Things couldn't have gone more perfectly, and Mrs. Quinzel was relieved to learn that her daughter would have no memory of the demented personality that had been her origin; neither would Harleen ever learn of the evil that had consumed her. No need to traumatize the child with those images. As far as the mother was concerned, Harleen would never know.

The doctors, of course, would always keep an eye on Harleen throughout her childhood. The psyche, after all, is such a delicate thing. If the child somehow relapsed, they would be there to fix the problems. It wasn't until Harleen was nearly finished with high school that she was given a clean bill of mental health.

As the time grew near for Harleen to begin making decisions for her future, her mother suggested a career in psychology, and the brilliant and determined young woman discovered a natural affinity for it. The years it took to complete her education passed her like a breeze, smooth and with speed. Before she knew it, Harleen had graduated with honors and a degree in criminal psychology, and had been offered an internship at the most secure hospital for the criminally insane in the country: Arkham Asylum.

The transition from student-of-psychology to actually working in the field was a slow process; those first few days were certainly less exciting and glamorous than Harleen had imagined. Still, she was glad to be where she was, even if most of her time was spent learning the layout, the rules, and filling out paperwork. When that was complete, the next step in her internship was to shadow the other doctors and practice on the less intense personalities under the supervision of the senior therapists.

And then came the moment she had been hoping for all along: her first patient all on her own. Her supervisor presented her with a stack of files, the records of each prisoner contained within, which Harleen took home to pick through. As she sat on her couch in her apartment, Harley flipped through the files. Some of the names she recognized, some were only vaguely familiar. Arkham housed many prisoners; some more famous and dangerous than the rest.

Harleen was flattered that these dangerous and high profile prisoners were being offered to her as patients. It was highly irregular for an intern to treat any of the extreme patients, especially so close to the beginning of the internship.

In the dim light of her apartment, she read each file carefully, but by the time she reached the end of it, there was only one obvious choice. She pulled the file out of the stack and read through it again, and excitement sparking in her stomach. The Joker, whose true identity was unknown, had wreaked havoc on the terrified Gotham City only a few months before. Harleen shivered at the memory. The grisly scars on his face added to his enigmatic self, their origin were unknown as well; he had many stories concerning them, all differing from the last.

Harleen bit her lower lip. The Joker was high-profile, probably the most dangerous criminal in the asylum, which caused her to wonder if his file had accidentally found its way into the stack. She set the file down beside the stack of the others and went to bed.

The next day Harleen clocked in, carrying the stack of files in one arm, her chosen file in the other, and made her way to her supervisor's office. She set the stack down on his desk and handed him the one she had chosen.

He opened the file and his eyebrows shot up. He glanced at her over the rim of his glasses. "You're sure you want this one?" he asked, skeptically.

Harleen nodded. "I'm sure," she confirmed.

He set the file down on the stack. "Well, then, we'll get you started on the paperwork today, and tomorrow you can begin."

Harleen smiled. "Thank you, sir."