Arkham Aslyum was not a institution built for creature comforts. It's sprawling landscape dark and foreboding, it's buildings massive and Gothic, and some of it's own staff twisted and cruel. It wasn't exactly a place you could consider built for healing, though perhaps that was some of it's creator's intention. Amadeus Arkham was a deeply tortured man, spurned by tragedy he built the asylum and in short time fell into the very pits of madness he built it for. This air of the macabre shone through in every aspect of the institution's labyrinthine corridors and metal plated cells. The screams of the irrevocably insane echoed off it's walls like the most terrible siren song, the staff overworked and far underpaid. It was where many doctors grew sometimes unhealthy obsessions with trying to cure the mind of the super criminal, the worst of the worst, the deadliest of vipers. These obsessions shone through with the likes of Dr. Harleen Quinnzel and Dr. Hugo Strange, and in some sick way it was some sort of awful home for one psychiatrist in particular.
Jonathan Crane had a sort of love hate relationship with Arkham. A sense of bitterness by being caged up like a common animal but also a curiosity at being surrounded by such interesting case of psychosis at every single turn. This time, however, it was certainly more edged towards to feeling of bitterness stuck in his craw. He came to locked up in what appeared to be his usual cell reserved for him, blinking away the blurry weariness from his eyes he took time to analyze his surroundings. Most everything seemed to have been left, save for things being shuffled around; no doubt from a cell search after his last escape to determine exactly -how- he ran free in this first place. Jonathan half smirked, pulling one side of his lips higher than the other. He wondered if the guards had bothered at all to check the durability of the screws in the grate far above his cot. He made a mental note to check those later after composing himself and setting a solid plan.
He sat himself up tentatively, mindful of the bruised ribs of lingering headache forcing his vision to swim and head to spin. 'A concussion," he thought to himself, 'It'll be a few days before I'm back up to snuff.' He took a moment sat up in his double bunk cot taking in slow, deep breaths, for a moment before sliding himself down to the cold floor. Crane slipped his hands over his arms to roll up the noticeably bagged sleeves of the unflattering to his form, patient jumper, and sat criss cross. His thin fingers plucked and wedged between the seems of two tiles, nails digging under the lip for leverage to pop it loose. Scraps of ripped up paper were stuffed between the space of the removed tile and the foundation, topped off by a crudely sharpened pencil. Crane smirked, feeling quite proud of himself to have been mindful enough to find a suitable hiding place for his notes. He knew the Arkham guards fairly well enough to know the chances of them pulling up the flooring to be excruciatingly slim. After he was satisfied with the well-being of his notes taken from his last stay, he crawled over to the bars to peer out into the hallway. The lights were dimmed, indicating the time was late; late enough that the unrulier of patients had already been subdued by a cocktail of heavy tranquilizers and anti-psychotics. A fact that relieved Jonathan as though usually he didn't mind screams of terror, tonight was no night due to his concussion.
Crane sighed and gently laid himself back on the thin mattress, gazing up at the bottom of the unoccupied top bunk. He wondered silently to himself who else was in Arkham, who he'd bump into and who's minds he'd be able to prod at. It was all he really found to be a benefit to the place, a never ending conveyor belt of damaged psyches to analyze and further his work. Before closing his eyes he hoped that he'd even run into Nygma; relishing for a chance to twist at the man's screws.
The morning was ushered by the sound of a baton loudly banging back and forth against Jonathan's cell bars, followed by the barking of a particularly grumpy guard. "Up and at 'em, freak! Breakfast!" Jonathan cracked one eye open, scowling from the noise rattling the headache back in his brain. He spies the guard staring at him, a hard facade on his features with just the hint of fear. Not a abnormal occurrence, Crane tended to creep most of the guards out. The guard, donned in his usual riot-esque gear, slide a plate of rather unappetizing looking breakfast through the slide in the door and then moved on. Crane exhaled through his nose in a noise not unlike a hmmpf and crept over to the tray. He prodded one finger at this morning's menu; scrambled eggs made from dehydrated power, shriveled bacon cooked far too long, a cup of weak tea and the saddest toast ever seen. Next to the food lie a little paper cup where several pills of varying sizes and colors rested. "Please, as if I have ever taken these." Crane scooped the pills into his hand, threw them under his heel where he crushed them into gritty dust and swept the remains around the cell. "Must be new, the other one never even bothered." He tapped a finger against his chin thoughtfully, humming quietly to himself as he examined his breakfast. He shrugged, "He wont last long, that much I am certain," and sat back on the cot to eat with plastic utensils.
The shrieks of unruly patients rose up every so often in a horrible cacophony, serving to only further irritate a itching Crane. Boredom and lingering pain stabbed at the doctor, making him wish that at least they'd take him away for a useless therapy session. At least then he could find some sort of solace in seeing what he could surface out of them. He didn't need their therapy, he needed his own, but toying with them doctors at Arkham served as a alright distraction. It would be hours, however, before a reprieve of his cell would be seen. The guard from earlier came into view of Crane's door, rattling cuffs at him. "Doc wants to see you, don't know why she bothers. I'd just let your lot stew if it were me."
Crane grins and sets his steely blue gaze on the man, unwavering and unforgiving. "Yes, but what kind of doctor would this woman be if she were to ignore patients in need? Most medical professionals have fears of being horrible doctors, it's what pushes them...and what causes them to make grave and fatal mistakes." He placed a hand over his injured ribs. "And I am a patient in need after all."
The guard physically recoils, offering a expression of mild disgust. "Yeah you're in need alright, in need of being lost in a hole far away. You people aren't normal" Crane laughs under his breath calmly, persisting in his almost knowing smile.
"Then why apply to this job at all? If you despise being around here so much. I don't recognize you, which means that you are either a new hire since my last stay or a transfer from another wing. I doubt you're a transfer, you're far to green around the gills as it were."
"To keep freaks like you where you belong!" The guard retorts angrily, backed with a solid smack of his baton against the bars. Crane made a mental note of the sudden rise in emotion, determining either a issue with anger management or a deeper reason yet to be fished out.
"You seem fixated on us 'freaks', you've called the patients of the asylum such twice now in just one day. Tell me, why such a fixation?" He was purposefully pushing the man's buttons, hoping to get a proper rise out of him to better determine the kind of man stalking the hallways of his wing. The better you know someone, the better chances you have in breaking them. The push was working as intended, the guard grew only angrier. He hastily jabbed his fingers at the pin-pad electronically locking Crane's cell, making a few mistakes until finally correctly punching in the right code to open the bars. He barely waited until the was slid all the way back before rushing at the scrawnier man to grab him by the collar of his jumpsuit. It was a almost funny scene, the stockier but shorter guard grabbing the taller by the scruff as it were and having to look up at him. Jonathan wasn't intimidated, he calmly stood, eyes fixed down at the bulldog of a man.
"You don't do what you do and get away with it, freak." Crane was practically giddy, his wing guard seemed so easy to push, but he didn't want to rip -all- of the secrets out just yet. He wanted to draw it out, savor it like a fine wine. It was lucky for him that in that moment, another figure appeared at his cell to interrupt the scuffle. She was no more different than most of the other medical professionals running around the asylum; white lab coat, stethoscope, a clip board and gloves sticking from the pocket of the coat. She cleared her throat, a shocked expression plastered on her face.
"We do not rough up the patients! That is not what you were hired here to do!" The guard frowned and released Jonathan's collar, opting to instead roughly grab him by the shoulders and flip him around and cuff his hands tightly. Crane eyes the guard over his shoulder, giving the man a knowing look.
"Yes, yes. It is not what you were hired to do." The almost cockiness of the attitude, the knowingly purposeful taunting kept the guard quietly fuming, and it was exactly what Jonathan wanted. He wanted those raw emotions to stew inside the man's thoughts, allowing him to easier access what he wanted the next time he decided to analyze and exploit his psyche. The guard kept a firm hand on his upper arm, guiding him as a owner would a harnessed dog.
The two followed behind the woman, who kept an occasional side eye glance over her shoulder to ensure two things; the safety of the patient but also the safety of the guard. Though the younger woman, a nurse by Jonathan's educated guess, firmly believed in the Hippocratic oath of do no harm; she also didn't quite share the viewpoint of the doctor she worked with. She didn't necessarily believe that every one of the super criminals could be cured, only subdued, and some in her opinion weren't entirely insane by definition, just cruel. As she eyed Dr. Jonathan Crane, she couldn't quite make up her mind on which category he fell into. She knew the gist of his story, a brilliant mind but damaged, flawed and even downright cruel. She doubted though, if that it was truly insanity that drove him to do what he does, or simply personality. A far harder thing to treat than an illness of the mind.
The small group of three paused only when reaching a metal door adorned with glass, safety glass that is, and a polished up name plated to the side reading 'Dr. Joan Leland.' Dr. Leland was the kind of no-nonsense, take charge sort of woman that Arkham needed. A stubborn woman, trying to see the light at the end of every dark and twisted tunnel residing in the institution, despite her colleagues attempting to convince her otherwise. Her goal and very life's work was in the treating, and curing, of seemingly fractured beyond repair minds, even those of the resident super criminals. Dr. Leland previously already had sessions with Crane, being the type that wasn't so easily swayed by his manipulation and control tactics unlike some other doctor's that had worked with the man. Jonathan frowned upon reading the nameplate, the doctor was a tough one to break, he felt a dizzying lose of control over the situation whenever it was her assigned to him.
The young nurse opened the door and the guard simply leaned in close to the taller man to hiss at him, "I'll be right outside this door, so don't think you can try anything." Jonathan would have laughed right then and there if he really felt like it. He was cunning and slippery so even if he -did- try anything, he doubted the guard could do much of anything before he slipped his thin frame into the vents. He and the nurse cross the threshold of Dr. Leland's office, closing the door behind them as they enter. Dr. Leland sat at her desk, pouring over file notes neatly tucked in a manila envelope labeled 'J. Crane'. Her neatly trimmed short hair tucked smartly behind her ears, held in place by black plastic glasses. Her face peaks up from the file upon hearing the door close with a satisfying click, examining the two standing before her. She offered a polite smile and a little clear of her throat. "Good afternoon, Jonathan, and how are you today?" Her tone was calm and demeanor nothing but of the upmost professionalism. Crane is led to sit down in the chair across Dr. Leland's desk while the nurse scurried off to the corner of the room to prepare a tape for the recording device resting on an adjacent table.
"Now, now, Dr. Leland; you know that I don't like to talk about myself in these sessions. I'd much rather hear about you and your secrets." Crane crossed one leg over the other, and neatly folds his cuffed hands over the top knee. Dr. Leland shuffled the order of her notes around until a blank page is rested in front of her. Armed with a pen, she then nods to the nurse to press the play button and begin her session with Jonathan.
"I think not, you know better than that. This is a session dedicated to getting to the root cause of your torments, as they all have been in the past." Her fingers flicked up her blank page briefly, allowing her to eye a note scrawled on the page below it. "It seems you were taken into custody late last night. Along with," She squinted behind her glasses, "Mr. Edward Nygma. Attempting to rob the Gotham City Bank, that doesn't seem much like you, Jonathan." Crane frowned, leaning forward in his chair with steely eyes set square on the doctor.
"Oh, you should know by now doctor, that there is a lot about me you don't know." His tone was ominous, and indication vague, but it did little to shake Dr. Leland. Crane shrugged and leaned back against the chair. "It was Nygma's idea and conception. My research funds were running a little low so I joined him. I'd rather not talk about Nygma." His frown deepened into a scowl, just the hint of bitterness surfacing in response to the previous night's failure caused by The Riddler. Dr. Leland nodded along, writing down a few sentences on the blank page and the scanning the notes again.
"Police reports indicate several guards were dosed with that chemical of yours." Jonathan gave one single nod in agreement.
"Well of course, just because my funds are low for continued research doesn't mean I cant do a little field study." The doctor sighed and scribbled a few more additions to the file. Her head shook and her eyes give a subtly stern look to Crane.
"That is not a healthy way to cope, Jonathan. There are better ways, healthier ways, to deal with our problems." Crane lofted one brow and tilted his head to the side.
"Who said anything about coping? My research isn't about coping, it's about furthering the study of fear and mastering it's entirety. Fear is the most primal and base of animal instincts."
"One of the guards affected by that chemical had a psychotic break, bad enough to be sent into the light security ward at this very institution." Crane smiled, interested piqued by the information.
"Well, why dont I talk to him. Pick his brain and get to that root cause of his fear and subsequent psychotic episode. I am a expert in the matter after all, no one but myself has had more experience and knowledge." Dr. Leland's stern look turned only more hardened. She shook her head firmly, giving no indication of budging on the matter.
"Absolutely not. You are a patient here at Arkham, not a doctor. Furthermore, being the cause of the man's break you will have no contact with him." Jonathan's smile turned into a frown, displeased by Dr. Leland's resistance to his manipulation tactics. The doctor sighs again, making little remarks in her notes referencing to various conditions of the mind she theorized plagued her patient. She softened her gaze, if only a little. "Jonathan, let me help you. If you'd only open up about what troubles you, we could find the issues stemming this unhealthy obsession with fear." She is met with momentary silence, and cold, calculating eyes set on her like predatory to prey. The silence was defeaning, and seemed to drag on forever, until he finally deemed it necessary to respond to her.
Crane clears his throat, and says in a matter of fact tone, "I don't need your help, doctor. My obsession, as you put it, is dedication to a life's work. You of all people should know that better than anyone. Some would say it's an unhealthy obsession trying to cure all of us super criminals and make us functioning members of society. Do you agree?" Dr. Leland narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips into a thin line. Internally, Jonathan was praising himself, finally finding something to rattle Dr. Leland if only by a small margin. Comparing her work to the work of someone like himself, well now that just wouldn't do. Sadly, much to his dismay, she didn't give him the satisfaction of a retort or excuse to explain away his accusation. She simply scribbled a few more notes down into his file, and shut the envelope with papers neatly rearranged into proper order.
"That's all for today, Jonathan. Today's session was simply a intake meeting...again. I will see you again tomorrow." She nodded to the nurse, who flipped off the recording device and removed the tape to be placed with Crane's file for next time. Crane was ushered up out of the chair, well worn leather emitting the softest creak with the motion, and led to exit the doctor's office where the guard remained waiting to escort him back to his cell. As he was being roughly led back, a flash of green catches Crane's eye moving about in an adjacent corridor. He follows the splash of color, leading his eyes to spot a gangly figure, much more chained up than himself, being led in a different direction. He narrows his eyes, recognizing the figure sporting obnoxious green hair, and he wondered if he'd get a chance to bump into Joker. Picking at that brain was always a fascinating way to pass time, but Crane doubted he'd get the chance while he was in Arkham this time as Joker was usually kept in a much higher security wing. He'd have to find someone else to practice his arts as a psychiatrist on, and he certainly had one springing to mind.
In a different office in the same wing, Edward Nygma was having his own intake session with a doctor of his own. This session much different from that of Crane's in that it was filled with Edward's non-stop rambling and puffed up recollections to inflate his own ego. Edward, unlike Jonathan, loved to talk. In fact it was one of the things he was most good at. Jonathan always postulated from the interactions he's had with him previously, that it was simply because he just liked to hear himself talk. He figured if the man loved anything, it was himself and the unnecessary fascination with puzzles and riddles. Nygma's rambling had gotten to the point where the doctor grew weary of talking in circles and puzzles, that when it came time to end the session, he was overjoyed. This weariness resulted in distraction, and resulting theft of a few rather innocuous items; a handful of paperclips, a black permanent marker and several leaflets of blank paper. After the door to his doctor's office cracks, he caught a brief glance of Crane and his guard heading down the hallway. Nygma raised a brow, eyeing him carefully until he was out of sight. He figured Crane would still be upset about the previous night's events going wrong, and made a mental note to stay out of his way for awhile if he could help it, if only to save his own skin. Crane was often known to have a vindictive streak. On dark days, however, things rarely go one's way when they need it to the most.
