Arc 2: Arkham Asylum

As I said before, this arc of the fic is a huge homage to Rocksteady's Arkham Asylum game, which is a) one of the best games ever, and b) the game I played copious amounts of when I worked a soul-killing job, a few years back. The entire story began as a question I kept asking myself during my first (and then second, third, fourth, etc) playthrough: What if all this happened . . . but Batman hadn't been there?

Arc 1 was my answer to why Batman never shows up to the party, but this arc was about those trapped at the 'party', many of them unwillingly. Many of them do not like the Joker or his methods any more than Batman does. Many characters are lifted from the series (Aaron Cash, certain guards), and several villains are left off the island if they didn't play a big part in the FIRST game. Certain themes are twisted, ie the Titan serum, to my own ends.

A lot of the characters/buildings/layout of the island are taken directly from Rocksteady's Arkham Asylum game, with a few minor additions. Character design is as well, (yessss Mark Hamill!) although I am totally ignoring Jonathan Crane's voice actor (who I thought was female for the first four interview tapes) and Slutty McNoPants Poison Ivy. My Iyy is wearing pants because why, exactly, would she be not?

Lastly, I am taking huge liberties with certain characters and their backstories (Scarecrow, Ivy, among others) because the other theme I wanted to touch on was what I wondered as a kid, reading Batman comics: which is stronger, fear or desire?

(The answer is neither, but we'll get there by the end.)


Chapter 1: Breakdown

March 30th, 20xx

Gotham

Excerpt from Gotham Citizen Patriot, a small, locally run news agency.

CAPED CRUSADER SCORES FULL HOUSE

Last night was an exciting one to be a Gothamite as Batman finally brought the Joker's week-long shakedown to a close. The Joker's mad plan to take over the Old Town District resulted in a rising death toll that finally capped at 32, largely due to a collapsed warehouse that created a devastating domino effect, and a cloud of thick dust as deadly as any toxin, or poison vapour. As there is nothing Batman can do about the shoddy architecture of the Old Town District, his efforts are universally lauded in recapturing the insane clown and carting him back to Arkham Asylum.

This, on the heels of the infamous Selina Kyle, AKA Catwoman's recent recapture and the surprising court ruling to send her to Arkham when her stint in the hospital is over, makes for a rather full set at the Arkham "Funhouse." Now within its confines are the Joker and his lady, Harley Quinn; the Scarecrow, Poison Ivy, the Riddler, Dr. Fries, Victor Zsasz, the Mad Hatter, the Ventriloquist, Prometheus, Hush, Killer Croc, and Two Face, along with a cadre of lesser supervillains.

It's an intimidating line up, but not quite everyone is attending the party. The Penguin's losing battle with AIDS has ensured him a slow decline in an undisclosed hospice, while Bane, Batman's most physically powerful enemy, has remained quietly in hiding for over a year now.

Aaron Cash, longtime head of security for the asylum, was less than pleased when faced with the impending reunion. "It's a f***ing madhouse when they're all in here!" He exclaimed, all the while batting away recording equipment with the silver hook that replaced his missing hand. "Not that I want them to be free, but the point stands," he continued. "Half of these goons shouldn't be here anyway. Blackgate was made for a reason, you hear?"

The nearly complete Rogue's Gallery in Arkham makes for a twisted anniversary present for Dr. Joan Leland, a macabre celebration for her decade of working with Arkham's elite and criminally insane. As well as being one of the foremost psychologists in the field, she has also proven to be refreshingly incorruptible in an institution that fostered Dr. Jonathan Crane, Dr. Harleen Quinzel, and the Arkham family itself. This is no mean feat when one looks at her patient lineup, which reads like a who's who of Arkham: Poison Ivy, Two-Face, Harley Quinn, the Scarecrow, Mad Hatter, the Ventriloquist, and the Riddler.

Dr. Leland declined an interview, but we wish her all the best in the coming years. She'll need all the luck she can get when her life revolves around probing into the minds of Gotham's supervillains.

...

...

June 21st, 20xx

Dr. Leland's office, Arkham Asylum, 3:14 AM

The path to career suicide was a slippery slope, Dr. Joan Leland, Chief Psychologist at Arkham Asylum, decided. For some it began with good intentions; others, an outright lust for knowledge, or power. For her, it had begun with only one thing: wanting to save a friend. Her gambit, had she been able to see it through to the end, had the potential for so much good, and not just within the confines of the asylum. Perhaps that was why she'd been shut down unceremoniously by Warden Sharp? The man ruled Arkham with an iron, if incompetent fist; she should have known that he would sell her out before the project's completion.

Whatever the reason, she had played her hand and the Warden had called her bluff. She was well on her way to losing just about everything. While some of the details of the project were still unknown to Sharp, including to whom she had already administered the serum, and who it was ultimately intended for, she couldn't imagine that her part in this would go unpunished. Should she tender her resignation now? Or should she wait for them to find her?

Joan rested her head in her hands. Whatever the warden chose to do to her professionally, it would not be half as disappointing as the loss of opportunity for the serum's intended recipient. Particularly when, even though it was not developed with any hope for their own improvement, there had been marked improvement for those in the first experiment group—Jervis Tetch, otherwise known as the Mad Hatter, and Harvey Dent, Two-Face. Jervis's anxiety had noticeably lessened, and she'd been able to lead him into several short yet hopeful discussions on something other than Alice in Wonderland. Harvey had spent 20 minutes just yesterday talking with her about Rembrandt's paintings. Duality hadn't come up once. Good and evil hadn't even been touched upon. His hands had been on the table, and not once had he reached for his coin.

If that's not improvement, I don't know what is, Joan thought.

As for the others more loosely connected to the project, Jonathan Crane had been . . . well, there was never an opportunity to say Scarecrow was being good, but the last couple months had been better than average, at least in terms of mental clarity, and of responding to Dr. Crane, rather than only Scarecrow. Not that the serum had been wasted on him, of course. Of all the people in Arkham Asylum, he was one of the high-profile patients who Joan personally suspected it would do nothing for, along with the Joker, Waylon Jones, AKA 'Killer Croc,' and Thomas Elliot, 'Hush.'

Pamela Isley had shown such promise, however. Since she'd been allotted so much responsibility on the project, she'd shown signs of increased empathy with other human beings, including Joan herself. This wasn't to say her days as Poison Ivy were over—she still responded better to being called Ivy, rather than Pamela—but it had been a hopeful sign, particularly when like Crane, she had not been exposed to the still-in-the-testing-phase product.

Of course, their improvement could be to some extent coincidence. Eddie Nashton, AKA Edward Nigma, AKA the Riddler (as he so unhelpfully demanded his name be written in his files) had been suspiciously well-behaved for the last month, and he was in no way connected to Joan's project. In the early stages of planning, she had considered him a promising secondary test subject, after the initial and most important test subject had been addressed. His narcissism had a kernel of vulnerability, after all, and there was perhaps a chance to build on that.

Now that chance had passed, just as had every other.

Damn that Warden for an insufferable fool, Joan thought, continuing to massage her temples with her fingertips. How dare he end this project on a whim? I made sure that he understood the good this serum could do!

It had to be his political aspirations. If any hint of an officially sanctioned serum was being concocted by the inmates of Arkham Asylum, he'd be laughed out of the ballot box. That, or the man's megalomania couldn't handle the tentative successes she reported. It couldn't have been the recording of the interview session that had been copied.. Not when neither of the patients had even mentioned the serum, nor that they were collaborating together on Joan's project. No, this project must have been kaiboshed by Warden Sharp's greed or insecurity, glaring character deficiencies when one ran an institution that housed some of the most dangerous criminals in the world.

A knock sounded at her door, and Joan glanced up as the head of security and her longtime friend Aaron Cash poked his head in. His expression was as close to apologetic as it got.

"We've got a twenty minute window before the guards switch," he said quietly. "Bill can't hold off rounds on the Green Mile long. If we're gonna go, we've gotta go now."

The clock above the door read 3:20 AM. Joan nodded, and left everything but her keys and cell phone behind in a locked drawer in her desk—wallet, notes, reading glasses, tablet. This meeting wouldn't take long.

Clandestine meetings with inmates rarely could.

Eight minutes later, Joan leaned back in her folding chair, the plastic creaking loudly in the silence that followed her explanation. On the other side of the reinforced bullet, bludgeoning, and pheromone-proof glass stood Pamela Isley, who had paused pacing the length of her 'cell' in order to stare at Joan in consternation.

Joan understood the impulse. She'd be doing a sight more than staring had she been in Pamela's position, but different strokes for different folks, and all that.

"The project's called off?" Pamela reiterated. "Entirely? But why? It's been administered to the control group and everything—"

"I know, I know," Joan interrupted, back to rubbing her temples. A headache was coming on, and by the feel of it, was going to be a doozy. "Someone told Sharp about the meetings—"

Ivy's gaze flew to Aaron Cash.

Joan waved her off. "And Sharp referenced the stupidity of recording the sessions. Point that we cannot actually turn off the recording system here aside, that means someone had to tell him, and that someone was the one who illegally copied one of the sessions."

"Could it have been him? Sharp, himself?"

Joan scoffed. "Please. That man couldn't find his rear end with two hands and a map. And if he knew what the two of you discussed, he'd had a seizure. All he knows is that if Gotham found out that you and Dr. Crane were having secret sessions, we'd all be out of a job."

"And he'd be in position to lose the upcoming mayoral election to a toddler," Pamela bit out. "Don't try and deny it; this is all about him."

From behind her, Cash shuffled his feet and murmured something that sounded suspiciously like can't argue with that.

Sometimes, Joan felt a little like she was surrounded by super powered children. Even Aaron had a hook for a hand, after that horrible altercation with Waylon Jones years ago. That meant she had to be the adult. "Be that as it may, there's nothing we can do. The Warden has this half-baked idea that you and Jonathan are going to team up and destroy us all. He's decided the risks outweigh the benefits."

"So you're giving up, then?" Pamela challenged her, looking disgusted. "Just like that?"

Joan glanced back at Aaron and nodded. He brought out his good hand from behind his back and clicked on an anti-listening device, courtesy of Batman a couple years back. They were 95% sure that they'd muted the volume as far as they could, but as the Green Mile couldn't stop recording information back to the mainframe, it was better to be safe than sorry.

Especially as one of the recordings had been hacked, already. Their use of the anti-recording device would put up red flags, but it was a bit too late to worry now.

Joan turned back to Pamela, whose expression had sharpened, albeit in a distantly approving way. "If I get you some of the product, will you administer it to Harley?"

Pamela blinked, surprised. "You would do that? If it has any noticeable effect—or if it's picked up on one of the random drug scans, they'd know it was you who gave it to her."

Joan set her jaw. "I'm prepared. As long as it doesn't hurt her, and there's even a small chance of it working."

Pamela stepped forward to the curve of the glass. "It shouldn't be able to hurt her. I know what I'm doing. And Jo—Crane mentioned how stable Jervis has been, of late. 'Almost impossible to rile,' he said."

"Jervis has been more stable during his sessions," Joan admitted. "But there's no major change in his psychosis."

"We knew at the outset it wouldn't manifest the same way with the control group," Pamela argued. "There's no reason it shouldn't have a more marked effect on Harley, particularly if you can keep her away from Joker, afterwards."

"I know, I know," Joan said again, leaning forward in her chair. Really, this was the worst possible night for a headache, yet here one was. "This whole thing was for her, and I'm not backing down now. I'll take her in for solo sessions, put her in isolation. I won't let him near her, but I need you to give it to her. You're right; they'll know if I introduce something new into her medication. They're watching me. I'll never be able to pull it off."

Pamela nodded with no hesitation. "I'll do it. If you can get her here, I'll convince her to take it."

Relief washed over Joan like an ocean's wave—bitter and refreshing, all at once. It would not be for nothing, then, even if her career was about to take a dive. "You'll have to be good for a month—it's the only way I can get you having a visitor again, so soon after Crane. But Sharp likes the idea of letting the female prisoners socialize a bit more, and because you're both women she should be allowed into your dome. As for the drop off, Aaron is the only one I'll trust with this. He can deliver it the night before." She raised a censorious eyebrow at the lovely inmate. "As long as you promise not to seduce him too badly?"

Ivy's answering smile was almost fond. Well. For her, Joan allowed.

"I'll try," she said wryly. "But his will is almost as strong as Batman's. I don't think you have anything to worry about."

Joan nodded and stood, folding her chair behind her and handing it to Aaron. He'd set it back in the guard room on their way out.

"Joan," Ivy called out as she turned to go, "It might seem strange to say this, and it's certainly odd feeling it, but it was an unexpected pleasure to work with you."

Dr. Leland, head psychologist at Arkham Asylum for only a little while longer, glanced back over her shoulder. "You know, it kind of was," she agreed, before Aaron Cash gently put a hand to her shoulder and nudged her out of the Green Mile.

Aaron had done quite a bit for her without bitching her out too badly, and Joan was privately impressed. She thought that he'd hit his limit for covert assignations with inmates months ago, yet he'd held his tongue—well, mostly—until the project had finally been cancelled.

Now, however, when they were alone in the guard's room in the Penitentiary, in the hallway between the Green Mile and the main holding cells—which the guards jokingly called the Great Hall, disregarding the electrified floor—hacking into the computer's mainframe to cover the last of their tracks, he let loose.

"Are you insane, woman?" He began, with a level of closeness that came from all the years of friendship, and the special position she held as his wife, Letitia's, best friend since childhood. "Look, I know you got a good rapport with your patients, and believe me I envy you that, but you are not friends with Poison Ivy! It's amazing enough that she has Harley; she's just playing you!"

"Do you have any aspirin?" She asked instead. The headache was only getting worse, and Aaron had yet to really lay into her.

"No, I do not," Aaron enunciated, swiveling a little in his computer chair, clicking out of the security feeds that no longer showed them walking into, around, or out of the Green Mile. "Louie would, ask him if you see him. But I am not done with you, Joan. This could be the end of your career, and I only say 'could' because the Warden's head is so far up his ass that he might just miss some of the more illegal aspects of this brouhaha! If someone with two brain cells to rub together finds out—"

"And how did he find out, Aaron?" She interrupted. "Was it the recording?"

"Of course it was the recording! What else could it be?"

"That's what I don't understand, though," she said, shaking her head. "I listened to all their sessions. And while some of the content is . . . remarkable, really, there was nothing explicit about the project or the serum on that particular night. It was just Pamela and Jonathan talking, and far more profoundly than in any of their usual sessions!"

"That isn't worrisome enough?" Aaron asked, squinting at her. "You couldn't get me in Scarecrow's shrink chair for all the money in New Jersey. Ivy's nuts for allowing it."

"So much good could have come of this! Can nothing go right?"

Cash looked at her hands, which were clenched into fists, before responding. "It's this place," he said, slightly more gently. "It's wrong, and it infects everyone who comes here."

"Not everyone," she said, smiling tiredly down at him. "We've been here how long, and haven't lost our minds."

"I am missing a hand," he pointed out. "And in letting Scarecrow and Poison Ivy work together, some might argue that you have, in fact, lost your mind."

"They're brilliant chemists," Joan argued for the umpteenth time. "And Pamela has a personal stake in it succeeding. If it could save Harley . . ."

"Then it'll all be worth it?" He asked, incredulous. Before she could respond, he sighed heavily and stood up, pushing the computer chair a few inches back. For a moment he loomed over Joan—she was not a tall woman, although her mien was intimidating—his hook resting gently against the desk. His right hand rose to his waist before he abruptly lowered it, as if it had risen without his being aware of it.

"Don't answer that," he said, looking away from her, down at his hook. "I know you and your crusade to save the world."

That brought a smile to her lips. "Some people call me Batman," she snarked, and it drew an answering snort from Aaron.

"Don't I know it," he muttered. He cleared his throat before saying, "Look Joan, this might not be the time, but while I've got you alone, there's something that Letitia and I have been meaning to talk to you about."

Joan blinked. Aaron's sudden awkwardness set off alarm bells in her head. "What's wrong? Is it Daniel?" She asked, worried for their charming, impossibly pleasant 18-year-old son.

(Neither of his parents were inherently happy people. God alone knew where Daniel found his cheery outlook on life, but his smile was wide and infectious, and his optimism was practically a force of nature. This had thoroughly mystified both his parents and Joan for the entirety of his existence, but barring the thought that he was some kind of changeling, it was probably for the best.)

"What? No, no. Danny's fine. Actually, with that full-ride scholarship to play football at Michigan State he's on the freaking moon. This is, uh. About something else." He tore his gaze from his hook to examine the wall just behind Joan's left shoulder. She was tempted to look behind her and see what held his attention, but more interesting to her was what could possibly have Aaron Cash, the most senior, respected, and capable member of Arkham's security force, looking this awkward.

With a gusty sigh, Aaron tried again. "Joan, we—Letitia and I—we decided—"

The familiar, heart-stopping sound of Arkham's alarm system ripped through the early morning quiet. Joan's heart hammered out a fearful beat even before the expressionless, automated voice system informed them of the catastrophe at hand.

Warning, security breach in level B1. Warning, security breach in level B2. Warning—

Aaron swore. "What the hell is going on out there?" He fell back into the computer chair and began typing out as rapidly as he could with one hand. Every security feed he pulled up showed escaping inmates, running joyously out of their cells.

Warning, security breach in level C1. Warning, security breach in level C2. Warning, security breach in medical level A1—

"A1?" Joan said, and it was like a punch to her gut. "Oh my god—this isn't just Intensive or the Penitentiary. They're breaking out all over the island!"

"Shit!" Aaron exclaimed, punching at the keyboard with hand and hook, now, desperately pulling up command functions. "I can't stop it. Someone's blocked all the security codes. Shit, this is a takeover and I don't have the tech skills to—shit, I can't even remote activate the Bat Signal. How the fuck is that blocked?"

"They planned for everything," Joan breathed, horrified. "Can you reach anyone? The Commissioner?" She brought her hand down to the mouse to click the shortcut on the desktop—first the yellow bat signal, which refused to engage, and then the pixelated representation of Gotham's city crest, which would act as a direct line to Commissioner Gordon.

Nothing happened at the first click, but when she double clicked it again, a square of text appeared on the screen.

Riddle me this: what do you get when you remove a security guard from his everything?

Answer: wholesale slaughter.

"Oh shit," Joan swore. "It's the Riddler."

The radio at Aaron's hip crackled to life. "Sir? Anybody? Can you read me?"

Aaron snatched it off his hip and up to his lips in a well-practiced motion. "Burlow, where are you?"

Eddie's reply was frantic. "Outside the Mansion, sir. Zach and I just stepped outside for a minute, I swear! But then the alarms went off, and now our keycards won't work on the door. We can't get back in!"

Warning, security breach in secure level Alpha. Warning, security breach in secure level Beta—

"What do we do, sir?" Eddie Burlow asked, and then came Zach Franklin's voice, "Into the bushes, kid, when the inmates get out what do you think they're gonna do?"

Aaron wore the most furious expression Joan had ever seen on him when he ordered, "Listen to me. You two stay together, and you make your way to the old bunker on the east side of the island. Zach knows where it is. Override code is 10161901. Like the date, October 16th, 1901. Get in there, and change the code, and then don't let anybody in unless you know for sure that they're not an inmate. Got it?"

"Y-yes, sir," Eddie stammered. "But there's something you should know. We saw a body fall from Warden Sharp's office, down into the water. They didn't come back up."

"Fuck. Was it the warden?"

"Hard to tell but . . . it was portly, sir."

Aaron swore again, louder this time, but Joan had ears only for the next announcement.

Warning, security breach in level D4. Warning, security breach in level D5—

C and D Blocks were Penitentiary, and D5 was only a level away from the Green Mile, and beyond that, Extreme Incarceration. It was bad enough that Ivy and Dr. Victor Fries, (he, the only current inhabitant of E.I.) would be released, but the one level between D5 and the Green Mile, D6, housed the inmates who were so gone in their delusions they were no longer participants in therapy. If the inhabitants of D6 were freed, the island would be overrun with lunatics, and it would be utter, total chaos.

"What do we do?" Joan whispered, her blood long run cold. There had been breakouts during her time, and plenty of supervillains staging individual escapes, but nothing on this scale. Never before had the entire island been set free in the small hours of the night with no way to call for help.

Aaron gave her a searing look, the type of look a man might give the devil before he sold off his soul. Before he could say anything, however, a familiar, terrifying sound echoed over the loudspeakers, cutting through the warning alarms: a wild giggle that grew into a full-bodied laugh, the type of laughter that sent grown men to quivering under their beds.

The Joker was free.

That was enough for Aaron. "Come on," he said, tugging her from the guard room.

"We're leaving safety, why?" She protested, as she followed in his wake.

"Won't be safe long," he said grimly. "Either the psychos or the supers will find a way in. Don't fight me on this, Joan. We got one chance at this."

"Chance to do what?" She cried out as he dragged her faster, breaking into a jog. Just behind them, the psychotics screamed and wailed, gibbered and gnashed their teeth. Whoever had control of the asylum hadn't let them out with the others, at least not yet. It was the only reason she and Cash were still alive.

That, and the fact that the inner doors were not on lockdown. It was likely to give the inmates a better chance at escaping, but it also allowed them to traverse deeper into the Penitentiary, back into the Green Mile.

When the door opened, Pamela threw herself at the glass. "What's happening?" She asked, and if she were connected to the breakout then she was the best damn actress Joan had ever met, because she seemed more concerned than smug. "Has Sharp lost his mind?"

Aaron only let go of Joan when the door closed behind him. "Sharp's dead. Riddler's got control of the facility, and if that giggle is anything to go by, he's working with the Joker. They're not gonna let you out, Ivy. They'll let you die in there."

Ivy threw herself against the glass. "No, please! Let me out!"

Cash exhaled hotly. "I will . . .if you promise to protect Joan."

"What?" Joan exclaimed. "Are you insane? You were just yelling at me about losing my job; they'll throw you in prison if you do this!"

"What about yourself?" Ivy asked, eyes locked on his, gauging his sincerity.

Aaron's face shuttered as he looked over at Joan.

"No, we go together," Joan prompted him. "Whatever happens."

"Protect Joan," he said, turning back to Ivy. "And I'll let you out."

Warning, breach in Medical block A3—

"I don't want Joan dead," Pamela said simply. "Especially not at Joker or Riddler's hands. I'll do my best."

That was not really answering the question, and Aaron was more than smart enough to recognize this, but it was more than Joan thought Ivy would give.

"I'm gonna regret this," he muttered as he swiped his master keycard through the security console. As the dome split apart he looked over at Joan once more, and although she felt a good bit like smacking the stupid right out of him, the misery on his face stayed her hand.

The ground beneath them began to rumble.

"Joan, I—" he began, but before he could finish, another much louder voice boomed over the loudspeakers.

"Hello and good morrrrning, everyone! This is the Joker with a very important announcement. I'm sure you'll all be very excited to hear that I've taken control of the island. Ooooooh, I have plans for each and every one of you, and let me tell you: they're gonna be a blast!"

The floor beneath their feet was still vibrating, and distantly, Joan was concerned. At the moment, however, she was far more concerned about the fact that the Joker had taken control of Arkham Asylum.

"Let's start with our first order of business, shall we?" He continued in a reedy, sing-song. "I've got a great game for you all—an ice-breaker just so we can really get to know each other. It's something you're all sure to like: by sunrise, I want all members of the security force to be eliminated! Points are awarded for how many you kill, how highly ranked . . . ooooh, I'm so jealous of the man who kills Aaron Cash! Or, well, maybe not. I'm pretty sure Croc wanted him, and he won't take kindly to his prey being snatched away!"

"Well, shit," Aaron muttered, in what Joan felt was an entirely apt summation of the recent turn of events.

The Joker giggled like a machine gun. "Seeeeee? I told you you'd like it! Ah, but escort all the doctors to the Medical Facility, would you? I want them alive." His voice turned dark. "We're going to need them."

The tremors in the floor were now so noticeable that Joan stumbled forward. During Joker's announcement, Pamela had stepped out of her personal prison, and caught her before she fell. "Time to go," she prompted. Joan, who was less affected than most from her pheromones, still gasped when Ivy took hold of her wrist. It was a little bit like being set on fire, if by that she could mean that every nerve ending in her body suddenly came alive, in a dangerous mixture of pleasure and pain.

Before she could further catalogue the experience of being touched by Poison Ivy, what Joan could only classify as 'huge honking vines' shot up through the floor. Green mottled throughout with purple,, thick and veiny, three were noticeably larger than the others. All heaved huge blocks of concrete into the air, debris showering down around them. Joan was tugged away from Aaron, choking on the thickly settling dust. In the darkness and the chaos, he was lost to her immediately.

"Aaron!" She cried out, but before he could respond there was a crashing pain on the side of her head, and darkness set in. The last thing she heard before succumbing to unconsciousness was Joker's maniacal laughter playing over the speakers.

...

...

...

June 21st, 20xx

Botanical Gardens, Arkham Asylum, 9:34 AM

Day 1

If she didn't hate the Joker with every atom of her genetically-altered being, Ivy could almost admire the execution of his plan. Sharp overthrown, the asylum overtaken; within six hours the entire island was under his control. From what she had learned through her babies and his boasting, the Riddler had hacked the island's mainframe about a month ago, and several times since in order to enable this morning's coup. He now held full control over the island's communications and security measures, and answered only to Joker.

He wasn't the only one of the Rogue's Gallery that had aided the Joker. Scarecrow had supplied and administered the toxins that had flooded the Mansion, along with sections of the Botanical Gardens and the Penitentiary. This left the doctors and medical personnel easy to extract and take prisoner, and anyone who had hidden or been ignored was now dead from prolonged exposure to fear or laughing gas.

On a more prosaic level, White Shark and Black Mask had allied themselves and their goons with the Joker, giving him additional manpower to corral the other gangs into obedience, if not strong-arming them into one of their crews outright.

Nearly three-quarters of the inmates had been freed, excluding only those the Joker had special plans for; were too dangerous or impractical to be freed (such as herself and Victor Fries), and the worst of the lunatics. In keeping with Joker's initial demand, nearly every single member of the security force had been murdered, along with the janitorial staff. Their bodies could be found around the island in varying levels of dismemberment, ranging from the mundane to the truly inspired death tableaux. Their fate was shared by the two cooks that remained overnight. They were slaughtered by the very men they had fed every day for years.

A few of the doctors had been murdered in the initial excitement, but most had been dutifully herded over the Medical Facility. Joker's regime was bound to be violent, and even in the throes of his madness, he knew there would be a need for someone to heal them. Ivy had a harder time determining their fate than most of the guards. There were simply not as many of her babies on that part of the island. Over the last few years she had concentrated her efforts on growing and strengthening the plants on the east side of the island, particularly as the Mansion gave her such scope to work with.

From them, she knew that no one had stopped the Joker. No one, apart from the dead guards and one dead doctor, had even tried. And, as communications had been cut off from Gotham and the world at large, no salvation could be immediately expected from the GCPD.

Batman did not come to save them, no matter the island-wide belief that he would.

The second thing Ivy had done after being freed was to make her way to the Botanical Gardens, where she could set up a stronghold in the Greenhouse. It was clearly not where Joker had directed the majority of his attention. Only the emergency lights were on to guide her way, but Ivy did not need them. Her babies would direct her steps. Classical music still tinkled lightly over the PA system, and the bodies of those felled by Scarecrow's fear toxin hadn't been removed. Some were still clinging to the last tendrils of life, twitching and frothing at the mouth. Mouth pursed in distaste, Ivy stepped over them, recognizing that all were beyond her ability to hurt or help.

Her own evolved biology spared her anything other than a moment or two of concern when faced with Scarecrow's toxin. The same held for Joker's laughing gas. It was probably why he didn't like her any more than she could stand him—men feared what they couldn't control.

Most men, she privately conceded to herself. Aaron Cash had shown incredible fortitude in choosing Joan's life over his own; throwing himself back into the chaos of a prison break rather than the assumptive safety Ivy had offered. And Victor could be perfectly civil when not in the throes of madness, and/or grieving his precious, deceased wife, Nora. Every other man she knew needed control over something, in one way or another.

It was a good thing she was an unrepentant misanthropist, and could stand, let alone care for, very few individuals. She would have been incredibly lonely, otherwise.

Speaking of . . . Ivy reached down and caressed a rare lily which bloomed a bright white in the murky greenhouse. It was time to learn where her self-styled best friend, Harley Quinn, stood in all this.

Exhaling deeply, she let go of her higher processes, that which kept her human, and let herself drift downwards until she was almost more plant than human. Now she could feel her babies in a way no other living being could. They were green and vibrant and alive, and shone so purely that they filled her heart with ineffable joy. She connected with them in a way deeper than words, and could only catch snatches of imagery and meaning in what they unwittingly witnessed.

Ivy flit from one image to another, seeking out Harley. Across the island, guards clustered in small groups, or larger throngs, depending on their affiliation. Some mutilated dead corpses, others terrified living doctors. There was quite a bit of social posturing, and fights to the death to solidify the shifting hierarchies. On the other hand, a few were in the kitchen, getting drunk and cheerfully raiding the cupboards.

There were larger predators on the island. Tweedledee and Tweedledum played listlessly on the see-saw in Arkham North, and Ratcatcher lurked in the bushes, following his small, furry friends. Firefly sat in the ruins of the old crumbling building near the gate, tinkering over his equipment. At the far edge of western side of the island, Prometheus sat on the dock, meditating quietly as the sun beat down on his white hair.

None of this was what she sought—she had to look deeper. She threw herself into a barrage of images, only hesitating when a flash of platinum blonde caught her eye, and the vague feeling of sister, family, friend, love, caught her heart. There was Harley, prancing about in garishly colored mini-skirt, waving a semi-automatic at a horde of loyal Joker followers. Ivy couldn't hear what she was saying as her babies didn't understand human speech, but she understood their way of communication. Harley was in her element, holding sway. Joker liked to let her lord over his men, particularly in the beginning stages of a plan, or when he and his unholy charisma were needed elsewhere. And elsewhere felt like a meeting? Party? War council? Held soon, within the next hour. Where? Ah, the Mansion, of course. Now that Joker had control of the island, he'd demand only the best for himself . . . and perhaps a few of his followers, when he cared to remember them.

A quick glance around her mansion 'spies' showed that masked men were already airing out the mansion, clearing the air of all the devastating toxins. It would take quite a while to make it completely livable, but those he was inviting to the party were all hardy or canny enough to survive exposure to the lingering traces of Crane's fear toxin.

As was she, of course. And while she had little interest in Joker's 'Board Meeting,' nor in the posturing that would follow this island takeover, she did have a marked interest in seeing Harley.

Her friend had some medicine to take, after all.

All she had to do was find it, first.

The surviving inmates were nearly all male, which was no surprise. Save for Harley, Selina, and herself, the few female inmates were nowhere near powerful, terrifying, or well-protected enough to survive. Within the span of just a few hours, they had either committed suicide, been beaten and/or raped to death, or disposed of in other ways. Only one of those fates still had the power to touch her, and Ivy found her mind skipping past the most horrifying of scenarios. She had a job to do—several jobs, actually—and to reflect on female weakness would not help her accomplish them.

That 99% of the island was now male made it laughably easy to traverse the island, even when Joker's goons knew very well that he hadn't let her out of her cage. A whiff of her pheromones had all the low-level henchmen following her whims, and in no time at all she found herself pushing open the doors to the Head Archivist's room in the Manor, interrupting a meeting that was, by the looks of it, still in its early, awkward stages.

All within turned to look at her, the majority shifting away in response to the low-level cloud of pheromones she wore like a cloak. The Joker sat at the head of the table, of course, feet propped up on the table, dressed in his iconic purple and green suit. Where he had gotten it, Pamela didn't know, but that he and Harley were dressed in their usual attire while the rest of them were still dressed in their prison clothing only served to emphasize the difference in power between them all.

At his right hand stood the Riddler, who froze mid-preen at the sight of her. He still wore an air of pride at his hacking prowess, although he shifted away from her more quickly than the other men. For all his twisted, narcissistic brilliance, he was the most fragile of them, and he never forgot it.

On the Joker's left was Two-Face; poor, beleaguered Harvey, who could no sooner face his demons than he could himself. He wore an expression like a thundercloud, and Ivy surmised that the island takeover was a surprise to him, leaving him and his men a little out of the lurch . . . although he still had enough personal eclat—or history with Batman, one never knew with the Joker—to be invited to the meeting.

The others at the table held less interest for her. Black Mask was clearly pleased, which was an event in and of itself, while Hush was stern and attentive. Great White Shark would no doubt be as boorish as usual, and Firefly was a twitchy mess. She would have to keep her eye on him, and make sure he didn't burn too many of her babies before she arranged for him to have a little 'accident.'

Off in the corner, checking on crates that ostensibly held his toxin and/or something else even more diabolical, was Scarecrow. He alone had not reacted to her entrance, unless tilting his head just slightly in her direction counted. Wearing his chemical-filtering mask, he had as little to fear from her as she did from him . . . as long as the mask didn't slip.

That she couldn't see his face displeased her. Not only had their last few conversations been particularly engaging, she liked to be able to read where the wind blew with him. Not seeing his reaction to her entrance was a disappointment. As it was, he merely watched her out of the eyeholes of his mask, tapping his syringe-tipped fingers on his thigh.

Harley sat on Joker's lap and had been interrupted in mid-squeal. Something about being allowed to 'kiss her Mr. J whenever she wanted' and Ivy tried not to sigh. There was no accounting for taste, she supposed, but there was a flare of relief at seeing her friend alive and unharmed.

"Red!" Harley squealed, bouncing up and down a little in her excitement. "You're here! Oh, Mr. J, I knew you'd invite her. You just didn't tell me so it'd be a surprise!"

"Anything for you, Harl," the Joker crooned, but when Harley leaned in to give him a loud kiss on the cheek, the Joker directed a decidedly less friendly look Pamela's way.

"So, you decided to attend after all," he drawled, pretending for no one discerning's benefit that he'd invited her in the first place.

Ivy lifted her shoulder in a dainty shrug. "Wouldn't miss it."

The Joker's eyes narrowed. "And uh, how did you manage to slip your cell? I'm sure Eddie-boy here didn't touch that half of the Penitentiary . . ."

The Riddler began to babble, asserting his innocence. Pamela let him blather on a minute, knowing it would only annoy the Joker. Finally, when Edward's face began turning an unflattering reddish shade—blushed when he was nervous, poor boy—she smiled sultrily and admitted, "A very obliging guard let me out. He was so worried that I might die in there." She winked, keeping her gaze split between Harley and the Joker. "I rewarded him for his troubles, of course. He'll never worry about anything ever again."

The Joker swung his legs off the table, dislodging Harley from his lap. With a squeal, she hit the floor.

"See, that's the thing, Pammy," he drawled, his tone turning vicious, and his gaze sharp. "I don't believe you."

Tension settled over them all like a blanket. Even Harley did little more than grumble as she got to her feet. Most of the men in the room froze, worried about the fallout that would inevitably occur in a battle between two high profile heroes. Scarecrow, who stood about equidistant from both of them, leaned forward off his crates. Whether he would help or hinder either of them she didn't know, but she found herself reluctant to find out just whose side he was on.

It's not yours, she tried to tell herself. He's not your friend. Nor do you need him to be. You have Selina and Harley, what do you need a third for?

"His body's in the Green Mile, if you care to check." And there was indeed a body in the Green Mile. Ivy had made sure of that. She hadn't found Cash's, and hadn't cared enough to look, so she dragged the first dead guard she could find into the room, and stuffed the masterkey that Cash had dropped when her babies' had torn through the concrete floor into his pocket. Her story would hold up unless someone pulled out a fingerprint kit.

After a moment more of stifling silence, in which she was painfully aware of Scarecrow, so still on his feet, leaning neither one way or the other, the Joker smiled. He slapped his thigh, making Black Mask startle.

"Well, if you say so!" He exclaimed. "But uh, are you sure you wanna be here?" He asked a moment later, a look of faux consideration on his face. "No plants here, and uh, you might get bored. This is a people meeting. For people. About people things." He pulled a face. "Ewwww, right?"

Scarecrow settled back onto his boxes. Her ongoing peripheral awareness of him made her remember something Harley had told her once, something he'd mentioned to her, offhand and on one of the rare stints when they'd run into each other in Gotham.

The Joker is by no means as susceptible to your friend as the rest of us, but he is still male. I think if Doctor Isley flattered him a little, she might get more than she'd expect.

That in mind, Ivy smiled coquettishly. "Tell you what—leave me to my babies, and I don't care much what you do." She tapped her finger to her chin, as if she was thinking something over. "And if you send over Harley to play every once in awhile, I might just start liking you."

Harley's mood shifted from grumbly to euphoric. "Oh, Red! It's been so long since our last ladies' night! Think of how much fun we could have!" She began listing ideas off on her fingers. "We could stay up late, tell stories, do our nails, trade clothes . . ." Harley winked, devious and sweet at the same time. "Ooh, we could even share a bed!"

Joker, as well as several other men in the room, was obviously charmed by the idea of two beautiful women having a sleepover . . . among other things. He waved her in, and just like that, she was part of the inner circle. Ivy sauntered in and took a plastic folding chair that had been pushed into the corner. Moments later, Harley came and plunked herself down in her lap, giving her a thank you smooch on the cheek.

All the men in the room tried not to watch, whereas she tried not to be unduly gratified that Harley was currently more fond of her than she was of the Joker. That would change as quickly and as often as the wind did, and there was no point in getting her hopes up that someday, Harley would choose her and the few others that loved her over him.

"Now, where were we?" Joker asked, in a tone that signified that he truly had forgotten what they'd been discussing before Ivy barged in.

"Our jobs," Shark prompted him. "Remember, I'm running the Penitentiary, now?"

"Ohhhhh riiiight," the Joker said. "Yes, yes, I remember now. Sharkie you're running the Daycare. Mask, you've got the sickos in Intensive. Johnny, Tommy, I know you've both been eyeing medical for as long as you've been here . . . and you've both been doctors here! Aw, what the hell. You both get Medical! Split it down the middle for all I care, but I don't want to hear any squabbling!"

Scarecrow and Hush glanced at each other. After a moment they nodded to each other, neither wanting to concede control, but not secure enough in their positions to fight each other for it.

At least, not in front of Joker.

"What do you want done with the doctors?" Hush asked.

"Oh, nothing yet," the Joker admitted. "But keep 'em around. They'll be useful soon enough. Hippocratic Oath, and all that."

"Do you have all of them?" Black Mask asked.

"Most," the Riddler answered instead, as eager to please as a puppy. "There's still a few we're looking for."

"Like Dr. Leland," Harley piped up. "Poor Joan, I always told her that this place would be the death of her."

Ivy said nothing, but was secure in the knowledge that no one at this table would find Dr. Joan Leland. At least, not without her say so.

"Let's see, who's left?" Joker asked himself. "Ah, I know. Lightning Bug, I want you on guard duty—and by that, I mean I want you chasing down and setting fire to any security personnel we've happened to miss." Joker mused before continuing, "Hatty and Wesky are watching my special prisoners . . . Eddie's my right hand man . . . Zsasz is off killing indiscriminately because I think that's funny . . . Harley's my girlfriend, and that's a full-time job, you know . . ."

His eyes brightened as they fell on Two-Face. "Harrrrrvey!" He exclaimed. "Almost forgot about you. Now I've got a special job for you—you're gonna love it. I want you and your men to take over the kitchens! My men need feeding, after all. I suppose everyone else does too, but we all know the hierarchy around here, don't we?"

Two-Face nodded, but very carefully said nothing. Ivy suspected that Joker was looking for someone to make an example of, and it was most likely to be Harvey. There was a good chance he'd blow his top before this was all over—being assigned the most menial labor Joker could think of was obviously an insult—but for now, he managed to hold his tongue.

"And I'm King Joker, obviously," Joker finished, sounding a little disappointed that Two-Face hadn't displayed any anger. "Frankly, I'm excited to begin my reign. I'll get around to telling everyone the rules eventually . . . ooooooh, I can't wait for the inevitable carnage! Now, did I miss anyone?"

She missed someone, Ivy realized with a start. Several someones. Fries wasn't here, although that could be explained by lack of a cold-suit. Nor was Killer Croc, although with how bad things had gotten with him, as of late—three orderlies dead, and one nurse several dismembered in the past two weeks alone—that was no surprise either. Fries was in Extreme Incarceration and Croc down in the sewers, and it was likely that was where they'd stay until someone found the will or a way to let them out.

Jarvis, Wesker, and Zsasz were off doing Joker's duties, apparently, but most importantly, Selina wasn't there. She had scoured the island for her, but couldn't find either her or her body, which meant one of three things: either she had managed to find a way off the island pre-takeover; had drowned in the sea; or was being kept somewhere her babies couldn't reach.

None of the options filled her with much confidence, particularly as she suspected it wasn't option 1.

Ivy aimed for an amused voice and asked, "And what shall I do?"

The Joker grinned lecherously at her. "Stand there and look pretty. Also, you might as well run the Greenhouse. Let's give your plants a quota on killing, hmm? Three men a day? That sound fair?"

She made a show of considering it. "If I get to see Harley three times a week?"

Joker shrugged. "Deal! Hell, see her more. You probably like seeing her more than I do!"

Harley stiffened in her lap, a look of affront crossing her face. "Puddin'!"

Joker rolled his eyes. "It's a joke, relax!"

Two-Face made to stand. "Well, if that's everything—"

The Joker's expression morphed from genial to mean in bare seconds. His voice was dark and dangerous. "Siddown, Harvey. I'm not done yet." Clearing his throat, when he continued his voice pitched back up into his normal range. "Now, there is one more thing. I've heard rumors about a special science project taking place in Arkham, right below old Sharpie's nose! Something about a special potion . . . truth serum . . . liquid explosive?" He stabbed an inquisitive finger into the air, determinedly. "Oh, it could be anything, but I mean to find it! I own Arkham, now, and everything on it is mine. "

He spread his hands wide, fixing them all with a beaming smile. "So, if anyone here knows anything, now's the time to come forward! Otherwise . . . things are going to be unpleasant for you." He tittered when no one volunteered any information. "Not to say I won't enjoy it. Hell! Hold out then! I'll have more fun when I break you."

Apart from raising a single, disinterested eyebrow, Ivy kept her expression still, bored. She absolutely did not look over at Scarecrow, although she very badly wanted to. He hadn't already told the Joker everything? He was clearly in the upper echelons of power; why had he kept that information to himself? Did he mean to help her? Or did he want to use their nearly-finished product for his own gain?

She needed time to think, and to plan. "Now is the meeting over?" She asked, affecting boredom. "I need to get back to my babies."

Clearly she was not the recipient of Joker's suspicions as he merely waved her off. Harley hopped off her lap, skipping past Hush, Back Mask, and Firefly to launch herself back at the Joker.

She hesitated at the door and glanced back over her shoulder. Here went nothing, but she might as well try. "Oh, and Harley? Selina's not on the island, is she? Because I have some past issues to discuss with her . . ."

Harley sat upright and turned to Joker. With artless innocence she asked, "Oh no, Selina's here! Mr. J, you invited her, right? She's one of us, you know."

Ivy could hear the evil pleasure in Joker's response, and she fought down a shudder. "Oh, never fear, Harls. I've been in touch. She's doing a special job for me . . ."

...

...

...

June 21st, 20xx

Extreme Incarceration, 3:19 PM

Day 1

Selina Kyle woke with a throbbing pain at the back of her skull, a fuzzy dryness that coated every inch of her mouth, and an ache in her left calf, of all places. While she had no idea where she was specifically, even without opening her eyes she knew she was in a cell. She was in Arkham, after all, and that only afforded her so many opportunities. Currently, there was cool cement below her cheek, and an eerie quiet that was so unlike her usual cell on the women's level, cordoned off in Intensive Treatment just to keep them away from the male patients. Wherever she was now, there was no bustle of doctors or unruly patients, no echoes of security protocol, no annoying PA announcements every five minutes to assuage Warden Sharp's raging ego.

Where on earth could she be that was so quiet? She had to know. Selina cracked one eye open, and quickly closed it. Regret for her curiosity set in immediately, and satisfaction was doing exactly fuck all to bring it back.

Fuck, fuckity fuck fuck fucken', Selina thought, mouth too dry to start forming sounds. I'm in Extreme Incarceration.

The cell itself was maybe 18 by 12 feet, far larger than the usual accomodation in Arkham, but when one was in the larger equivalent of a cinder block, it was hard to feel good about it. The walls, floor, and ceiling were solid cement, although there was a 1.5 foot square window on the door. Overhanging the right wall was a cement 'cot' covered with a thin mattress, two blankets, a flat pillow, and nothing else. In the far left corner, there was a small drainage hole. It was large enough to stick two of her fists in, but little else. The faint smell of human waste told her its purpose.

They didn't trust her with a bucket to piss in, which was unfortunate because she could have wreaked havoc with one.

Selina groaned. She was beginning to remember what had happened to her, although the bludgeoning at the back of her head barred total recall. Last she could remember, she had been minding her own business in her usual cell, waiting for Taylor, her favorite crooked orderly, to bring her some baseball cards that she would use to trade José, one of Two-Face's men with a serious baseball fixation, for three paintbrushes and a couple of drawing pencils, swiped from his Art Therapy class.

What she was planning to do with those was truly ingenious—Firefly would never see it coming, and then her escape plan was almost halfway completed—but her long-range plans were abruptly derailed when the doors at the far end of the cell block surged open, and five of Joker's goons, masked and everything, brazenly stepped through the doors like they were in charge, rather than the doctors. The other women in the block with her (those that were awake, at least) began freaking out, which was an appropriate reaction. Selina, who had only a passing acquaintance with appropriate reactions to horrifying situations (and had enjoyed a lot of sex with Batman in costume due to this) was less so.

"You boys looking for some company?" She purred, pressing herself against the bars. All she needed was for them to get close enough . . . She was by no means at her most seductive, with her unflattering orange jumpsuit and greasy skin. Even her hair had been cropped short, so she couldn't strangle herself—or more likely someone else—with it. Still, she had to try. Joker was clearly breaking out, and as she was on fairly decent terms with him (at the moment, at least) she hoped he'd sent them here to spring her.

She was wrong.

"Get the cat. Leave the others," the head clown ordered. As his four underlings approached her cell, his tone turned vicious. "He has plans for her."

"Well, shit," she muttered. "Whatever happened to villains helping villains?" There was no time for quips after that. She was out of practice, and her ankle was, while healed, still weak. The clowns opened her cell while ignoring the cries for help from the women around them, and rushed her cell. She did her best, and managed to take out three before the last got in the blow to her head that knocked her unconscious.

And then she woke up here. Selina sat up carefully, checking herself for any aches and pains other than her leg and her head. Nothing else gave her any trouble, and even her clothing was left totally undisturbed. Joker's men had taken no liberties, and while that was a good thing, that was also a worrisome thing. Why would Joker kidnap her but not rough her up, drug her up, or even feel her up, and then leave her in one of the E.I. cells?

Bruce, Selina thought tiredly, answering her own question. He's going to use me to draw out Batman.

That being the case the Joker would undoubtedly hurt her, but not until Bruce was in a position to suffer from it. That he hadn't done so yet meant that Batman wasn't on the island, and wouldn't be for at least 12 hours. Joker had never taken a hostage more than half a day in advance, he was far more fond of giving Bruce 2-3 hours to save someone, and increasing the odds of him failing.

Knowing that didn't exactly help her place what was happening to her, now. How many hours had it been since Joker had (apparently) enacted his takeover? Was his takeover complete, or would Cash and his men be along to set her free soon? Who else had sided with him? Who else was a pawn? If Joker was truly in charge, no doubt Harley would prance down here to do his bidding, and when that happened, Selina was going to squeeze every drop of information out of her flighty friend.

For now, she had to figure out a way to escape, and she suspected that no amount of baseball cards were going to help her.

...

Even just writing the words 'total recall' next to each other makes me inordinately happy. While Schwarzenegger films generally tend to fill me with glee of varying levels, that particular film is in a league of its own.

So I was going to update earlier, but then COVID 19 came upon us. My work schedule got a bit nuts but here is an update to help fill up some quarantined hours. Please be safe and stay home, everybody. Do the right thing for the sick and the elderly and the frightened. My thanks to everyone who is, even at expense to themselves.

Love,

Myth