A Piece Of Glass
By Breech Loader
Me: Two reviews? That's all? You guys make me sick to my stomach. No, just kidding, thanks. I'm glad we're off to a good start.
As for Points of View, pretty much everybody's gonna get a look at somebody else. Breech, the Joker, Batman, Bruce Wayne, hell at one point you're gonna see a scene from Eddie Nygma's point of view.
I can't really tell you a lot without ruining everything, except that this story is not just about the Joker and his plans, it's about crazy people interacting. Oh, and that Breech is not a nice person dealt a poor hand. She deserves to be in Arkham.
When the chips are down, the only person responsible for who we are... is ourselves.
Chapter Two: Shiv to the Chest
I know she took the glass. It's not about knowing a person. It's about knowing what all people are like. I hope she likes my little gift to her, that's all. It could come in handy.
Arkham is full of freaks. Regular freaks like me, and freaks like Breech. When you look more like a cat than a human, something went wrong with your genetics. Or in a lab. We've got a few lab freaks here too. She's always talking about how she got that way, and no story is ever the same twice. Copying me like that. I hate copycats. On the other hand, she was here almost a year before me. And I'm pretty sure she remembers the truth, too. Or A truth.
Not like me. I don't really remember anything before the scars, and even after the scars, things can get a little fuzzy – like you've just been punched in the head, you know? I just make wild guesses and make up little white lies.
Did I hate my father? Did I have a lousy wife? What about the one with the chemical plant? Most days I think I was born to be this way. What the hell does it matter, anyway?
She's going to be useful.
And fun...
I'm still alive. I try not to think about it too hard. The piece of glass will serve as good as a shiv in a pinch. It's scary to even think about why he left it with me.
I sit down in the outdoors recreation area, hands cuffed and... just sit. I'm so close to getting out. I should just smash this piece of glass and be done with it. Several of the bigger, crazier bastards are pointing at me and muttering. They say that when the Joker gets bored, he gets out of his cell at night and goes for a little wander. Surely he'd get caught before he wound up in the women's wing?
Wait, what am I thinking he'll try? No, he won't try that. Just not his style. Hopefully.
They say the Joker doesn't sleep. Well, everybody sleeps, but he doesn't really sleep; that he subsists on black coffee and traded drugs and sleep deprivation. They say it takes two shots of Ritalin to take him down; that dose could take down a fucking horse. I don't sleep that much, but that's mostly because when I sleep, I remember. And waking up doesn't chase the memories away either. Johnny knows about the remembering, though I'll never tell what. Doc Strange doesn't. I don't see what gives him the right. You need to earn the right. You need to earn the right for everything.
Besides, it's not like any of us really sleeps in Arkham Asylum. It's something about the walls. When they brought me here, I knew the patients and orderlies and doctors might be a problem, but the walls? A prison I could handle, but the walls of Arkham... just beg for mercy.
Damn. Interrupting my train of thought, one of the big crazies is coming up to me right now. He's about seven feet tall and four feet wide. Two feet taller and I'm guessing at least three times my weight. A goddamn brick wall.
"Go away." The words blurt out abruptly.
"Heh. Make me, Loranski."
"Don't call me Loranski. Have some respect for the dead. And in case you missed the little performance in the cafeteria, today has not been a good day for me, Mackenzie. Go away, or else."
"Heh... Or else what?" he grins.
I frown, and stand up, pacing slightly. On my second round, I slip my hand into my slacks and take hold of the glass blade carefully, "Or else the Joker wins the game," I warn him. I don't know what the Joker wants but he didn't give me this blade to trim my claws.
"I don't see how-" I spin around and ram six inches of glass into his chest. My own hand gets sliced up in the process, but I finish up by ramming his own hand onto the glass until it's right in. The orderlies are already running over. I think I punctured Mackenzie's lung.
"Whoopsie-doodle!" I tell him. Then I become almost aware of a stare at my back, and turn to look. It partly surprises, partly terrifies me that the Joker is standing at a cell window, watching the whole thing. He doesn't do anything. He just... looks at the scene like I put it on as a special performance just for him. I look away again quickly, even as three orderlies pile into me, knocking me down to the ground.
Mackenzie's still gurgling. Face down in the dirt, being pounded by a bunch of sadistic orderlies' nightsticks, I wonder if he'll live. Also, my hand hurts.
Well, this'll put a stint on my probation and declaration of sanity. I wonder if that was what the Joker wanted. To keep me in here.
Get your fucking mind out of the gutter. He doesn't want you. This isn't about you. The Joker doubtless has bigger plans than bagging some freak for a night of fun. This is the maniac who set fire to a fucking fortune because he felt like proving how worthless money is. If he really wanted you, he'd have already made a move in the cafe.
I don't fight - it's a bloody hard thing to do in cuffs even when you've worn them nearly three years - but the orderlies keep on at me until their sadistic pleasures for causing pain are satisfied - by which time, even rolling with the blows the way I have done for years, I'm damn near unconcious. Then I'm dragged away to the infirmary - dragged since I can hardly stand. Several patients are confirming Mackenzie was threatening me. Some are even saying he pulled the glass on me and I fought back. He wasn't a popular guy. I lost my improvised shiv. Shame. But I'm glad too. Even though I know under the black fur there's gonna be so many bruises tomorrow...
I nearly have a fucking heart attack when I see the Joker in the infirmary, nursing a cut on his forehead and grinning. He looks like he was thrown into a wall. I gasp and back away quickly – a handprint – or should I say pawprint? - of blood gets smeared on a clean surface, "Well if it isn't the little, uh... progress maker," his lips curl up into a contemptuous smile as he looks at me.
"I blame you for Mackenzie getting stabbed," I insist, "If you hadn't... fuck, he deserved it, but this is gonna set me back months. And you know it..." I glare like hell, "I was ready now."
"Didn't you like my, uh... little gift?" he asks, pretending to sound hurt, "That scum was moving in on you like you were a bitch in heat and he was a dog, and my little present to you got him exactly what he deserved."
"No, if I'd given him what he deserved it'd have gone into his balls," I snap. What the hell does he want?
"And now look where we are," he gestures to the room, "True, I had to pull a little suicide attempt to get here but look at all this, uh... great stuff..." he giggles as he gestures at the sharp stuff around the room, "Now Breech, aren't you going to be polite and thank me for that?"
There's an ugly silence, and he narrows his eyes, and lunges forward, grabbing my chin. I'm no weakling but the Joker is at least a foot taller than me, and stronger. Again I'm in that horrible place he put me before, where even with the pair of us in cuffs he's in control and I'm on my back with him studying me intently, and once again we are way too close for comfort. He's a six foot man weighing at least 160lbs and I'm a five foot feline weighing in at 90lbs and he knows that whatever else he's got planned, that is a fact boiling in both our minds that is terrifying me, "Say thank you," he growls.
I snatch up a scalpel and hold it to his face. I doubt it would do much good – even if I did get a stab in, the Joker strikes me as the kind of guy who'll keep going even with a bullet in the gut, "What... do you want from me?" I ask him.
He looks at the scalpel. He's not scared, but the fact that I dared to pull something like that seems to intrigue him. Goddamnit... should've just cringed and whimpered like before, "Ah... the direct approach," he grins eerily, and licks his lips, "Thing is, all the time you were here, you stayed all nice and quiet. You didn't cause trouble - well, not much - and you didn't get attention. In fact, apart from that little incident with Scarecrow, you made yourself pretty boring. And yet... just when you're coming up to getting out and going back to their world, you get my attention. And on top of that, you stab a guy for coming on strong. You know damn well the world is full of evil bastards. You make me wonder, do you really want to go back out there? You make me wonder... how that little head of yours, uh... really ticks along."
I grit my teeth, but making a stab attempt now will just piss him off, "Leave me alone," I hiss.
Joker holds my chin, looking into my eyes as if he's making his choice, "But then, uh... how would I ever know how your head works?" he asked, "This, uh... this isn't just for me. This is for the good of Gotham City too, ya see. If you're nuts and holing it all up inside... well, that's just not healthy. Can't have the docs letting you out when you're really crazy. But if you're sane, you'll let it out normal-like. Nice and controlled. But then again... would a sane gal stab a guy with a piece of glass? I mean, look at what you've done to your hand!" he chastises me with a wide grin.
"I'm interesting," I say finally, "You let me live because I'm interesting."
"Close," he pulls back and lets go of my face. I'm scared shitless, but I lower my scalpel in response. Part of me wants to burst into tears, but the time I've spent in the same Asylum as the Joker lets me know that crying in front of the Joker is not a good idea. It doesn't invoke sympathy, it doesn't provoke mercy, and there have been times I've seen him beat shit out of other inmates for crying while he beats shit out of them.
"So... I'm part of the big plan now?" I ask, "I'm a component? You always have a plan." His hands are large but surprisingly well-kept for a guy who looks – and smells - like he hasn't washed in a month.
"You are a clever girl," he smiles creepily and pulls back. My relief is indescribable. Unless you're a woman, I can't begin to express how terrifying it is to having somebody like the Joker that close to you, "But still... you might just have to die. Things have to go according to my plan, you see?"
"Dying is an inevitability," I reply. I sit on a chair and scrutinise the Joker as he does me, "In fact, it's the only inevitability. But I still fight it." If he doesn't like me looking at him, then that is his problem.
"I repeat, sweetie, my plan," Joker grins and pats me on the head like a pet, "Now... we're in a room full of sharp utensils. Pick your poison, Breech." I have no doubt he's already filled his pockets with sharp objects. I pause, then slip a razor into my slacks, as well as the scalpel. I'm careful not to show any of my body to Joker while I do so. I don't have any intention to give him any excuses.
"Now," Joker grins and licks his lips, "Tonight some fun is going to happen. I want you to be there when it goes down. Got that, little kitty?" he takes my face, and the touch this time is disturbingly gentle. The violence is almost preferable, "Get out of your cell, and then... there we'll really see some, uh... fireworks."
"Fireworks..." I say flatly. Then I punch him in the face - yes, you CAN do that while wearing cuffs, in fact there's a shitton you can do while wearing cuffs when you've been wearing them as long as I have, "Oh no you fucking won't!"
Joker winces, "How many times do I gotta tell people? You don't start with the head. It makes the next blow all fuzzy and you can hardly feel-" I knee him in the crotch. He winces only slightly, "See? I like you Breech. I definitely like you. All that anger..."
I grab his orange prison slacks and drag him nose-to-nose, even though I have to pull him down a foot to do it and get my blood all over his slacks, "I want Arkham to stay standing, okay? Is that so much to ask?" I realise my voice is changing from a low purr to a yell, "This place is hell, and you know why it's hell? Because it never ends. Hell should stand forever. I wasn't always this way! I was human once – like you! And I want this place to stay. It has to stay standing. When it dies... when it dies, it dies slowly and painfully, just the way it lived!"
"Ms Loader," Joker giggles madly at the furious expression on my face, "I do believe I'm falling in love..."
I'm starting to realise this was a bad idea but I'm too far in to stop here, "Get in line!" I snap, "Arkham doesn't burn, got it? Fire is too quick for this place!"
The Joker growls, and lashes out with both fists. The punch knocks me to the floor like a rag doll. He narrows his eyes. looking down at me, and I regret my outburst more than ever, afraid of what violence might come next, "You're pretty mouthy, Breech," he growls, and suddenly kicks me in the gut, real hard, almost all the way into a corner, "Your attitude... it's really, uh... getting on my nerves..." he licks his lips and starts reaching, probably for one of the sharp objects he's picked up.
I curl up with a whimper, before looking up suddenly, "You like jokes, Joker?" I ask him, "Here's a joke I think you'll like. Two men were given a choice of two deaths by their enemy. Each was told he could die quickly and painlessly, or he could die slowly and in agony. And the first guy, he chose to die quickly. So his enemy shot him in the head. But the second guy, he chose to die slowly and in agony. And you know what? He lived until he was 90. Because the fastest way to live, is to die, and the slowest way to die, is to live. I've got plans for Arkham too. And they aren't so merciful as to involve just fire."
Several moments pass, before he finally relaxes, and starts laughing, eventually slowing to a halt, "Find me before midnight, Breech. And Arkham Asylum dies slowly and begging for the end, just like it deserves to. Fail... and this little rathole gets cleaned out with fire. And you and your pals go down with it."
It's hard to tell under the thick, poorly applied makeup and those awful scars, but... something tells me that crazy bastard is smiling.
Me: Yep. Breech ain't crazy because of the Joker. She's crazy in spite of him. Just differently. And just like everybody else in Arkham she thinks she's the only sane person in the world.
Whatever will happen next? Will Breech get out before midnight? Will she sit tight and hope for the best? Will she outsmart the Joker? Will I ever cease to ask questions you know the answers to? Anyway, I want 3 MILLION reviews right now or you never find out HOW.