The Last Smile

It's been 12 meals, 3 escaped straight jackets and 1 mutilated nurse since he heard about Sharpie's plans for a new Arkham Asylum. The nurse had to write out what she knew since she could no longer talk with half a tong and no teeth, but he wouldn't consider it an afternoon wasted. He's also heard something about old Quincy being elected as Mayor of Gotham - it took most of the night for him to calm down after his laughing fit and the thought still tickles him. One puzzling thought does plague him every now and then though, if Sharpie isn't running Arkham Asylum, then who is?

They have given up with the straight jackets - they're nothing against him anyway - but have placed him in one of the cages usually reserved for Croc in the transport system.

When he had the nurse pinned to the floor of the secure transit booth, she had been holding a prescription for Quetiapine - the back of which she had scribbled down all she knew of the new Arkham - and which is now neatly folded in the waistband of his boxers. In his new cell, there are no cameras (Croc always said they gave him indigestion after he'd managed to swallow them), so he feels safe enough to pull out the bloody piece of paper and try to decipher what the nurse had written - which is harder than it looks since its covered in dark red splotches. He makes a mental note to only be creative after he has the inside scoop.

From what he can make out, the events of his little Island takeover got the attention of an outside source to fund a new Arkham, apparently the island will be left to rot and new guards from some organization will be replacing the current ones. How...fun. He can hardly read the writing, but it says something about the new Asylum bing part of Gotham city and that the inmates will be mixed with prisoners from Blackgate. He smiles, at least he'll have some of his boys around to make things interesting. He stuffs the piece of paper back into his boxers and lays back to think about new ways to be intimidating without vast amounts of blood loss from victims, when suddenly the cage rattles and he is jerked forwards from the force of it being moved - he rolls over, determined not be outmaneuvered by some cage and manages to get comfortable in the corner where he keep stable and still look cool as a cucumber. The cage shakes again - must be stopping he wonders and places his hands behind his head as the door lets out a low hiss and bright light fills the dimly lit cage.

"Ah", he smiles his biggest smile. "Light, at last. It's been so dark in there", he pouts. "I was getting lonely". Th guards standing outside his cell all point their guns on him.

"Shut it Clown", one says. "Get out and start moving".

He pretends to look hurt. "Get out? But where will I go? What will I do? You want me to just.."

"Yeh yeh yeh", another guard interrupts. "Just step out of the cell and put your hands in front of you so I cuff them".

"Cuff them?" He giggles. "But we've not even had dinner".

He feels a gun being slammed into the back of his knees, causing him to fall to the ground. The guards think its a trick and one by one pounce on him, tackling him to the ground.

"Really", he says as he feels a boot on his spine and an elbow on his neck. "I'm not into this sort of thing". Eventually he feels weight being lifted from him and is dragged up into a sitting position to be forced into a wheelchair with electrodes around the sides. "I can walk you know", he says dangerously. The guards glance at one another, until one takes charge and says, "Just get him out".

He is wheeled through the transfer loop towards the entrance of intensive treatment, where a large SWAT van is waiting, with huge steel doors revealing a space for his wheelchair to be chained to the sides of the van.

"So this the new Arkham?" He asks. "Gotta say, it's much more cosy". They all ignore him and carry on wheeling him outside.

Harley Quinn sat alone in Extreme Incarceration. Everyone else have been moved out but never return. Her and Mr Freeze were the only ones left and Mr Freeze was muttering bout something, probably his wife, so she was left laying on her bed and staring at the wall, wondering about her Mr J. She closed her eyes imagining him; his deadly smile, his wild hair and especially his soft white gloves. As she lets her imagination wander, she allows her hands to trace small circles up her arms to her chest, she lets out a small sign wishing it was her Puddin' who was gently caressing her. Not that her often did, but a girl and dream right? She allowed her other hand to wander up her legs, like his would sometimes do, but stopped as she reached her inner thigh. Something was wrong. She could feel a lump. She touched it again, pressing a little harder, but this time it stung. She bolted upright, tearing off her jumpsuit and spreading her legs so she could see what was causing the pain - perhaps it was just a trapped nerve, god knows she's had thousands after her little episode, as the Joker calls it, back in the lab.

As she looked down, her eyes widened considerably. The patch of skin, that was usually so soft and smooth, looked like a deep purple wart. She snapped her legs closed, praying it was her poor imagination running wild without her Puddin'. Yes that was it. Her overactive mind was playing tricks on her to help keep her thoughts away from Mr J and how much she missed him. She stepped back into her orange jumpsuit and laid back down on the bed, closing her eyes - it would all be better in the morning.

But it wasn't. She awoke with a searing pain down the left arm and across her shoulder. Thinking it was just the way she had been sleeping, she rolled over and moved her arm across her chest, trying to stimulate the blood flow. It was then she caught sight of the terrible rash that was on the underside of her arm, peaking out of the sleeve of her jumpsuit. She cautiously rolled up the sleeve, gently peeling back the cuff to see what was wrong. The sight sickened her and almost caused her to vomit. Her skin was an angry shade of red, covered in lumps and bumps of blistering skin, some parts had started to peel, whilst others where beginning to scab, leaving small patches of white dead skin.

She brought her hand back to her chest, pulling down the sleeve of her Arkham Asylum outfit and tried to keep her breathing level. It was just a rash. A small pathetic little rash that would only last a few days, it was probably something in the water, from when she had a shower. Possibly some toxin from Ivy's plants that she's just reacted too.

But a small voice inside her head kept nagging at her, saying how she was immune to any toxin's since Ivy gave her that inject a few years back.

'It's new one', she thought. 'A new toxin brought on from the Titain strain Joker injected her with'.

It's still a toxin, the voice said. A toxin, which you shouldn't have any problems with, since it's still bonded to Ivy's system.

"So what is wrong with me?" She asked allowed, placing her head in her hands in exasperation.

She must have fallen asleep like that, for the next time she opened her eyes, it was to the sound of a guard rapping his gun against her cell bars.

"Rise and shine, its shower time", he sang as the other guards stood behind him laughed.

'They seem so happy', she thought as she gave them a cold stare whilst standing up. 'Might have to do something about that later'.

The procedure was easy - she'd done it a thousand times. Stand against bars facing the opposite wall with hands placed behind her back and grasp the bars as they put the hand cuffs on. That way when the bars separate to open the cell she is still cuffed. Not that would stop her. Once she felt the warmth of the guards hands on her arms, guiding her threw the security and passed more guards to the showers, she felt another pain. This time it was in her chest, a tight feeling in her heart and causing her breathing to increase. She looked down so her hair fell into her, blocking her wince from the eyes of the guards stood around and the cameras following her every move. A jolt of pain caused her stop walking and gasp.

"Keep moving", the guards ordered and pushed her to make her walk.

She felt the pain increase and bit her lip from crying out.

'Perhaps I'm having a heart attack', she thought. 'Perhaps I shall die from being parted from my Mr J'.

By the time they reached the showers, Harley had bitten her way through her bottom lip and blood was collecting in her mouth, but she couldn't let anyone know something was wrong. So she kept her cold glare as she took a towel from them and stepped into the shower room.

There were no cameras in the showers - it was the prisoners one aspect of privacy. So she felt it was safe enough to remove her jumpsuit and look at the rest of her body in the mirror. What she saw made her breath quicken further and the pain in her chest become more intense. There were patches of the same lumps and bumps all over her, the largest was on her shoulder, just below the neck, but small areas covered her arms and legs and a small clutter covered the small of her back. Thankfully there wasn't any on her face, but the patch of her shoulder was dangerously close to been seen if it grew any bigger.

She decided that some cold water might calm her skin a little and after she was finished showering, had a good feeling that whatever it was would a least be a little smaller. She looked again after toweling herself dry. Nope, just the same. 'Probably needs times to cool down', she thought on her way back to her cell.

But she was the only one there.

"Hey, where's the ice box?" She asked. The guards ignored her. "Oi", she called again. "Hey, I'm talking to you!"

The guards pushed her back into her cell and the slam of the bars crossing shut told her once more that she was alone. She watched as the guards walked away, towards the main cell block. That alone is strange, as there is usually a few up in the watch room to keep any eye across the cels and ensure they are all locked through the controlled systems.

But as she watches them leave, she realizes how truly alone she is. Sneaking a peak up at the watch room, she notices how empty it looks, there should be shadows moving around at least. She sticks her arm out through the bars - this would defiantly get a reaction from the guards (probably thinking she's escaping), but nothing. She waves just to make sure.

'What gives', she thinks. Things are getting weird and the pain in her chest returns as she begins to panic. She looks around her cell for some possible way out, now that the guards are gone and no one is watching it should be easy to find some vantage point, but as she stands up, this gas suddenly pours from the celling in her cell, filling the room with dense smoke so thick she can hardly breath.

Then it hits her. She can't breath. The gas is making it hard for her to physically take a breath. She clutches her chest, desperatly trying not to choke, when the lack of oxygen makes her feel light headed, she falls to the floor, grasping onto the wall for support, but it is too much effort and her arms drop to her sides. She starts to see stars, small black stars dancing in her vision. Her eyes feel tired. And then darkness.