Chapter One

In the Jailhouse Now

"Ego vivere in posueris nidum tuum draconis,"

The ancient words slipped off a forked tongue and between the pearly white, razor sharp teeth in a tone so quiet, only the speaker could hear it. And only with his hyper tuned predator's hearing could he make out his own words as they rolled off his tongue. An ancient dialect from a more civilized era.

A large tail covered in tough scales black as midnight shifted slightly on the bed bolted to the center of the white padded room. A heavy set barred door blocked off the cell from the others on the cell block.

Orange eyes glowed within the gloomy cell as the occupant detected another sound with his sensitive ears. The sound of a heavy metal elevator door opening at the far end of the hallway, out of sight. Were it not for his excellent hearing, the sound would have evaded his detection.

The black scaled monstrosity tensed, the rattle at the tip of his tail beginning to admit a low buzz at it typically did when its owner was tense, angry, or threatened.

Hybrid lifted his head up and cocked it to one side, to better hear the approaching footsteps. A man accustomed to patterns, Hybrid was distinctly aware when something broke the usual order of things, and this was one such event. It was late at night, or perhaps extremely early in the morning, and not remotely close to the usual time for a change of guard, the schedule of which Hybrid had long since committed to memory.

No this was something different. A new variable had been added to the equation, and the big reptile wanted to know what it was. Equations churned behind his glowing orange eyes as his dragon-like head shifted and his breath became light and quick, all the air flowing through his nose.

Hybrid expected his amazingly sensitive nose to give him some clues as to the nature of the new variable. Was it a constant that could be expected to become regular, and be worthy of no further thought, or was it a variable whose existence could shake up the entirety of the great equation? Hybrid would have to wait and see.

Gunpowder, freshly greased steal, disinfected kevlar. All the signs suggested this was just another guard. But Hybrid maintained his vigilance.

His ever present caution, suspicion, and vigilance had kept him alive in the company of many dangerous men and beasts, and he knew it would always serve him. And there was something else. Hybrid's body tensed further and the pace of his rattle's buzz increased.

Like the answer to a complex math problem, the answer seemed to be right before his eyes, just out of reach. Tantalizingly close.

Hybrid knew he had detected that scent before, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not place it. The footsteps drew closer, and finally, like a bolt of lightning, the answer struck him, and his body felt electrified, as if lightning had indeed struck him.

But through massive amounts of effort and self control, Hybrid maintained his cold composure. Cold confidence was Hybrid's choice demeanour whenever he was around dangerous lunatics like the one pausing outside his cell.

"Would it be prudent to assume Ms. Quinzel's living arrangements will soon be changed?" Hybrid hissed in his cold, deep voice, his piercing orange eyes locked on the polarized visor outside his cell. His gaze seemed to bore holes into the helmet, much as his Hellfire would if we were not locked inside Arkham Asylum. Though to normal human eyes the visor certainly appeared to be opaque, Hybrid could see torn cheeks and bloodshot eyes behind the heavily reinforced plastic.

"Ohh Jackey boy," the menacing accent of the Joker barely audible beneath his imitation of an asylum guard, "Ever the vigilante, perhaps you're on the wrong side."

"Bats and dragons don't get along," Hybrid growled, "Too many incompatibilities, the equation doesn't balance."

"Balancing equations," the Joker scoffed, "How boring. Why does the equation need to be balanced anyway? Why does x have to equal anything?"

Hybrid chose not to reply to that. He assumed the clown prince of crime had other business to attend to within the asylum besides picking fights with various inmates, and he did not want to interact with the maniac for any longer than necessary.

"As much as I enjoy speaking to you, my cold blooded friend," the Joker began making his way down the hall towards whatever his destination may be, "I have business to attend to."

Hybrid's muscled reptilian body remained tense as the footsteps faded away down the hall. He rested his head back on his claws and licked his pearly white fangs with his forked tongue.

His eyes were about to close when a voice from the neighboring cell inquired, "Now what might a clown be doing in riot gear?"

"I didn't notice anything," Hybrid hissed, his voice cold and neutral, "Aren't they all?"

"What's this?!" the neighboring voice exclaimed, then continued in an annoyingly superior tone, "The ever watchful one misses the obvious. Lost your edge, huh snappy?"

"How strange," Hybrid growled, "A man whose life revolves around riddles and puzzles fails to grasp the most basic level of humor."

"Ah you jest," the Riddler retorted, "My intellect is well above such simple comedy. Of course all cops are clowns."

"At least he's got that right," a new voice joined in, "Edward's so full of himself it's truly a wonder that there's room for anything else in there."

"Oh please," the Riddler snorted, "I'm not arrogant. I know I'm smarter than the both of you combined. Professor Crane, you're hardly worthy of your title."

"Get a load of this bullshit," the Scarecrow retorted, "The size of his head grows every day. One day they'll have to call him balloon man when he floats away."

"Solus illud stultior quam stultus homo est unus stultus homo quis est nimium superbus videre eorum suum stultitia."

"Latin?" the Scarecrow remarked, as Hybrid detected genuine surprise within his monotone, "I'd not have thought you to be a man of the arts. Tell me LaTrelle, are you a doctor? Or perhaps a professor like myself?"

Before Hybrid had a chance to answer, the Riddler translated his saying, "'The only thing dumber than a stupid fool is a person too proud to see their own folly'...I do not appreciate your attempt at a veiled insult, Smaug, I've killed men for less. Remember that."

Hybrid gnashed his teeth and growled, "You overestimate your own abilities, Edward, and your threats won't be forgotten," just like the Riddler's, his threats, while very real, were mostly empty. Merely a power play between bored lunatics with nothing better to do. Hybrid could not restrain himself from adding, "I've mauled men for less, remember that."

"Mauled?" the Scarecrow commented, "That's hardly the description I'd choose," Hybrid rolled his eyes as he detected Crane's psychologist tone slipping into his speech, "To describe your kills as maulings would be to compare yourself to a brute such as Killer Croc or King Shark. You are no Brute, Hybrid."

"Where do you get that idea hay man?" Hybrid hissed, not liking to be psychoanalyzed.

The Scarecrow ignored the menacing tone slipping into his voice and continued, "You're not brute, Jack, because your attacks are well planned, and well thought out. And because your kills always show some finesse, even when your victims are disemboweled."

"Disembowelment is hardly a demonstration of finesse," the Riddler snorted, "To call the dragon a creature of refinement would be like calling Bane easy going."

"Your unfamiliarity with the dragon shows, Edward," the Scarecrow said pointedly, clearly aiming to get a reaction out of the Riddler, "Hybrid wants everyone to think he's a brute. He wants to be underestimated. He wants to be likened to King Shark or Killer Croc. Because he wants you to ignore his intellect, so that he can use it to get the better of you. Isn't that right Jack?"

Hybrid felt uneasy. The Scarecrow had pretty accurately psychoanalyzed his strategy, and had revealed it to someone he himself was not entirely familiar with. The Riddler. Perhaps Nygma's arrogance would cause him to overlook the Scarecrow's synopsis, but Hybrid doubted it. While Edward often put out an overconfident aura, he doubted the man was foolish enough to let this slide past.

The Riddler truly was a strange combination of smart and stupid. His IQ was likely sky high, and his pattern finding, sideways thinking, and puzzle solving abilities were unmatched, yet his social skills and psychoanalytical abilities were sorely lacking. Hybrid had expected to be able to slip under the Riddler's radar with his brute charade, but now the Scarecrow had penetrated the smokescreen and revealed his true angle for all to see. How unfortunate.

After a moment of silence, Crane seemed to realize that Hybrid was not going to respond. What the mad man made of his silence, Hybrid could only guess. Filling the void of silence, the Scarecrow tried to make more conversation, "You're not like the rest of us, are you LaTrelle."

Hybrid flicked his tail in annoyance and hissed sarcastically, "What makes you think that? My tail? My spines? My claws? My Hellfire? Oh! I know! I changed my hair!"

The Scarecrow gave a snort of annoyance and snapped, "No, you scaled idiot, I don't mean like that. I meant in the head. You're not mad like the rest of us. No, whatever diagnosis the docs give you, I think you're completely sane. Or as sane as any dragon-man hybrid can be."

"Do you know how many people I've killed?" Hybrid growled, "I'd have gotten the chair long ago if I wasn't insane."

"If Mrs. LaTrelle hadn't won you an insanity plea in court," the Scarecrow corrected, "I suspect it was the diligent work of your dearest that kept your head off the chopping block, not any mental condition. My diagnosis is that none of that atomic radiation and waste made it to your head. No, I don't believe you're damaged at all."

"Quis est magis rumpitur, unus est corpus fractum integrum et mente, uel unus cum a corporis integrum et mente ille est frangatur ultra reparatione?"

"A riddle?!" Nygma exclaimed, "Perhaps Jonathan was right about you, Jack….and what an interesting riddle you've put forth. I suppose this is open ended, or am I supposed to find one answer?"

"Make of it what you will," Hybrid shrugged, not really caring.

"I would presume that the man with a broken mind would be more damaged then the man with a broken body," the Riddler said thoughtfully, "The man whose brain is broken is forever changed, while the man whose body is broken is still the same man he was before. Would I be prudent to assume this is a metaphor for our conditions?"

"Make of it what you will," Hybrid repeated. He enjoyed putting his fellows through their paces, and listening to their minds work out loud was one of his few bits of entertainment within the gloom of the asylum at night.

"You're interesting case Jackson," the Scarecrow said slowly, "Most interesting indeed. I would presume-"

"Alright that's enough fucking around in my head for one night Crane," Hybrid snapped, growing irritated with the conversation's focus on himself, "How about you stay the fuck out of my head for awhile and pick through someone else's psyche, huh Jonny? Balance the equation out a little bit?"

"Everyone gets so guarded when it comes to their psychology," Crane remarked, "Besides, its not like you could stop me if I wanted to dig deeper."

"Tread carefully, Jonathan," Hybrid growled menacingly, his eyes narrowing and his rattle beginning to buzz, "Don't forget that I could snap you like a twig with hardly any effort. You're on my good side right now. I would advise against changing that."

"Touché" Scarecrow replied, "You are indeed an enemy I would rather not make, as am I to you."

"Indeed," Hybrid conceded, "I'd rather keep my head free of Fear Gas for the time being."

"And I would rather not burn cleansed with Hellfire," Scarecrow replied, then after a moment added, "While we're on the subject of friends, your friends are not of the Arkham variety. It's a wonder Mrs. LaTrelle got you in here as is."

It truly was a wonder, Hybrid thought, his mind momentarily traveling to a place far away. Kelsey. The name whisked him out of the asylum, to a happier, safer, nicer place. Back to the Dragon's Lair, back to their hideaway. He thought of her beautiful, symmetric, perfect face. He thought of her soft, tanned skin, and her perfectly slim body. For a moment, his composure slipped and a look of desperate longing slid across his face. He wanted to go home. Hybrid had no intentions of remaining in Arkham for long, but every moment away from his dearest was agony. It was indeed Kelsey's expert work as his lawyer that got him off of death row and into the relative safety of Arkham Asylum.

Detecting his silence, Crane continued on, "Of course, Mrs. LaTrelle's choice was rather dangerous. Don't want her dearest to wind up like Great White Shark."

"Poor Warren got tortured and abused for years by our fellow lunatics within this very establishment," Hybrid remarked, "Of course, he and I have some key differences that allow our two equations to produce some very different results."

"Of course," Scarecrow gave a short laugh, "Great White Shark was not a miniaturized Godzilla, was he?"

Hybrid gave an ominous laugh and flicked his tail, growling, "No, he most certainly was not."

"You, my friend, are gifted with many advantages over poor Warren," Scarecrow said, "If only the little fellow had access to Hellfire. You know, it's a wonder they manage to contain you when your atomic breath could melt the cell door in seconds."

"Less than seconds," Hybrid growled, "But it has a brief charge up. What do you suspect happens when the Arkham's monitoring system detects a sudden radiation build up inside my cell?"

"You're tranquilized and out cold within a second," Scarecrow answered, "Then you're in solitary with your mouth clamped shut and your privileges severely restricted."

"Sometimes it does pay to behave well, as much as it pains me," Hybrid barked a short laugh.

"The questions you two ask of each other are meaningless given our situation," the Riddler reentered the conversation, with his typically annoying superior tone.

While Hybrid was merely irritated, the Scarecrow's temper seemed to have worn all the way down, and he lashed out, "Well fuck you, Edward! What the fuck do you have to say that's suddenly so important?"

"Just give me a time and place Jonny," Riddler retorted in a bored voice, as if such petty insults were below him, "The questions you would be asking if you're intellect matched mine would be inquiries as to the Joker's intentions...of course it would be silly of me to assume you two morons possess an intellect remotely close to mine."

"He's probably gonna bust out Harley Quinn," Hybrid said noncommittally, not really caring, "Maybe some others. I'd predict a power shut off, then probably a riot and a break out. Perhaps we'll even walk freely tonight."

"You're sure Harley's here?" Riddler inquired genuinely. He had only recently returned to the asylum, so he could be forgiven for missing things.

"Yes, I spoke to her in the library earlier today," the Scarecrow replied, "Or perhaps yesterday. Who knows what time it is anymore. Besides Clock King anyway."

"Well c'mon then Mr. Psychologist," the Riddler pressed on, "Did our friend Harley seem any different?"

Hybrid doubted the Joker would have let his on and off girlfriend in a plan to free her, even if that were his intention. The Joker liked to be unpredictable, and as a general rule he was the only one who knew his plan through and through. Everyone else was just along for the ride. Everyone including Harley. He flicked his tail back and forth as he waited for Jonathan to give an answer to Edward's question.

"Just as loony as ever," Crane said flatly.

There was another long silence in the dimly lit hall of Arkham Asylum as Hybrid retreated back into his own head he scraped two of his black claws together, releasing a shower of sparks and a loud scraping sound as he considered all the elements of the day's equation. Constants like Edward and Scarecrow's bickering, the various changes of the guard, and his psych evaluations could be ignored as he focused on the new variables like the Joker.

The Joker's presence in the Asylum was certainly cause for thought, and it was notable that no audible signs of a break out had been heard yet. Perhaps the Joker was being methodical, or laying out some elaborate plan, or perhaps he had slipped Harley out and the guards just hadn't figured it out yet. Hybrid doubted that. The Joker was a showman at heart, and he knew the maniac would not pass up a chance for a show. No when the Joker made his move, Hybrid would know. He was certain of that.

Which left two possible answers to his problem. Either the function Hybrid chose to call f(x) would produce an output where f(x) equalled the Joker staging a break out, or f(x) produced a result that Hybrid had not thought of yet, which involved something besides breaking inmates out. What that could be, Hybrid had no idea, and while he knew it could be dangerous, he chose not to fret it any further as it seemed unlikely that he would get anywhere.

Hybrid closed his orange eyes and rested his head on the mattress with a sigh. He curled his tail around his legs and up towards his head as he slowly fell asleep. Another night in Arkham Asylum.