My first group therapy session at Arkam, I was sitting in a cold metal folding chair in a circle. I was placed between a couple of the less dangerous inmates, Harley Quinn, and The Riddler. Miss Quinn was pretty upset that she couldn't sit by her "puddin'" but was curious enough not to throw a big fuss. The reluctant Riddler was difficult as always to sit down and be quiet, but I can expect that. He rests on the chair after many protests and looks over at me for a second. Each of the characters looked so different without all the hollywood. By hollywood I mean make-up, glamour, masks, suits, weapons. All the special effects. Each of them had handsome pieces in some respect.

Harley Quinn's face was round, and beautiful. If she sat down and concentrated, she looked so dignified, and graceful. One time I walked by her cell, and I noticed her reading a book, her hair was down, she had on a pair of sleek glasses, and her hair fell in golden tangles around her neck and shoulders. Her legs were crossed, and her face was poised. The book was a french exposition on psychology and illness.

The Riddler looked sort of like the main man in an old fifties movie. Perhaps like Dirk Bogarde, but much more refined. His hair wasn't slicked back as it would be seen on the television, or in gotham, it was clean, but messy. He tried many times to brush it back, but that didn't work as he would like much to his chagrin. Little bits would fall on his jutting and masculine features only to tickle them and irritate the hell out of him. I had to hold a laugh as he grunted angrily at a particular hair hanging down by his nose.

I was about to go into further analysis regarding the texture of the skin, the hand movements, the body language. The specific physical features, but I was interrupted by a rather handsome man in his early thirties walking in and telling everybody to "calm down, please." in his rather soft, if not patient voice. I immediately jolted upright in my seat, remembering that this is a therapy session. I hugged my knees in my seat, and laid my chin on them.

"Hey, don't worry, the doc here's a total crack-pot!" Miss Quinn says excitedly "he wouldn't hurt ya eitha, he's a pretty nice guy." she pats my knee and smiles.

She's much too kind to be a villain, isn't she?

"she's probably just hesitant to be probed by the doctor" the Riddler says. "perhaps she doesn't like psycho analysis."

I just keep quiet as they start to bicker. It's true. I've never liked being analyzed. My mind is my own, and I don't want anybody trying to worm their way in. That would be a huge mistake on their part.

I don't even know why I'm here.

I want to go home...

"Now, let's start out, shall we?" the doctor says, stacking his papers neatly, and putting them in a clip-board. "I see we have a new face here. Why don't you tell us all your name?"

"Names have power." I say, "everybody here already has enough power." a group of people start to laugh. I squeeze tighter into my chair, wishing I could turn into an ant and hide in the hollow tubes.

"Well, then what would you like to be called?"

"I'm fine with 'hey, you.', thanks..." not that anybody has ever tried to address me. The doctor frowned.

"I can't make any progress if you refuse to cooperate." he says.

"I don't need progress." I say, "I'm perfectly sane..." again, a lot of people laugh.

"I've been trying to tell 'em that same line, toots. It hasn't worked." says a prisoner at the far end.

"Then why are you here?"

"I don't know..."

"Tell me about what happened before you arrived."

silence.

Almost the whole group leaned forward visibly in their chairs. Even the Riddler took the time to cup his chin and look intrigued. His was an expression of clear interest only. Possibly hoping for another puzzle, or a good story. Even Harley Quinn stopped swinging her legs back and forth, she crossed them, and leaned forward; possibly the most animatedly. Her face, however, showed not only interest, but concern. Scarecrow put his fingertips together one by one, and rested his elbows on his knees, an almost smile creeping on his face. The penguin did similarly, only his hands were folded together.

Silence.

I bit my lower lip, and squeezed tighter my legs. I had my face half ducked behind my knees. If only I could disappear. If only I could get out of here.

"I've also heard you like music." the doctor said. Refusing to give up. Refusing to back down, his voice becoming much more angry.

I kept quiet. No more words would escape me.

"Sing us a song." he says, "show us your music" he says.

I gasp so loud it felt like a heavy burden added onto the structure. The silence grew even heavier. "I can't do that..." I say, trying harder to squeeze into a smaller mass, but failing. My fingers were getting sore, and my knees were beginning to cramp.

"oh, come now. Can't you just sing a small note?" he says, it starts to feel like he's playing with me. I knew this would be a bad idea.

Oh come now, a single note?

Not today. No notes today.

Can't you sing just a small note?

I start holding onto my head.

"I can't sing." I say.

Yes you can, sing just a small note. A single tone, I know you can.

Do it.

Do it!

DO IT!

"Nooo..." I groan.

Before I know it, my feet are firm on the ground, my mouth slowly opens, and I start to hold a key of C minor. A lot of people gasp, The Penguin, the Riddler, and the Scarecrow all smile. Harley Quinns face is that of horror. My eyes start to leak, and I'm crying. A crack goes from my feet all the way to the doctor, and it throws him, his clipboard, and his own chair at the wall, knocking him unconscious. He seems to ooze from the wall to the linoleum like a fluid. I clasp my head and kneel.

"I'm sorry." I cry.

"I didn't mean to."

I feel a pair of hands on my shoulders, and a voice say "it's alright." with a slight jersey accent as a nurse rushes into the room. She flings the door open, and sees the opening in the floor, with me kneeling, Miss Quinn soothing me, and a bleeding doctor laying on the ground. He had received head trauma. I was escorted back to my cell, and told I may be put into solitude for a week after the incident.