She's been in solitude for three days, and already I hear some commotion about a wall being split down the middle. I shake my head and pinch the bridge of my nose. These types of things always happen. Why do the guards look so panicked? I wonder if the girl got hurt. As if it would matter, I scoff. Just one less meat bag to worry about. I overhear a couple of the guards talking.

"She had a nightmare."

"How bad?"

"Woke up screaming."

"Explains the split in the wall... Do you think with a power like hers she would-"

"No. Bobby is not criminal scum, Hank."

"She had to be landed in this place for a reason."

"What kind of conclusions do you think people will jump to when a kid her age demolishes a stadium playing a violin, huh?"

This catches my attention. What could the little music-maker have done to end up here? Killed thousands of people? Blown up a stadium? Interesting. I sit at the far end of the room and pull up a newspaper, in order to look inconspicuous as the men continued their conversation.

"She had to do it for a reason."

"The reason she did what she did was because she couldn't control herself."

"Right."

"You saw her in the solitary room. Do you really think she would do that to herself on purpose?"

"She's in an asylum..."

The other man, whom I'd assumed was close to the girl grabbed the other guard, hank, by the scruff of his collar. "She's in this god forsaken place because all the people she loved insisted she was a dangerous criminal after the accident. You don't understand her situation, and don't assume you do. Also, if you so much as lift a finger against my Bobby, you'll hear about it later. Are we clear?"

Hmm. Turns out Hank's reputation for inmate mistreatment wasn't just notorious amongst the inmates.

"You'll have nothing to say about it." The man says, pulling his collar from the other guards hand "If I were you, I wouldn't piss off the other guards." He brushed himself off and smiled at the man, who looked like he was boiling from the inside.

"Fucking tyrant guard..." the man curses, popping his knuckles in what looked like an effort to calm himself. He had nothing but rage in his eyes.

He stepped out after his shift was over, exchanging his shift with another guard, and heading to the cafeteria. I checked the clock and decided I should do the same. It was around 2:38 p.m, probably best to get something in my stomach before they shut down the kitchen until six. I start walking down the halls and before I even reach the cafeteria, I can feel it, and hear it bubbling with excitement and rumors. As I expect, the place is a brewing ground for rumors and commotion. But a very specific name was on the lips of criminals today.

"Did you hear about The Fiddler? They say she's got a lot of stress pent up in that little cell. Twenty bucks and a pack of smokes says she's going to break before the week is out."

"That banshee threw the doc all the way across the room. Smashed his head with his own chair and didn't even touch the guy. I bet if she really wanted to escape, she could."

"She doesn't belong here. You saw the look on her face. She's innocent, didn't mean no harm."

"Hmm, Perhaps you're right. Maybe we could change that, what do you think?"

"You mean drive her crazy? You think she'd be any use on our side of the law? She aint no street-hardened criminal."

"She could be."

I keep walking straight past the gossiping goons and get a pile of slop served onto my tray, I sit down next to Harley, who's sitting with Ivy, and Crane.

"Hiya, Eddie..." She says unenthusiastically. I look over to Ivy, she shrugs.

"What is the matter, miss Quinn?" I say, curious. She's not usually like this. Not that it particularly interests me.

"I feel bad for the kid, ya know? She's got it hard enough as it is... now ev'ry body's talkin' about changin' 'er. Poor gal..."

"I don't know much about the girl, Harley. But you're probably right. She doesn't seem to belong here."

I stifle a laugh. Leave it to Harley Quinn to pick up a soft spot for a new girl. She's always been one to see everybody as a damsel in distress. Everybody but herself, that is. Even if she is in the deepest pit of shit compared, as Jokers personal punching bag.

"Hey bozo don't you laugh at me. She's in trouble and you know it."

True, she does not belong here. She probably never will. But, there's not a whole lot I can do about it. I shrug indifferently, and scoop up some of the lunch that was given to me. Luke-warm lasagna slop. I stir it around a bit, eventually deciding to toss it in the trash and head back to my cell.

I pull out some crosswords and riddle-books. None of which really challenge my intellect, but keep me busy all the same. I notice a violin playing in the distance. I smile as the notes trace their way across the building, allowing my head to rock back, and wait for that sudden ...CRASH...

...It didn't come that night...