Whooo!!! Dis is gonna be fun, I can tell ya that for sure! I'm quite proud of this lil'number, yesser! I hope you guys enjoy (I know I did writing it)
Anywho….I dun own Batman or anything associated with him.
Now, ON WIT DAH SHOW!!!
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It was unnervingly silent outside that night, that night the cold winds of fate blew through the spidery branches that licked the barred windows of the freak show house. The home to the damned, to the cursed, to the spiteful; Arkham Asylum, home to the criminally insane…a few flickering lights sputtered within the cold concrete walls of the asylum, a few night owls going over and over papers and reports, alterations in cells (for the gala criminals, those who dressed as though going to a costume party, seemed to always find a way out). This night, a revelation would be made, one heard of and hoped for but never made permanent, a dream for the lulling citizens of Gotham that has before only seen as a nightmare….
A cure for the sickest man...
….
It was just another sleepless night at Arkham for Dr. Breck, recent college graduate and Pharmacogenetics specialists. He had studied Psychology in college, just to broaden his horizons a tad…turned out he liked it…a lot, along with the theory's and results adding prescriptions to the psychoanalysis of patients and watching how quickly, effectively and beneficial the results were. Thus, he devoted his life to curing the sick of mind…but enough of that:
Breck was going over the special ward's files, doing analyses, theories, second thoughts and chances on all the creatures in this extension of hell on the far corner of the world. Hope rang soundlessly in this endless nightmare brought to life, with its halls filled with the howling of the lost and the laughter of the damned. Laughter….that reminded him…
Putting aside his Dent file (split personalities, always good for further analyses), and reached deep into the lower drawer in his desk to pull out a large steel box, (a 2 lb no doubt). The box wasn't that old, but the continuation of opening and closing and locking had worn away the hinges and gave them a slight squeak, also the constant fondling from different personnel had caused some hand-grease to muck up the steal, giving it a slightly eerie 'horror movie prop' look. Just holding the box could send a chill up a grown man's spine…unless, of course, you worked here, Dr. Breck chuckled dryly to himself.
A personnel had carved the word 'Joker' into the front of the box, as a sort of dark gag to the rest of the staff, along with 'the eternal resident'. It rang true, but it wasn't funny…not at all; Breck took the key that was taped onto the backside of the box and unlocked it. Inside, it appeared more like a DVD box set than a criminal file: a file containing all the jokers crimes, his family (if any), and 'attributes where tucked in an interior leather slip on the left side, dates in and dates out/schedule/and number below in another slip; photos were on the other side in a small plastic baseball casing, and lastly his condition, his psychosis and treatments were kept in a folder pinned onto the right.
Breck removed the folder from the box and opened it. It appeared, that while staying at Arkham, the Joker could be regarded as a regular pharmacy: mood stimulators, depressants, tranquilizers twice before 'nights out', and then med's that kept his nights dreamless to prevent night-terrors (seemed he was prone to those…ironic), and the like. This was perfect, it was all here…he was ready for them tomorrow…
…
"…And gentlemen, ladies of the faculty, this concludes my proposal! As you can see, it's quite reasonable and, most likely, less costly". Breck sat down in his chair, twiddling his thumbs beneath the circular table. Across the room, he could see the head chairman rubbing his chin, then adjusting his glasses. The faculty around him just sat, their eyes fixated on nothing, perhaps just enjoying the unexpected, blissful silence of the asylum…no matter how unnerving it was.
"Let me see if I can truly understand this, Mr. Breck: you want us to allow YOU complete and utter freedom on cell mate #0801, the 'joker', in the act of chemically rehabilitating him? With the use of any or all the asylums equipment and EVEN issuing a request form for a grant on the matter?!," The Head slapped his hand on the table, causing the rest of the staff to jolt out of their dazes.
"Well…perhaps…but with a tad more enthusiasm. I believe I can save what is left of Mr. Napier's mind…just look at this file! All we've been doing for the past few years is pumping him full of more mind-bending drugs! We're not helping him any by giving him a few over –the-counter pills! This man needs special attention, not just lullaby's to make him feel all nice inside! Please, just let me allow the use of the clinic's equipment and perhaps the help of Wayne enterprises, I'm sure Mr. Wayne would help fund this! Just think…a Gotham with no Joker, it would be like a ray of light on this doomed city."
All eyes in the room shifted to the head. His eyes calmed, like a break in a stormy sea…Breck knew he had hit a sentimental nerve with the head, who felt just the same way about Gotham as he did. The head let out a deep sigh, then readjusted his glasses again before looking Breck in the eyes again.
"Fine…but if we lose more money than we are already, im pulling the plug on this…God I cant believe im letting this happen…curing the Joker is like pushing pins into concrete," and with that, he and the rest of the staff departed.
….
Later that day in the cafeteria, the inmates were being driven into the urine-yellow room like cattle being prodded out of the field. Special cases on one side, temps on the other (to prevent the temps from being 'infected' as the staff liked to call it), after receiving his vegetable stew and grilled chicken sandwich, Mr. Nigma went to go and sit with Isley, Quinn, Dent, and Cobblepot, all (whom like himself), questioned whether or not the meat within the sandwich was actually "chicken".
"Can you believe this? I'm not crazy enough to eat this crap!" Ms. Quinn protested while shoving it off the side of the table and onto the floor, where eager little cockroaches instantly swarmed to take advantage of the disregarded food, "Yeck, like I said, not crazy enough!"
Cobblepot let a sly smirk creep underneath his beak, "Ah but I know someone who's crazy enough…probably like to stab the chicken first, just to see if there's any blood left in it he can watch spill out.", his comment almost making Isley gag on her stew in fits of giggles.
"And who's that suppose to be a snap at?" Harley pouted toward her beaked associate.
"Oh this shouldn't be too hard…here's a lil'hint Harls…bad hair, bad skin, and just plain out no style…", Dent chuckled to himself as he watched the tiny blonds face turn from pretty pink to a contorted red. Though, as they laughed and mocked, a cold breeze flew in the cafeteria double doors.
"Now, now Harvey…it's not nice to make fun of Edward like that…not to his face at least…" a deep resonating voice cooed from over Mr. Dent's shoulder. As he turned to his left, his good eye came in contact with a sneering, ruby edged grin. Joker was being held back by two guards, each one holding him by an arm. His legs and arms were chained together, with his hands covered with cotton bags. His hair, with the 3 month long pomade neglect, had regained its natural wavy form and lay shaggy above his brow and temples. Hurriedly, they sat him next to Harley, and retreated back to the entrance.
"Aaaah…meat and taters, nice…glad to know the cooks are trying their best to make us feel at home eh? Hey, Harls, mind stabbing the chicken a bit? I just wanna see if I can make it bleeeeeeed! HEHEHEHEHE!" the Joker snapped his head back as he giggled loudly.
"Heard that comment, huh?" Dent asked as he raised a cup of decaf Diet coke to his 2-sided lips.
"Oh there wasn't a word I didn't hear Harvey D., you might say it's like I have…a 2-set-radio hooked up to you guys…hehehehehe!!!" Joker continued to laugh at his own jokes as the rest of the table just stared. The only other person who seemed to be laughing was Mr. Nigma, who had contently stayed nonchalant.
"Hey, Eddy, why you so quiet? Minotaur got your tongue?" Harley cooed towards their slender friend.
"Heh, I just find the fact that you wont have much to laugh about anymore, Joker…not once they get you back to the Norm.", Edward chuckled as he slurped his stew. Joker, confused and angered by the fact that Eddy just did an "I know something you don't, nyah nyah!" on him, leaned towards Ed and sneered.
"What're you talking about Mystery Man?" Joker said his voice deeply toned and serious. Mr. Nigma looked up from his stew, whipped his mouth with a kerchief, and folded his arms across the table and leaned toward Joker.
"I'm saying, your case is getting bumped up to the upstairs, kid, your gonna become their lil'guinea pig sooner than you'd like to think, and its all being funded by Wayne Industries. Pack your bags funny man, your gonna find yourself in a hellhole worst than this place before you can pull your next pun".
