actually can get you inside one of those." Crane answered. "But I share Mr. Zsasz's sentiment. Anything we can use?"

Nigma shut the door again. "Not unless you feel like prying something loose, and then it will be awkward. I'm feeling a bit sore myself… Definitely no blades…and it's not like I would tell him that if there was."

Zsasz quivered a bit at that.

"This way." Isley spoke up. "I have no need for any weapons…"

Soon, she started walking again. Gradually, the others began to follow again, Harvey included.

This, however, was just the beginning. From then on in, they ran into periodic oil lamps in front of doors. Each one led to new varieties of torture devices, it seemed. Some were purely wood and iron. Others were more elaborate, seeming to rely on more "modern" technology. However, the entire place itself was a maze. A dark, black, bleak maze buried in a stone tomb. Occasionally there were stone stairs that went up, and others that went down. They found themselves forced to take both at times, but it always led to the same. Harvey assumed there were at least five different floors based on the stairs they encountered. To be honest, it was a little unnerving. It was silent as well as almost totally dark, and it was doing a number on Harvey from a mental standpoint. Messing up his "circadian rhythm" or whatever. As time ticked by, he lost track of how many turns they made or where. He honestly couldn't tell if they were going in circles or not. None of the paths had any rhyme or reason to them, and no way out…

That wasn't all, though. He found himself getting a bit "sore" as he moved along. He had no shoes. None of them did, and the floor was cold and hard. Nevertheless, his feet seemed to be getting tender quickly, as did his joints. They had a "weakness" to them. At first he thought it was the circumstance. But it didn't "work itself out" as time went on. Instead, it only got worse, until a light ache began to go through them. He was familiar with this sensation…a coming illness. Like a fever.

Just great…all I need is to be sick down here… He thought.

A bit further, they reached the "worst" door yet. This was actually a set of two large metal doors, and they were already open. On seeing it, the seven moved up a bit slower. It seemed to be right in their path, after all, as if they were intended to go there. When they finally reached it, they all took a look inside…and saw something unusual.

It was a rather large room, but filled with old, twisted, rusty metal pipes. Not of the water variety. More like for a gasworks…and with good reason. There was a large empty area in the middle, but it traced itself to other entryways in the chamber. There were also a few primitive metal conveyers tracing to the middle. Scattered about were side chambers or valves and gauges, obviously to regulate the place. Yet what was framed in the center was what looked like a massive metal incinerator like one would find in an old crematorium. Maybe even bigger and more "industrial" than that. Yet the walls were fully transparent. They had to be made of some sort of industrial plexiglass. Plumes of fire lined the edges, casting about a fiery glow brighter than that of the lamps all about them. Obviously it was primed to run. There were also some doors and handles to allow cleanup of ash refuse.

"Now that could make a ton of cookies…" The Joker whistled.

"I guess if we die here we don't have to worry about getting a burial plot…" Harvey muttered.

"Of course not…" Isley groaned. "Just stone around here… No soil… Not even a speck of moss… It's making me sick to my-"

She cut herself off, and the others responded in turn to the reason why. As they had been musing over this room, they still had a view of the end of the hall. And it was lit up with lamps as well at another large intersection. But more than that, as they watched, they saw a pair of men walk by, stand on either side of the archway, and calmly look to one another, talking a bit, perhaps, in low tones.

Their attire was black; some sort of uniform that looked tough, almost like thick leather. Not the kind that people wore for fashion or "kink", but practical. Durable. Designed to slough off a lot. Fairly close-fitting too, allowing them to show off their muscles in many spots. Not many loose items on them either. They had belts with a few things, but they looked buckled and secured with several clasps. Designed not to have anything that could be "torn off". No guns; just batons. Similar to how some of the guards at Arkham worked. These weren't Arkham workers, however. They looked taller, thicker, and "rougher".

Harvey raised an eye to them.

Now we're getting somewhere… He thought.

He considered giving a call to move, although he hesitated as it might alert them. However, it turned out such was unnecessary. Zsasz was already off. It almost disturbed Harvey at how he moved. So sleek and silent. Granted, having bare feet and lots of darkness to work with helped, but he seemed to almost slink into the shadows and instantly barrel right for them. The scarred man couldn't even see him after a moment. Yet the others quickly began to advance as well, leaving the "incinerator room" behind and going after the two men, and that made him take off too.

Yet only a moment after taking off himself, he saw one of the men turned and looked in their direction. Although they were moving into the darkness, and Zsasz was fairly well hidden by staying against the wall, Harvey knew immediately that there was no way that they missed them. They would see their shadow against the glow from the incinerator room if nothing else. He swore they looked right at each one of them.

Yet the reaction was what caught him. Although he was still far away, he was able to see both of them do the same thing…

Crack smiles.

A moment later, Zsasz jumped out of the shadows, seized one, and threw him to the ground, instantly on him like a spider on an insect. The other guard nearly reacted…at least, Harvey supposed he did…but before he could Harley attacked, launching into a series of forward flips before launching herself at him legs first, catching his neck in a vise and then taking him to the ground. With both down and incapacitated although conscious, Zsasz immediately started rummaging over the one he had, tearing into his clothes and pockets. As for Harley, she merely pinned hers down with a grin.

"Now…you stay here…and be good…ok?"

However, Harvey noted something else from this. The woman was panting a bit, and when she spoke, it wasn't her normally devilishly merry self. Rather…she spoke like she was straining. Even now that she was sitting on him and keeping him down, she looked as if she was a bit sore from having done that little 'acrobatic'...

Wait…is she having aches too? Does that mean…?

A moment later, the others emerged from the shadows and looked over their two victims. With "prey" to work with, all of them were able to feel more like "themselves"; showing off their superiority over the situation and confidence. Yet Harvey, after seeing Harley's current state, took the moment to look them all over. Nigma seemed to be a bit weaker in his step. Crane kept rubbing the bridge of his nose. Isley was breathing a bit hard. Even the Joker's grin constantly let out a chuckling noise. That wouldn't mean a lot to most people…but to Harvey, he knew he only did that when he wasn't feeling too well...

"Where's a knife… I need a knife!" Zsasz hissed as he desperately looked over the man. "Keys! A sharp coin! Something!"

"If he's got a coin, I'm taking it." Harvey shot back. "I feel practically nude without mine…"

"Forget your neuroses for a moment, gentlemen…" Crane answered as he removed his hand. "Now then, you two…before I consider taking you back into that room we just passed and seeing at what temperature the blood in a man's body boils while he's still alive, could you be so kind as to tell us the way out of here?"

It was here that Harvey looked back to the men…and, again, didn't like what he saw. Neither looked like they were in any pain in spite of being taken to the ground. Neither did they look scared in the least. In fact, they were both still smiling.

One motioned to the right. "Just stay in the hall that way. You'll eventually get out." His voice was in a thick Eastern European accent, but it was still English.

"You'll have to walk about a mile, however." The other added, in a similar accent.

The seven paused on hearing that.

"Well now, aren't you helpful?" The Joker asked. "And here I thought I was going to have to remove a few extremities. Do our reputations proceed us that much? Or are you two just really bad security guards in need of more donuts?"

The two didn't answer. They only continued to smile. The Joker himself stared back a moment, before his own smile faded a bit. He began to step forward.

"You know, I really hate it when someone smiles at a joke and won't let me in on it…"

"Planning on trapping us, aren't you?" Nigma asked. "Or locking the door? What's so amusing?"

"Don't try hiding anything. I'd say you'll live to regret it…but you probably won't live at all." Harvey threw in.

"No tricks." One of the guard answered. "No weapons. All guards have been ordered to let you walk by…at least for the next ten minutes or so. The exit is right there."

"If you think it matters…" The other one added, his tone definitely dark and still smiling.

Zsasz looked up to his. His own eyes narrowed. "…I'd snap your neck right now if I had a way of making a mark afterward. If you're hiding one…"

"Oh, oh, let me!" The Joker cheered. "I'd simply kick their noses into their skulls, but…no shoes and all."

"Well, I'll settle for this." Nigma answered, reaching down to the one Harley had pinned and getting to work trying to move his baton. It was harder than it looked with all of the security measures designed to keep it there. Even when he finally had it unbuckled, he saw that it was still connected via a "bungee" cord, and this one didn't have an obvious seam. "I don't want to waste any more time here. I can always worry about how I'm going to kill our 'host' as well as these men once I've had time to get a new suit and think up a good riddle…"

"Same here." Isley hissed, turning away from them and going off down the hall they had indicated. "I don't know what that man is planning, but I feel too sick at the moment to find out. I need to get in the sun…"

This caught Harvey's ear.

"…Very well." Crane said with an exhale, again rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I'm a bit under the weather myself…but I hope you two don't think that gets you off the hook. I'll be back as soon as I get access to some pharmaceuticals…" He soon turned and went as well.

"And I'll be back to talk about getting you a copy of the Book of Mormon and discussing if your current lifestyle is leaving you fulfilled." The Joker answered with a hand wave. "Toodles!" He said as he turned and began to go after him…not quite as "springy" as usual.

"Wait…wait for me, Mr. J!" Harley answered as she sprung off of her guard, seeming a bit dizzy.

Harvey didn't answer. He quickly followed…and actually sped up as he did so. By now, there was no doubt in his mind. They were all sick…and he was beginning to think it wasn't from the place itself. They had to have been infected with something while they were out. But what did that mean? He didn't know…only that his headache was getting worse and his joints definitely had pains now.

They soon were all taking off. Zsasz was the last one to leave. He continued to rummage over the guard looking for something sharp. On not finding it, he looked infuriated. He glared at the man, and reached out to seize him by the head, intending, it appeared, to break his neck anyway and give himself "the mark" later.

Yet what happened after that went unseen by the others… The guard merely frowned, grabbed Zsasz by the wrists, and then shoved him up so hard that he went off of him. While the madman would have normally overpowered him, he was shoved off fairly easy this time…showing that he too was "weaker" than he was normally. He nearly sprung on him again…only to see the other guard was already up and glaring at him. He didn't attack, but made it clear that he was in for a fight if he stays. Sneering, he turned, got off of the man, and followed the others.

This last hallway was wide open, and also a bit better lit. Yet in spite of that, it was also very long. It seemed to stretch on endlessly for over a mile. Worst of all, however, was that they passed other corridors along the way, and often they had pairs of guards as well. Yet they were always the same. Harvey saw them calmly leaning against walls, not going for their weapons, and simply smiling as they watched them go…as if they were doing exactly what they wanted them to do. It made him realize more and more that this was indeed a sort of trap they were walking into…

But he could do nothing about it. None of them could. The pains in his joints were now that…pains. Each movement seemed stiff and made him hurt. He was feeling a chill now, but, worse than that, the rest of his body was starting to ache too. It wasn't like a real "fever" this time. Rather, his body was just very sensitive and starting to hurt. Each step he took was sending pain through his feet and lower legs. And the pain already in his joints steadily got worse, until he had to actually grit his teeth a bit to keep going. The headache continued to flare. It was starting to pound in his skull…

The others weren't doing much better, and he could tell. All of them were walking more stiffly. All of them began to pant and sweat. Isley herself looked like she was limping along. The Joker began to chuckle more loudly, and soon went into distinct snickering and giggling. Harley was wavering one way and another over time, her face looking pale and wincing from time to time. Yet still the corridor went on…and still they passed guards smiling at them.

"I…I don't feel so hot, Mr. J…" Harley said after a bit.

"Heh heh…come on, babe…" The Joker answered, a bit weakly. "Not about…heh…to let a little…heh heh…atmosphere get to you…heh…are you?"

"I feel it too…" Crane answered, in between a wince. "And I see it on the rest of you… We've been drugged…"

"Not possible…" Nigma answered, a bit weakly himself. "The Joker and Pamela…wouldn't feel it…"

"It hurts…" Isley said after a while, not in her normal "hiss" but in a much more subdued tone. "My whole body…it hurts… It was just aching before…but now…pain all over… And my head… Feels like something is driving a nail into it…"

A bit farther, and Harvey had to agree. By now, it was getting hard to focus on still moving. The pain in his head went into a full-fledged migraine…and was getting worse by the second. His joints were so pained they felt like they were on fire, but he was starting to feel distinct pain everywhere else. It was chronic…potent…and weakening him. Weakening all of them. As the Joker began to laugh louder and longer, they were all moving to a point where they were painfully limping. And still, the pain got worse…

Finally, Harley stopped and slumped to the ground, putting her hands on her head. "I…I can't go any further… I got to rest… This headache… It feels like my brain's trying to split my skull…"

"Heh heh…don't you…heh…need a larger one…heh heh…for that to work?!" The Joker said through strained laughter.

Harvey, on his part, wanted to tell her to go ahead and stay there until she rotted…except he was much the same way. His legs felt like they were practically sprained or broken now, and as he winced and curled up around the pain, every movement made it worse. He could almost hear his heart in his head now, sending out pained throbbing through his ears, eyes, and neck with each beat. He was sweating distinctly, and only getting worse and worse for the experience. Stopping as well, he went over to a wall and leaned against it. "Everything hurts…!" He cursed. "Just…talking…hurts!"

Isley went down a moment later. "I can't take it…! Damnit…stop laughing! Just hearing you…hurts!" She swore.

Crane, Nigma, and the Joker tried to move on from there…but they didn't get far. Soon, they began to slow as well and tried to balance themselves. Even the Joker, laughing his head off at what had to be his own pain, began to get weaker and weaker with each chuckle. More of his laughing sounded strained. Finally, he had to stop along with the rest of them. They too went to the walls to balance themselves…and then, like Harvey, they too collapsed.

It only got worse from there.

The pain radiating through Harvey's body grew more and more intense, going beyond anything that could come from sickness and starting to go into pure agony. It felt as if something was injecting fire into his veins. His whole body was wracked with it. And it just got worse and worse and worse… He had been in pain before…pain great enough to make him pass out. After all, he could remember that very distinctly from the day his got his face the first time… Yet this pain was more than that. It felt as if his whole body was being covered with the acid, inside and out. But it didn't diminish. His body didn't "adjust" to it. Even when he stopped moving, it only got more agonizing.

He thought of himself as a "tough guy"…but soon he began to groan. As the minutes ticked by, it became a cry. After that, it began almost a whimpering yell. Yet the pain only grew more terrible…more unbearable.

He opened his eyes, no longer stern, no longer focused, but now strained and filled with agony and pain and misery. He couldn't focus on the others, but they were all the same. They were beginning to whine and cry out. Even Zsasz, who had hung to the rear and was used to self-mutiliation, began to scream out in agony with the rest of them, howling like a madman. The Joker's laughter continued to boom and ring out, but it sounded more erratic, more desperate, more wild… Harvey's head pounded as if something was beating it with a sledgehammer, making it hard to focus on anything except more and more pain… Everything he had ever learned to "tough through it", "get mad", or "shut it out"…bit by bit the pain overrode each one of those and then continued to get worse… Why wasn't he "passing out"? Why wasn't it stopping? Why was everything he doing, movement or lying still, making it more horrendous?

Yet somehow, through all of the agony…he saw something else.

The guards had finally moved. Now, at least thirty of them were approaching the seven. They had all manner of restraining gear, similar to Arkham transport, with them, including a dolly for each.

By the time they finally reached them, it wouldn't have mattered if they were holding guns out to the seven for them to take. None of them could move. All of them could only cry and moan in agony. Harvey hadn't heard himself whine and whimper like this since he was a child…but he did so now. The pain was just too much…siphoning out any "toughness" or hate or anger he could have…replacing it with nothing but misery. Pure, unadulterated pain. He could do nothing to prevent whatever they wanted when they reached him.

The very first thing they did was have a few men pin him down, open his mouth, shove a capsule into it, and then force him to swallow it in spite of his agonized state. He wasn't aware of it, but they did the same to all of the others. After that, they went to work fully restraining him. Straight jacket, handcuffs, legs cuffs…irons was more appropriate, as they were old and made of thick steel. They also bound his body in additional chains before covering it up in thick, burlap-like cloth. Again, this happened to the others, all before they had facemasks slapped over them to ensure they couldn't bite, which had bits inside of them to keep them from talking and were wedged into their mouths. Finally, their bodies were placed on the dollies and further chained to them.

By now…Harvey was able to pay more attention to what was going on. His whining and crying slowly diminished as his headache began to subside and his pain finally started to diminish into aches. Even while he was still agonized, he began to breathe and calm down…so intense was it before now. His mind slowly started to work again, and he realized what had happened. Whatever that capsule had been, it must have treated whatever was causing him the pain…

Slowly, the others began to calm as well. While still being secured, all of them were lifted upright on the dollies. At this point, one of the guards stood out from the others. While the rest of them continued to secure the seven, he reached to his side and emerged with a tape recorder. A more "modern" one this time. Soon after, he pressed play on it and held it out for the seven to clearly hear. Harvey wasn't sure about the others, but he listened to it.

It was the same voice as before.

"I trust you all 'enjoyed' our 'ice breaker' exercise here in Sheol."

The other six looked up at this, their senses recovering, while the guards worked more "quietly" so that the tape could be heard.

"Allow me to give you a more 'formal' orientation as I explain." The old voice went on. "You all remember being in Arkham Asylum. Well…I believe that facility is quite outdated, antiquated, and, most importantly, ineffective for treating the insane such as yourself. So I have brought you to mine…Sheol Asylum. Do not bother trying to place the name. Only the workers here and the inmates know of its existence. Suffice to say, you are many, many hundreds, even thousands, of miles away from Gotham City at the moment, and absolutely no one knows you are here. So if you plan on getting 'outside assistance', you are incorrect. If you are thinking of possibly making a call or contact at some point, you are also incorrect. Aside from battery generators, this entire facility runs on gasworks. And you are very deep underground at the moment, so you can rule out cellular signals. There is no way for you to get any messages out. I dare say some of you are even expecting 'rescue'. Do not.

"In spite of the appearance, I incorporate a great deal of technology in keeping my patients here. I merely left it all unlocked for the first thirty or forty minutes to allow you all to realize there is no escape from Sheol unless I wish it. If you had proceeded down the hall for another, say, three quarters of a mile, you would have eventually started to climb up. But at the top, you would have found nothing except a barren rock island located off the coast of Northeastern Europe. At this time of year, it's already freezing cold up there, no ships can land, no life can be sustained, and unless you can jump into water filled with razor sharp rocks and swim 40 miles to shore, no escape. But even if you could somehow arrange for a way off of this island…you see now that you will not be leaving until I desire it. For now you all realize that you have been infected with a highly specific virus."

Harvey, his pain subsiding more all the time, leaned up a bit more at this.

"It's one of my more clever works. I based it off a rather nasty strain… You see, it infects the region of your brain that deals with pain reception. As it 'flares up', it puts your entire body into what I can only describe as 'soul-wrenching agony'. The most wonderful part about it is that there is no relief from it. Because it is directly infecting your reception of pain, no drugs will give you relief. No sleep will ease your suffering. Even putting you into a medical coma will not lessen your pain in the slightest."

Harvey stiffened on hearing all that, his eyes widening a bit. Not only him, but some of the others.

"There is only one relief to it, which you have just received. A drug of my own concoction that renders the virus almost totally inert for four hours. Got that? Four hours. No longer. In four hours, unless I provide you with another dose, you will be back to being on the ground. And I assure you…clinical trials of this man-made virus show that in spite of your agony, due to the nature of the infection it will take you three full days of endless torture before you die of your own accord. Unless, of course, you kill yourself first…and many have. I'll make sure to strap you down to prevent that, however. What this means is that if you wish to obtain relief from your suffering, you will all do exactly as you are told from now on. There will be many forms of punishment for disobedience…but this will be the most basic: no medication for your four hour period. Also, as you understand, this now renders escape impossible until I am done with you. You can run from me…but not from your sickness. Your only relief will come from me and my drugs."

By now, Harvey was rather shocked. Who the hell was this man and what was going on? What had he done to them? His pain continued to subside…but, like he said, it didn't vanish entirely. He still felt weak and achy, much, he assumed, as he had when he woke up. But why? He would have fumed and gotten angry, but the bit was in his mouth so secure he could only moan and grunt. He couldn't make a threatening move other than looking hateful…and there was little point to doing that to a tape recorder. Besides, moving too much made him still hurt…

Soon, they were all secured. And once that was done, the guards filed in around them, turned them around, and began to walk them back. They only rolled for a short distance before the old man's voice continued.

"Now then…as I indicated, the reason you are all here is because I have decided to take over your 'treatment'. I've taken it upon myself to treat you."

Harvey heard a muffled snickering from the Joker, as well as a snort from Crane.

"A daunting task, I know. After all, all the modern techniques and treatments in the world have failed to leave the slightest impact on the seven of you. You always go back to your old ways like the dog returning to his vomit. And even to someone such as myself, there is little hope that I can be successful where they all have failed. However, I do have one very important factor that sets me apart from all of your previous doctors and psychiatrists…"

A momentary pause before he spoke slower.

"My goal is not to cure you. It is not to rehabilitate you. It is not to see you walk as free men and women being productive members of society. My goal is simply this…to protect society from you and to ensure it is protected from you, and to do so by any means necessary. If these means result in your deaths…then so be it. However, the seven of you have no fear of death. I believe you are so used to only 'flirting' with it that you've grown to think of him as an 'old friend' that you can shake hands with once in a while and go about your business. I'm afraid I will have to rectify that…and I will…"

The halls continued to go by. Harvey wasn't sure how far they got, but after a few more minutes, he noticed it wasn't too far as they turned a corner. They must have been going rather slow by the time they reached where they had stopped if they were already back.

"Here is the main reason why those 'traditional' methods fail with individuals such as you." The old man went on. "To rehabilitate, the patient must want to be rehabilitated. To cure you, you must want to be cured. And you do not want to be cured. You're perfectly content with your current lives of murder and mayhem. You see nothing wrong with your acts of violence, crimes, and general hatred and tormenting of your fellow man. You prefer your darkness ever so much more to your light. How can one begin to cure such a thing? Like all foolish government programs and charity outreaches that sought to 'impose goodness' upon people, if they were not ready for it it fell easily. If they were not required to do any of the work themselves, it was doomed to fail.

"My treatment, on the other hand, is quite different. I don't want you to 'want to be made well'…" Again, he lowered his voice for slow emphasis. "I want you desperate to be 'made well'. I want you to beg to be cured. I want you to cry into the night for myself or God above to please deliver you from your madness. I want you to whimper at my feet, pleading with tears in your eyes, for sanity…for normalcy…for the ability to become an innocent and productive human being. For me to turn you from monsters back into men and women. And I firmly intend to.

"But first…before you can learn to love and embrace humanity, morality, and sanity…you must be taught to hate monstrosity, immorality, and madness. You must be made to loathe it as you loathe Hell and every cruelty and evil that exists deep down in your memories and heart of hearts that you lash out so desperately against every time you put on your outfits and go on a killing spree. You must not only hate your former evil…you must be as terrified of it as your victims are, so that you shun it and put it away forever. That, my new patients, is how you shall be cured. And on that note…I have prepared the second part of your 'orientation' right here…"

Harvey had been growing progressively more angry as he listened to this. So…this was what this all was, huh? An attempt to torture them and brainwash them into being "good little boys and girls"? He would have spat if his mouth was free. What sort of fool was this man? Did he think he was any more righteous or powerful than all the other doctors they had run into? Did he think he somehow had 'all the answers' to get them out of this? As if he could control the seven of them so easily, virus or no virus? He knew one thing off the bat… He may have cried due to the pain before, but now that he knew what was going on, he was not going to get broken from a little torture. He even began to debate whether or not to defy him and not take the next medicine he offered, or to go ahead and take it and pretend to be "good" just long enough to find out where the supply was and then get to this doctor and break every bone in his body. The latter would probably be best. Nothing got you out of these situations faster than telling them what they wanted to hear, after all… It spared him some asylum time more than once…

Yet as he thought this, he found out that he wasn't returned to his cell. Instead, he was taken to the incinerator room, and wheeled in along with everyone else. Each of them were brought in relatively close to the incinerator. Not too close, but enough to feel the heat, and enough for it to be rather uncomfortable. Not just from the sweat, but from the actual heat coming off of it, like being out in a day that was too sunny. At this point, he was locked in place, and his guards filled out around him, but left the view in front of him clear of the incinerator. He looked around a bit, and saw that the others were similarly arranged. The Joker made a muffled chuckle and tried to say something, but got nowhere.

At this point, he looked forward, and saw even more guards were on the opposite side…along with what looked like large "dummy men". They seemed like they were padded with bulletproof vests or rubber room padding, but there were a number of them on the other side of the incinerator, and several of them were arranged around the area.

However, what really caught his attention was one man in the lead. He was gray haired with a high hairline and a widow's peak, with his face withered and sunken. There were deep lines in his cheeks around his eyes, and his nose seemed extra large and almost hooked. His eyes themselves, in the dim light, almost seemed to burn red. Yet he carried a "commanding" persona about him in spite of this, a magnetism...although it was something dark and sinister. He was dressed in alternate attire. Still thick, but this time wearing a large, dark coat with a high collar around his head. In his hand seemed to be an old book, although Harvey couldn't make out what it was. He couldn't even be sure it was an actual book or some sort of ledger. Only that in the glow of the fire…he seemed almost hellish himself, or at least like a "warden" of Hell.

When he spoke a moment later, the tone of his voice confirmed he was the same as the tape recorders.

"Allow me to introduce myself." He stated. "I am your new 'attending physician'. You may call me Dr. Labdaris, although I would prefer 'doctor' or 'sir'. As for your names…I'll begin using them when I feel you have earned them. Until then, you are simply a patient number to me…something that is not worth pity or mercy, but merely a 'problem to be fixed'. Now then, without further ado…time for the next part of your orientation."

With that, one of the side metal doors that Harvey had noticed earlier, ones that were particularly large and doubled, gave a grunt, before they started to slowly swing open. He looked, and saw that it took two men on either side to force them to open. Soon after, a sound of labored grinding, like giant wheels slowly turning, rang out…and a large, monstrous figure began to be wheeled in by multiple guards.

To be honest, Harvey was a bit stunned at the sight of who, or what, it was. The seven-foot-tall, monstrous-looking, and imposing form of Killer Croc. Currently, he was restrained from head to toe. A muzzle was over his jaws, although he continued to snap and gnash his sharp teeth beneath them. The rest of his body was reinforced both with steel restraints as well as traditional straps…although all were triple-weave reinforced to keep him from moving. Strong as he was, even Croc couldn't possibly break free from all of that. And he was certainly trying. The sounds of his restraints bulging and stretching were heard as he was wheeled in on some sort of platform like a dolly, which he was also chained too. He struggled to get free and lash out for any guard he saw, his yellow, reptilian eyes looking over all of them angrily and hungrily. Yet after a time, his look went to Labdaris.

"You…" He hissed. "I wondered when I'd get to see you again, you withered meatbag…"

He didn't even look to him as the guards wheeled him up to the conveyor leading into the incinerator. Once there, they began to undo his chains from the dolly, and move him over onto the conveyor itself. Naturally, he didn't go with this. And he struggled violently, nearly knocking himself over, in an attempt to attack them or get off of it. However, two of the guards behind him pulled out what looked like some sort of prods, and proceeded to start shocking him. He bellowed and roared beneath the muzzle as he was forced to be still long enough for, not the guards, but two of the "dummies" to grab onto him and drag him onto the conveyor. Once he stood there, they backed up. The machine chugged to life soon after, sounding like it ran on steam, and began to wheel him forward…toward the incinerator.

"Waylon Jones…if you could even be called that anymore…" The doctor exhaled. He proceeded to lift his ledger or "tome" or whatever he had up, broke it open, and looked it over. "Suffering from a rare disease that is turning him both physically and mentally into a crocodile…" He gave a mild snort. "Now I've heard everything… Progressive, steady, marked degeneration physically and mentally. Less and less empathy with time… Higher and higher levels of aggression… More noted acts of savagery…with murders that more and more frequently involve violent dismemberment and eating his victims raw…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah…" Croc hissed. "I heard it all before… Care to come a bit closer and tell it to my face, doc? I haven't chowed down in a while…"

The conveyor halted. Soon after, another set of pistons went out. As Harvey watched…the door to the incinerator opened. As large as Croc was, he noticed he would fit inside quite easily.

"Frankly," The doctor continued as he shut the ledger. "I've looked over your case and I can say, tragically, there is little point in attempting to treat you. Your disease is incurable. While you do have my sympathies, for I honestly do not think this is all the 'man' I am seeing but rather a small-brained, aggressive animal that you are becoming, the fact of the matter is you are becoming more dangerous and less human with time. Give it five years and I wonder if your ability to speak will turn into something out of a caveman movie, only able to say single words and ideas. Another two years after that and you'll probably take up walking on all fours and not talking at all. Eventually, your sentience will totally disappear and you'll only be a savage reptile."

"Aw…you're breaking my heart…" Croc snarled. "Or maybe you're just making me want to puke…"

"Therefore, I see no reason to begin a therapy regimen. The best thing for society to do is to destroy you now. And since I have other patients I'd like to make a demonstration to for the orientation, I will be carrying out your euthanasia via incineration."

The conveyor began to move again. Here, Croc actually paused. He looked ahead to the box with the pilot lights, and he didn't say anything for a moment.

"…Are you f***ing serious?"

"Inhumane, I know. But it won't matter after the first two minutes or so." Labdaris calmly answered. "Besides, the more 'humane' thing to do is to let the curable patients watch. The greater good, you see."

"You psychotic sack of sh't…" Croc snarled. A moment later, he struggled more violently than ever. However, for all of his straining, he couldn't break free. All he could do was shake around, and every time he looked to fall over, a couple of the "dummies" would right him. He tried turning to them to snap at them, but that was impossible too. On his part, Harvey was quiet, watching as he was slowly driven into the incinerator. The others were as well, save for the Joker, who said something muffled…no doubt another bad joke. Yet the scarred man was focused on this.

…He's serious, isn't he?

He doesn't know what he's getting into with Jones, though. He's only going to make him madder. And when he gets loose, he's going to make him wish he had never even heard of him. Even Cash can barely keep himself from being scared around him, and he only took his hand. He should be pissing his pants by now…but he's just calmly treating this whole thing like he's in control…

Finally, Jones was in the box. The door shut again. Immediately, he tried to fight his way out, but unable to break his restraints, he only could flop around into the various walls, and they were stable enough to hold him without shaking. The plexiglass allowed the seven to see everything.

Putting his book to his side, Labdaris walked up to the side of the box. As he did, he reached out to one side and made a "turning" gesture. In response, guards who were dressed in thick gloves to handle heat began to grab onto and turn valves…opening up gas lines. Harvey could hear it hiss.

"Now then, Mr. Jones…" He said as he halted in front of the case, allowing Croc to see him fully. "Is there anything you would like to say to me?"

Croc continued to hiss and snarl as he looked around the chamber a bit, and then looked to Labdaris.

"Yeah…" He growled. "That when I get out of this…I'm going to rip your arms and legs off. Not bite them off…because that's too damn quick…"

"Mmmhmm." Labdaris answered calmly. "What else? Speak loudly. I want the patients to hear you."

Croc snarled, obviously hating how casually he was saying this. "Then I'm going to bite your face off and piss on what's underneath, for starters…" He went on. "Right before I throw you into this 'easy-bake oven' and watch what's left of you burn away…" He snapped his head up and around. "And then I'm going to gut each and every one of you frail little meatpots in this room, eating whatever inside seems 'tasty'…and, if I'm full, I'll just rip your heads off with my bare hands one by one…"

His eyes narrowed as he looked back to Labdaris.

"But don't you little maggots worry…I'll leave some of you alive…so that you never get a good night's sleep again…so that you see me in your nightmares…coming to finish the job. And you can bet that I will finish the job on at least some of you…and I'll enjoy letting you all try to decide which ones…especially those of you with brats of your own."

The room was silent save for the gas. Labdaris didn't move or react.

"…Is that 'enough', doc?" Croc snapped.

"That will be quite enough, Mr. Jones." The doctor calmly responded. "Thank you."

He gestured to the man at the valve, and, in response, he gave a large one a turn.

Immediately, the inside of the incinerator was filled with fire. Croc was wrapped in it in an instant. A moment later, he began to bellow in inhuman, even for him, agony as his body was coated by the hungry flames. His skin kept him from burning at first…but the guard kept turning up the heat until he turned into a shadow, and Harvey soon began to smell the scent of flesh burning…a scent that quickly got worse. He thrashed about once that happened, fighting more madly than ever. But his iron chains didn't burn nearly as easily as he did. And for all of his yelling, roaring, and gnashing…for all the endless curses and threats he yelled out…he continued to burn.

Harvey closed his eyes and looked way…only to gag when he felt a baton slam into his exposed stomach. A moment later, he felt the guards seize his head, turn it, and force it back at Jones…force him to continue to watch the man burn even as bits of him started to "dribble" off. They grabbed his eyelids and forced them open. Not only him, but the other inmates. Only the Joker was letting out a cackling sound. Crane, Nigma, and Zsasz showed no emotion, although they did try not to look at it. As for Harvey, Harley, and Isley…they were all showing more discomfort, but the guards made them keep watching regardless.

Eventually, the struggles began to cease. Either the fire melted the muscles or the pain got to be too much for him. The curses died as did the roaring, and the enflamed body, continuing to drip off ashy remains, suddenly slumped in the cage. Yet the fires didn't diminish. They continued to roast him…continued to belch smoke through special vents and ash through fume pipes, and continued to let pieces of him fall. As the minutes ticked by, Harvey could actually make out his highly-deformed skull, with the teeth accented by the fire as he was now burning inside and out. Slowly the rest of the skeleton was exposed…before that too was burned by the flames and began to crumble. It was a long, arduous, slow process…but none of the guards flinched or moved. They calmly watched every second of it.

And the others were forced to as well.

As cold and ruthless as he was, Harvey felt something come over him as he watched this. A sense of horror…even for someone like Jones. But it was more like that. Something about this…didn't seem real. Something wasn't sinking in. He kept thinking time would reverse. Or he would blink and wake up. That something would change this. But all he saw was Jones' remains continuing to burn. He could actually feel the heat from the fire almost singing him. He could smell Jones' body parts in the air like burnt barbecue. He could still hear his screaming and cursing…

Not only was he quiet and still over time…but the others slowly went quiet as well, and simply stared. Their eyes were wide.

It was only when there were only a few bones left that Labdaris raised an eyebrow, looking to the others.

"Well now…what went wrong?" He said innocently. "Whatever is happening here? Why are the ashes not piecing themselves back together and smashing out of the cage? Why are the bones not reassembling and leaping forth to bite my face off and rip off my arms and legs? Why is 'Killer Croc', who terrorized and tormented so many, whose name was synonymous with terror and fear, who was a monster beyond monsters that men, women, and children all feared…simply degenerating into ash before our eyes? Why is he not emerging deadlier and stronger than ever to enact every last word of his revenge?"

Labdaris paused. The room was silent. Even the Joker was still for a moment. After a second, he turned to them and pointed to the flaming box.

"Look well on this, all of you. Remember what you saw and heard. Right down to the moment his brain was boiled in his skull and life ceased, he thought, somehow, that he was going to get out of this. And you all…you thought the same way, didn't you? That's why you all have such blank looks on your face. Why you have all gone so quiet. You think you're all 'immortal'. You all think, no matter what you do or what happens, that everything will eventually become 'back the way it was'. Even now, you all are expecting the police, Gotham City or otherwise, or perhaps the Batman to come bursting through that door, take you all back to Arkham, cure you of the virus I've infected you with, and, within two days, you'll be back to planning your latest crime.

"That is the problem with a spoiled child. They learn to forget consequences exist. And that is exactly what society has done with all of you…made you forget that you're all just as mortal as your victims. Just as easy to kill. You're not even a 'true supervillain' like individuals such as Sinestro or Brainiac or all the others you see on the news. You're just men and women…sad, miserable, twisted little excuses for men and women. You are astoundingly mortal and vulnerable, and you are only still alive by some unhappy chance. Before we are done, you will understand just how mortal and 'small' you all are…how easy it would be for anyone to snuff our your lives like a candle. You're not monsters. You're not gods. You're not demons. You're simply lucky enough to have been surrounded by those who have granted you pity and mercy…until now."

The room was quiet momentarily after this…save for the burning of Jones, who was now literally nothing more than charcoal and ash. Labdaris looked them all over, but finally pulled up his ledger.

"Now then…we shall begin." He stated. "Today was orientation day. Tomorrow…I send you to Hell. And do not think you can 'fake' your way through rehabilitation. Oh no…not this time. Because for the first few weeks, I don't really care how 'well-behaved' you are. I'll torture you just the same until I can be sure you no longer have the strength or mentality to lie to me. It will be after that I will consider rewarding 'good behavior'. And for those of you who think you can fool me…"

His eyes narrowed.

"…I never give 'warnings'." He pointed his hand to the incinerator. "I only give things that make that look preferable."

In spite of his stony demeanor, even Harvey thought his heart accelerated for a moment.

The ledger was opened. "You have only one task for this evening. You will be provided a mirror by the guards. You will look yourself straight in the eye in that mirror, and you will say the following…"

He looked down to the ledger.

"'I seek will all my heart, with all my soul, with all my mind, and all my strength to be made well. I understand I have done evil in the past and committed great sin, but I vow to live a blameless life forevermore. I deeply regret each and every time I have ever hurt a member of my fellow man willfully and unwillfully through my actions, and I repent forevermore of such crimes with deep sorrow. I fully reject my old identity, crimes, and evil and seek an upstanding and upright life. I long to become a productive member of society, and I will commit every last fiber of my being to achieving sanity and normalcy. This I do swear. Now before God Almighty do I swear it upon my blood, flesh, and bone that I will not seek to leave Sheol Asylum until I have purged every last bit of my soul and heart of my former evil and emerge an innocent human being.'"

The ledger closed.

"You will say this ten times to yourself out loud, and you will say it in a way that indicates that you believe it completely, to the satisfaction of the guards supervising you. You will do so every day three times a day: in the morning…at noon…and before you go to bed. Fail to do so…mutter so much as a syllable…look away even once…or fail to convince the staff that you mean every last word…and your medication will be withheld from you for the next period and you will not be fed the next meal. Feel free to go on a 'hunger strike' in this way because, as I said before, I only want to protect society…not you. If you wish to starve to death while in Sheol, that simply 'speeds up my job'."

He motioned to the guards, who began to go to the dollies as the gas was turned off, leaving only a pile of smoldering charcoal and ash behind in the box.

"I suggest you go to bed early. You'll need your strength to even make it through tomorrow, and that's if you don't cause any trouble."

---

To be continued...