3. Insanity
Under the skull the mind slowly rots away.

In the deepest circle of his hellish prison he could hear the booms of lighting rupture the stone cell over and over again. Laughs have been crudely carved into the stone with a blunt metal pole. From floor to ceiling, they cover the surface, overlapping one another in response to a comical prank played upon the whole world. With each vibration of thunder, he read them aloud with crazed delight.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

His face paint was taken from him and yet he still managed to find substitutions for them. Out of a piece of chalk from the floor, he coped to make a white mask. From black grease he salvaged from the cell door hinges, he fashioned two thick pirate patches of eyeliner. And out of his own blood, taken from a slash in his wrist, he traced a joyful, scarlet smile.

The leaks in his prison splashed water down upon him. He threw his arms out and spun like a child frolicking in a gentle rain. But this was no gentle shower that children could play in… this was a squall that no sane sailor would dare to brave.

Thankfully this place was not for the sane and the level headed. This was for villains with a single maddening purpose; to watch the world burn to the ground around them. And as the scent of burning flesh filled his lungs like an expensive perfume, he would dance in the flames in euphoria of triumph.

His happiness was caused today when he felt a sudden electricity fire through him. At once he knew what had caused it. So they've found each other at last, have they? Well this would be an interesting game. The knight, the guardian, and he the trickster. Three of a pair to make it a rather interesting game. The only way the game would really take off was once he entered it. And enter he would. For he was the last piece missing from this grand charade, and he'd be damned if he let these bars keep him in.

He'd given over to his demon years ago. It was unexpected by how surprisingly easy it had been. When the pain had subsided, elation filled him at the amount of power he felt inside him. Fear? He felt no fear! Fear was an anchor that held a person back. Without his fear, he could accomplish anything. All that he wanted was in his grasp and the first thing he had to do before those things were achieved, was to let go of everything that held him back. The first of which were his fears; fear of death, fear of pain... fear of his father. Then next to go was love. He loved nothing and no one now, only the excitement of chaos and disorder. Anything after that faded away day by day till he didn't even realize there was anything missing from him. And how could he? The rush of terror infliction had driven him along. There was no reason to love anything when they faded away so quickly. But destruction would never fade so long as he was alive.

He stopped spinning and turned to his hands. He held two objects in his palms. One was a large plastic bag of blood saved and collected from his own body for a whole year. He spent hours slashing and cutting at himself each night and salvaging every precious drop that were the keys to his freedom.

The other object glinted with a sharp glory. He looked down to his hand at the bladed object and grinned. He'd been saving it for this very occasion. Every moment he'd planned and analyzed his escape and now was the time to execute. The orderly would be making his hourly rounds; in fact he could almost hear the footsteps signaling his entrance. Yes! His perfect opportunity.

He took the bloody bag and splashed himself with a bit of it before pouring the rest on the floor and stuffing the bag under his mattress. He brought the freezing metal to his throat and slashed another grin for himself; not too deep, but still enough to look believable. Blood poured like a fountain. He doubled over and coughed warm sweet liquid.

His collapse was loud—just as he'd meant it to be. The orderly had watched him fall from the opening in the door.

His worry was evident in his tone. "I need help over here!"

A second pair of footsteps sounded and keys could be heard clattering against each other as the men hastened to open the door. They rushed in without thinking. The pool of blood was enough to give anyone the idea that the man had already bled to death. They didn't even realize that the blood was cold.

The man took his wrist to test the pulse. "He's still alive. Go fetch the medic!"

The latter man obeyed and at last he was alone with the first orderly. Not only that but his door was wide open for him. It was almost too easy.

He grabbed the man's wrist unexpectedly. The orderly wretched away, possibly with the dread of the dead rising. Before the man could shout for help the convict plunged the blade into flesh and gutted his throat. True fresh blood soaked the concrete. The Joker grinned, licking his lips with the carnage. He would've liked to stay and watch the man suffer and finally die, but unfortunately time was of the essence and he needed to be quick if he wanted to make his escape.

He strode calmly down the corridor. Red stained his white uniform and the dangerous psychopaths beat on the doors of their own cells as they watched him walk freely down the hall. He didn't pay them any mind. He just walked right up to the cell gate and tapped on the window. The black man looked up from his Rolling Stone magazine and jumped high out of his chair when he saw the prisoner. It was like something out of a horror movie for him. A sick demented clown, his makeup fading, with a slash in his throat and blood soaking his neck and clothes leaning dementedly against the window and smiling with crooked yellow teeth.

The man reached for his gun but before he'd pulled it out, something struck him from the side of the face. He tumbled to the ground but the convict only had eyes for the person who'd beaten him.

The woman looked just as she'd always done during their long therapy sessions; she dressed professionally in a clean, black suit with a red blouse, her light blond hair was tide neatly in a bun with chopsticks to hold it in place, and her reading glasses were on with a gold chain dangling from the ends. The only difference was the look in her eyes. A frantic, frightened look that said, "I can't believe I'm doing this."

Joker leaned on the window tapping it softly. "Why, Harleen, that was very uncivilized of you."

She held the handle of the gun aloft and looked down with shame. "I know."

"So you're here to turn me back in?"

"No, J." She said glumly. "I would've let the guard do that."

"Yes I suppose you would've. So then what? I thought you said you didn't want to have sessions with me anymore. Changed your mind so quickly?"

"No it's just—I didn't want to get attached to you again."

"Like when we were children?"

"Yes! Like when we were—," her voice cracked and for a minute it seemed like she would begin to cry. "But despite it all I did manage to get attached, didn't I? Your capital punishment is coming up and I didn't want to feel sorry for you while you were—" She broke off and this time she really did cry. "Your such a bastard, J."

Her insult had no effect on him, though he pretended to look troubled by it. Then he composed. "If you really thought that way you'd just let the guard get me and haul me off to the chair to face my judgment. Why did you really come here Harley?"

"Don't call me that, J. My name is Harleen."

"But I've always called you that. Remember when we were kids? We were partners in crime if I remember correctly." He recited the nick names they'd given each other when they were still somewhat innocent. Back then the only things they stole were candy bars from the grocery stores and the only attacks made were on neighborhood rivals. He'd been the one to commit most of the misdemeanors while she just drove the getaway... "ahem"... bike. "Joker and Harley Quinn. We were quite the pair of little monstrous clowns, if I recall correctly."

"I don't remember such a thing. And I already asked you not to call me Harley."

"Well then don't call me, J. You know my real name as well."

"Yes. I know."

"But you don't use it. You didn't even tell them you knew me from the old days. Why is that Harleen?" He traced her name carefully with his tong. She didn't answer his question, only looked at the floor so he continued. "I knew who you were right from the beginning and I could tell you knew me. But we both unconsciously agreed not to say a word about it." He sighed and for a brief moment he seemed sane under his gruesome disguise. "I still can't believe you grew up so well. To think you were once the happy little blond girl that lived right next door to me. But underneath, you weren't happy at all, were you? All those restless nights of abuse and violence from your parents…"

She rubbed her arm with shame and her face got briefly red. She remembered. She use to seem so at ease all of the time while she was with J. but the moment it was time for her to go home and she hated to leave his side. "You were my hero you know. You let me come over whenever I needed to."

"But it wasn't much better at my house, was it?"

She flinched as a memory invaded her mind. "No, it wasn't." She whispered. From the look on her face he knew exactly which one she'd seen. After all, he'd been there when it'd happened. Watched it all. Back then he remembered the fear he felt as a child, but now there was nothing there but a ghost of those emotions.

The two jolted from the revery when they heard footsteps running towards them. Their time was brief, so if the woman was going to make a choice, she'd better hurry up and make it. For the longest moment she didn't move. It felt like she'd made her choice.

He chuckled grimly, licking his lips out of habit. "You never use to turn me in. You knew all too well what dad use to do to me. But I guess things can't be the same forever."

His words hit home for her and he watched as she flinched again with another brutal memory. Slowly, oh so very slowly, she reached for the release switch and pulled down on it. The door swung to the side and he stepped through. For the faintest moment, they locked eyes on one another. Then she held her gun out to him and turned so that her back faced him. "Make sure you hit hard enough to leave a bump."

He took the gun in his hands and struck her harder than truly necessary with the handle. He could've killed her, and he almost felt like it. But she would come back to him after all this was through. She still had a few more uses to her after all. Her affection had been one very useful tool to manipulate. He was glad she'd been able to recognize him even after all these long years. He let on to make her believe he still cared, but in truth he did not love her, he didn't even care. Ah love, so easily controllable.

He turned to the controls on the prison cells and pressed the one to release all of his many friends. The minute their doors were opened they were free in the hundreds. He could here the cries of his pursuers as they were overcome by the onslaught of relieved psychopaths and smiled. Those cries were like music to his ears. He left the door opened for the dangerous inmates to rampage through the prison. While the guards chased them down, he could escape easily through the low security ward.

With that thought he almost laughed. Since when had Arkhem, a prison from the temprimental insane, been a low security base prison? The thought was almost laughable. Even still even this place had its different levels. He was on the very top of the pyramid here and what he needed to do was work his way down to the lesser levels to break free. He could work out the details once he got there, all he needed to do was penetrate the lockdown.

With that done he'd be free to rampage and riot as much as he wanted within the boundaries of the city that threw him away.

He smiled under his face paint. "Hello Gotham City. Joker's coming home."

I'm so happy people like my story so far. Sorry the chapter is a little short though. I do intend to make them longer later on as we get into this story.

Harley will play a minor role in this story. I'm not sure if I'm going to make her evil in this one though. In this chapter you get a brief description of why Harley might've followed Joker in real life. As you can see, Harley and Joker appear to have a history with one another that stems back to when they were children. I find that it's way easier for Harley to sympathize with Joker when she use to know him. However every trace of innocents he might've had as a boy has been erased when I say "he's given over to his demon" which is another reference to why he is known as the trickster.

More explanations for their aparent reincarnated roles will be explained in further chapters.

Thank you for the reviews everyone:)