"Time ta wake up, ya loonies!"

The voice reverberated on the walls and Bruce's eyes flew open. He had been so paranoid that he had stayed awake, though it seems that just then he had dozed off. It didn't matter. He had gone on longer with more fatigue and now he was wide awake and energized with the adrenaline pouring through him. A bead of sweat ran down his head. He was rarely scared, he used fear against others and now it was being shot back towards him with a fat fist in the shape of a straightjacket. Was it some kind of joke?

Jokes were often a bad omen in this business.

In any case, he pushed his conspiracy theories down deep to muse over later. The orderlies were making their way up the hallway with the breakfast carts and fresh laundry. Time to get some answers.

"Well, lookie what we have heah, eh, Jonsey?" A short, dark-haired orderly stopped his cart in front of the cell and poked at the glass door. "Our newest pal. Brucie, buddy, it's gonna be nice gettin' to know yah."

Bruce, he called him Bruce. Did that mean they did not know…

"Nah, he's a scary sort," the taller, blond woman next to him laughed. She had a thin, almost modelesque figure but her face was pockmarked and wrinkled. "Batman isn't one fer makin' friends, now, is he? Isn't that right, darlin'?"

Bruce slammed his fist against the glass door and they both jumped back, their easy-going manner disappearing beneath widened eyes of fear.

They knew. They KNEW!

And Bruce could not figure out how and why. But he would. Oh, he would.

"Youse isn't gonna have any problems now, is yah, Batsy?" A guard that had been previously hidden before, standing his back against a further wall turned around, looking inhuman and steely, covered in Kevlar and donning a SWAT helmet. High security. A welcome change from the usual, hefty rent-a-cop type, Bruce thought ironically. They upped the security for him, finally. What a twist.

"What's going on?" Bruce traded his intimidation card for a good answer.

"Youse is gonna get breakfast, that's what's going on," the robotic-looking guard said with an audible chuckle. "Widout any incident. Kapeesh?"

"Tell me what happened. I don't…" he bit his lip, not wanting to show weakness in front of the likes of them. And who else was watching.

"I don't remember."

The three exchanged glances, of a slight fear or amusement, it was hard to tell. In any case, they decided they didn't want to poke fun at such a dangerous man and the orderlies carefully shoved food in the slot on the side wall.

"Youse is gonna have an appointment wid a doctor t'day, Mistah Wayne," the guard said in a civil tone.

Bruce didn't answer but instead retrieved his food from the slot and took it to his table grudgingly. There was nothing on the plate and box of milk that could help in escape, either. Made with Styrofoam and biodegradable fiber, all was edible without even a plastic utensil. He chomped on his muffin silently until he heard a voice through the slot.

"Hey…psst. Hey!"

Curious, he turned to the side wall near his cot, the slot being a simple hole that turned from his left wall in a curve forward so that an outsider could shove things through. It was about waist high, and Bruce knelt down so he could hear properly.

"I'm in da odda cell. The voice carries through the wall. It's Harl."

"Harley?" Bruce's voice turned lower, almost a growl. It was Batman's voice, not Bruce's. He did not want to deal with an aspect of his other life as Bruce. He would meet this as Batman, or not at all.

"Yeah. Are youse really Bruce Wayne?" The voice came as a girlish giggle.

"What?"

"Batsy. Everybody's sayin' you're really that cutie, Brucie. I couldn't see ya when dey brought ya in so…I gotta know!"

Should he answer her?

"Tell me what happened."

"What, don't tell me ya don't remember a thing like that, Batsy? Maybe ya did go off the deep end. Welcome to da club!" She giggled again.

"Tell me!" The voice was a harsh growl and the sound of the orderlies' cart shaking came through the hall.

"Jeez, ya don't hafta be so grumpy. Ya never can take a joke, Batsy, dat's your problem," she sounded huffy.

"But I suppose I oughta be nice to yer and everythin' since we're now neighbors and all."

The sound of grinding teeth could be heard through the wall.

"Wellps, I don't remember much cuz it was kinda late. But I saw dem cartin' you off in onna dem hospital carts…stretchers, that's whacha call 'em. Yeah, dey brought you here in dat cart and set you down. I heard someone tawkin' bout how messed up you were, I dunno if dey's was talkin' injuries…"

Bruce didn't have much injury on him at the moment except a few odd bruises and a scrape.

"…Or mentally," she giggled a bit eerily. She was certainly taking pleasure in him now being at the same level as her, or so it seemed, anyway.

"Harley, tell me everything!"

"Dat's all I know, I sweah!" She sounded a bit honest, but one never knew. "Come on, Batsy, if I knew more I'd rub it in, cuz it sounds juicy ter me and I'm dyin' to know too!"

"Fine. Who knows, then?"

"Ya got an appointment wid one of da doctors. Not da head honcho, weirdly enough. I mean, I woulda thought dat if da Bat himself was captured I woulda loved to be his doc—anyway ya probably got my doc. Most of us on dis wing have Doc. Sheila James, a new one, actually."

She paused. "She's a specialist on paranoid schizophrenia an' split personalities." Harley pronounced schizophrenia perfectly and without any accent, a byproduct of her old life as a psychologist.

Nice, Bruce thought to himself. Just perfect.

"So tell me, Batsy. Are ya really Bruce Wayne?"

"Why ask, Harl? You already know the answer to that."

"Huh?" she didn't get it. It slowly dawned. "Wait…wait a sec. Are ya sayin' dat you really are Brucie? You are?"

"Harley, finish your muffin."

She lapsed into silence, maybe she did listen to him.

He sighed, leaning back hard against the wall, sliding down it and landing on the floor with a thump. His identity, exposed. Ending up at Arkham. Not knowing why. Would it have made it easier if he knew why? Maybe. Maybe not.

Bruce turned his head to look out the glass door, seeing the inmate of the cell directly across from him.

A face smirked back at him.

Two faces smirked back at him.

"It is satisfying," he said, his voice faint through both thick glass doors. Bruce was good at reading lips, and so was Harvey. Dent. Two-Face.

"Very satisfying to see you there. See who you really are and all that. Good show." He clapped his hands together like it was the end of some really good movie. "We never would have guessed. You are one excellent actor."

Bruce caught his own reflection in the glass. He looked ragged, disheveled, his hair was tousled and he had a good coating of stubble. Like they would let him shave by himself. His eyes looked so dark, there were tired rings around them. But they did not hold the eerie glow of insanity. Or at least he liked to think so.

"So, Bruce, nice to see you're across from us. Ah, I don't think I'll get used this," Two-Face smirked with a laugh. "And neither will I. Batman. Bruce. Two. And you think we have problems. Well, my friend, we both are two of a kind."

He laughed again, flipping a coin—no, a cut-out circle of Styrofoam from his plate. Guess the habit was hard to kick.

"Shut up, Harvey."

He did not, in any means, want to be compared to Two-Face in this place. He knew that Harvey had a point, he did have two lives, but he always thought of himself as Batman, not Bruce. He knew who he was.

He hoped.

There was always an inner struggle whenever he was Batman. Despite shrugging off the persona of Bruce Wayne, always confirming that indeed it was just a mask to get things done, Batman often did things that Bruce had second guesses about. Sometimes he had to catch himself before he did something that he would regret. Then there would be a struggle between the two. Bruce wasn't just a mask, despite the way he thought about it. It was half of who he was whether he denied it or not. That evil little thought kept worming its way into his head as Two-Face smirked at him.

"Hey, I'm trying to be genial here, and you're biting my head off," the scarred man said with his more normal 'Harvey' voice. He looked down and muttered with his harsher 'Two-Face' voice. "Biting my head off too. Ya hypocrite. You're just like both of us. I knew Batman had to have some kind of stupid secret identity but this just takes the cake. Heh."

"Keep saying it to make yourself feel better, Harvey. I don't care."

"Sure you do, Batman. Or you wouldn't even bother answering me. I know what you're feeling right now. Oh, I know it better than most," 'Harvey's' voice answered. "You're trying to figure out if you're really a nutter or not. You're trying to think and double-guess yourself. You're trying to figure out—now that they know me, who am I really? Am I Bruce? Or Batman? Or neither? Or both? I sympathize with you, Bat-Bruce, I really do."

Bruce didn't say anything; he just gritted his teeth again and ignored the supposed maniac in the cell across from him. If he wasn't nuts already, this place would drive him nuts. He needed a clear head and didn't need to talk with this bunch. He had to calculate and think of the facts.

Okay, he didn't remember things so good. Last thing he knew he was on some patrol on some random day that seemed like most, and he woke up here. It was fall. He had his health, so it wasn't that bad of a situation.

Who was he kidding? He was no optimist. This was a bad situation.

Facts. Right, facts. Keep your head together. In this place, that was a bit more difficult than usual. Escape. There had to be a means of escape. But with his identity exposed, what was the point? Where would he go? The cave? It was probably already crawling with police. He had no time to put into place his contingency plans to cover up his tracks at the cave—

Wait, he had no time?

He thought hard. The memory had dimmed and he couldn't retrieve it. He didn't like this, didn't like being in control of his own head, much less the situation. He was a self-proclaimed control freak and in this situation, it was almost driving him nuts not being able to control anything.

Wait, bad imagery. Scratch the 'nuts'.

Bruce ran his hands through his dark, tousled hair, making it all the more messy. A few more minutes in this place and he would look the part of a loony.

Arkham wasn't the most impossible place to escape from, lesser capable individuals than him had been able to escape and with a few resources and the right amount of time, Bruce was sure he could get out.

At least, he hoped so. He glanced out the glass door, vague shapes of max-seck guards on the edges of his available vision. There were more, no doubt. The lights had been dimmed on slowly to mimic the natural sun, though there were no windows here, of course.

"So, Bruce, what do you think of your little predicament, huh? Humor us," Two-Face had reclined in his own cot lazily. "We're dying to know what's going through your twisted little head."

"I don't care to tell you, Harvey," he muttered back, still sitting on the floor.

Harvey's voice came through.

"So rude. Really. No reason for it. As Bruce you were always such a nice guy. Dim, dumb, woulda never guessed. You were my friend as Bruce back then. Sure, we've had a falling out or two," he grinned, not at all a nice look for the destroyed part of his face.

"But I'm willing to forgive and forget since we feel kinda sorry about you. Bat, Bruce. Ha…we amuse ourselves so easily. Gotta quit hanging around the Joker."

"He's here?" Bruce turned his head finally and acknowledged Two-Face, getting up and pressing his hands to the thick glass door. Last he remembered…he wasn't sure but…a vague instance of Joker not being in Arkham has seemed to float up. This whole semi-amnesia thing was getting on his nerves, big time.

"Oh yeah. Brought in the night you came in. Last night," Two-Face realized he had Bruce in the palm of his hand and enjoyed it. Those that craved power and were denied it in such a place like this would take any chance they got to hold on to a little bit.

"Yes, brought in probably the same time. Probably."

"Quit playing games, Harvey. What happened? I…don't remember much."

"Ha! You don't remember? Nice. Real nice. Maybe the psychs did a job on you or something, you know. One of those electro shock therapies or fun stuff like that."

"Harvey!" Strong fists slammed against the glass door and the guards around him immediately tensed up, he heard the sounds of guns being armed. He counted six in the gloom before they disappeared back out of his sight. They were doing it on purpose, keeping him guessing so he couldn't prepare himself, watch them and guess what sort of weaponry they had on them, etc.

"Temper. You were never like this as old Bruce. Kinda miss the dumb cluck," Two-Face grinned, patting down his own rough Arkham clothing.
"But we'll be the nice guys that we can be. From what we can recall, we saw a big commotion going on around midnight. Not sure, they don't keep clocks around here, as you can tell. Joker came in first and they locked him in the usual max-seck cell, and all that great stuff. The word had been going around, it was on TV and everything, and we didn't get to see it in the common room that day so it must've been late evening. We put our bets that you were captured in the afternoon and brought here late evening."

Despite his blatant insanity, Harvey had been a superb lawyer and a very smart man, and from time to time his old prowess showed through. Especially during particularly hard schemes to track down.

"In any case, word had made its way before you were brought here, of who you really were. This whole place was in an uproar."

A slight laugh. "Joker goin' nuts cackling like the loon he is. He obviously had something to do with it. So it was pretty late when they brought you to this cell. It had been holding some minor killer, some low Mafioso that was kinda violent. Anyway they moved him and they dragged you in on some stretcher and there we go, there you are."

Bruce shook his head. "That doesn't tell me anything."

"Hey, I feel for you, Bruce, I really do. Well, I don't. I do." The struggle on Harvey's face was creepy to watch, it was almost like both sides were actually fighting each other. He literally twitched. He was quiet for a moment, then began again.

"…Um…well, it was a bit strange for all of us to find out who you really were. This place had never buzzed with this much gossip before."

Bruce remembered Harley's strangely giddy conversation. Well, she was usually like that, anyway.

He turned away from the insane, scarred man, staring at the blank, blah-colored wall in front of him, losing himself in his own thoughts. The orderlies would know the whole story. The supposed doctor that was going to see him knew. The guards knew. If he could just get to a TV, he could jog his memory.

If he could just see a familiar face—well, a face that wasn't insane, anyway—he could jog his memory. Because he really shouldn't be here. He really wasn't crazy. It was important for him to keep thinking this way, despite that horrible little voice in the back of his head that wondered if he was just in denial.

"It's been one heckuva month, Bruce," Two-Face's voice drifted towards him.

A month?

"What?"

"That was a month ago, all of that," the man obviously enjoyed having Bruce on the palm of his hand.

"What?" A rare tinge of emotion raced through the word, he regretted showing it in front of Harvey.

"You were brought in just last night to this cell, 'course, but you were brought to Arkham a month ago. Yeah, they must've kept you in the hospital wing or something. We place our bets on the whole 'lectro-shock therapy fun stuff, that's why you can't remember anything. Or maybe you were in a coma from something. We dunno."

"But the bruises, they're still fresh—"

Harvey shrugged. "The orderlies can be rough, you know. Seriously, Bruce our buddy, don't you think that you'd carry a few more injuries if you were just brought in? You're fine and dandy right now."

"But…what about a trial, then? It doesn't make sense—"

"Trial's probably in January, didn't watch the news recently," Harvey shrugged. "They're keeping you here because they figure you're a nutter like the rest of us. A danger to others. Yourself. Well, not as much or you'd be bolted down to your little bed. We didn't know when you'd be brought down here with us, everyone's been just dying to talk to you."

Bruce knocked his head against the wall several times, out of frustration more than anything else. The memory loss was the most disturbing part, because the electro-shock therapy would explain it. Why would he even need something like that if he was just brought in? If Batman was captured, he'd most likely be sent off to jail. If someone wanted to capture him, that was. There was a bigger player in all of this, that was for certain. Someone was pulling the strings. That's why Two-Face was across from him. To rub it all in. Bruce was getting pretty paranoid, and he tried to stop the fear that was inching up from the deepest part of his stomach. No being paranoid in here, he told himself, though it did no good.

"Hey Wayne!"

A very burly male…nurse, as it was, was slamming his fist against the glass door.

"Yeah?"

"You got a visitor."

Who is this strange visitor? Who's going to pick up the trash from breakfast? Did Harley like her muffin? Be here, same Bat-time, same…

…okay, it's getting old. XD

Hope you're enjoying so far, and thanks for the reviews.

I got the inspiration for this story from various sources, but I've always wanted to write (or read) something in which Batman was stuck in Arkham. I love exploring his duality and have read a few comic stories in whichone really has to wonder about his sanity. XD This doesn't take place in any particular specific point of the Bat-continuity, except that Tim is Robin, Dick's Nightwing, and Cass is Batgirl.

A couple years ago in this one sociology class I had we watched this one 1950ish movie in which this one lady was in a mental hospital. It began where she was sitting on a bench, not really knowing why and a couple voices in her head were talking to her and making her paranoid, and a nurse comes out of nowhere and leads her back to the hospital, and she doesn't remember how she got there or why she was there, she didn't recongize the nurse or anything. After a few horrible electroshock therapy sessions, she slowly began to remember her life. I wish I knew the title to this movie, it wasso good and we didn't finish it for some reason.

Also there is this excellent book called Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison, in which the main character endures some horrible electroshock treatment that was probably an experiement, and he couldn't remember anything for a few days afterwards.

That's about all I know about all of this, and...meh, I'm pretty much taking artistic license with everything else. I'll try to upload soon and all that.