Part One

Chapter One- Call Me A Cynic

"Gah. My head is killing me." The clown in the bed beside me groaned out weakly.

The doctors had made the decision that morning to wake him up from his induced coma wanting rid of him as quickly as possible. They hadn't bothered to go through the proper procedure to see if his body was stable enough to be woken, not that anybody cared. The whole of Gotham would probably celebrate his death, which was one of the reasons the GCPD (meaning Commissioner James Gordon- the only incorruptible cop on the force) worked so hard to keep his location unknown to the public- they didn't want to investigate another murder, especially one that would have an endless supply of suspects. The Joker had pissed off a whole lot of people.

If it wasn't for Aaron Cash, the Arkham Guard that Commissioner James Gordon had specifically appointed, there would no doubt be some sort of slip up with his medical dosage turning the induced coma into a permanent one.

Apparently Arkham was a lot like the Police; if you have enough money, you could get away with anything for a small bribe, that was so long as no other guards or officers get hurt, in which case you are dead- and it wouldn't be a nice or pretty death either, it would be long and painful. Officers had to make it be known that they were the only true Untouchables in the city, an attack on one of their own was an attack on the whole Police Force, so they had to string you up like the animal you are to send a bloody message to the crooks and other lowlife scum- you don't fuck with the GCPD.

Arkham Asylum had the same sort of system running for it. The Guards had to make it clear they were the ones running the joint, as well as take in extra income for their pretty low wages. But unlike the GCPD's caught criminals, most of the prisoners were too crazy to follow the rules- meaning there were a huge number of patient mishaps and accidental falls.

The only exceptions to this type of mentality was Gordon and Cash, who was ex-GCPD, believing a job at Arkham would be quieter and safer- how wrong he was. Their high morals made them so entertaining to observe, but it also made me feel physically sick. How anybody could live in Gotham and survive being unsoiled beacons of virtue, when most honest men were swallowed whole by the city and spat back out as rancid, loathsome beings, made them a mystery to me. And I was envious of the answer. My innocence had perished in early childhood, if I had been born with any at all, but it didn't mean that I didn't crave for its return.

Aaron Cash was unique compared with everyone else who entered the room. He was the only person I saw who didn't look at the Joker with fear or revulsion, only a cool indifference as if the person before him was nothing more than a pitiful beggar, rather than a psychotic mass murderer. It was that difference which made him so interesting to speak to, and allowed me to suppress my secret resentment.

When I had asked him about his lack of horror about having to guard the infamous Joker, he had told me he had a life-long time of experience in dealing with 'crazies'. Cash had apologised straight afterwards, the embarrassment at his word-choice being shown clearly by his face. He sometimes forgot it was only a few weeks until I too would be sent off in a van to an Asylum. Albeit, not the same one. I wasn't yet a proper criminal, although my action was technically against the law.

His words stung, but I swallowed it begrudgingly as a compliment- his pity made me resent him further. I still had the ability to act 'normal', a skill which would help in the long-run if I had the intention of leaving wherever it was I was to be sent off too. Returning to the outside world was my top priority, I didn't care for getting better. I just didn't want to be held anywhere against my will.

"Myyyyy heeeeeeeeaaaaaadddddd." The clown groaned out again, this time louder. His eyes were still squeezed closed, and if it wasn't for his moans I would've still have thought he was asleep.

I started at him, sceptic of his behaviour- him being a whiner was the last thing I had imagined. And I had been so looking forward to our first proper encounter.

Truth be told, I had envisioned our first conversation nearly for the whole of the duration of my stay. It was one of the only things that kept my mind occupied, and away from thoughts about me bashing my brains out on the pristine white walls, that stunk of detergent and disinfectant. If I breathed in the scent of the walls deeply and for long enough, my head would go woozy and start to spin (another activity which kept my mind occupied, however it was less preferable as had the tendency to leave me with a splitting headache).

"Where's my morphine?" He demanded, his eyes shut tight.

I looked guiltily at the empty drip that stood beside him. After the Cash left for his lunch break I had stretched with my feet to grab the drip (I could hardly use my hands- one of them was slightly tied up at the moment) and injected it into myself.

His morphine was a higher dosage then the one I had been given when I was administered into the hospital. His morphine was euphoric.

As the fluid made its way around my body, I felt every blood vessel become consoled in a fuzzy warmness which made me feel weightless. If I jumped out a window I may have flown. My spirit was leaving my body and I was heading towards Nirvana, I was so close to getting there until I plummeted down. And once again was trapped in the festering shithole filled with filth and rot, which is Gotham.

I had been stealing small dosages, okay all dosages, of his morphine during my stay. The fourth time the Nurse brought him in some, I told myself I should stop taking it, recalling some story about a woman who kept going on morphine during labour and ending up an addict. But then the drip was staring at me, and maybe if I had something else to do I would've left it be- but I was so mind-numbingly bored. So I thought 'to hell with it!' believing it'll be easy to quit when I'm on the outside cause there I won't have morphine staring me in the face all day, and I once again injected it into my system.

I decided to tell him a half-truth. I knew it wasn't the wisest decision to tell the Joker that you had been the one who is currently causing him pain.

"The hospital you blew up had most of the city's medical supplies. They're kinda strained with resources until Metropolis finally agrees to help out." I explained, my voice struggled to stay neutral partially because I wasn't being completely honest and partially because I didn't believe one word of the second sentence. I had regurgitated the stories the Politicians and Doctors had been force feeding all of the patients and press to keep Gotham happy.

Like hell, would Metropolis help us out. They hadn't done shit after Scarecrow's Night of Terror, so it was doubtful they'd change their ways now. Lex Luthor, the puppet master and powerhouse behind Metropolis, was too consumed with his own egotism and ambition to run for President to hear Gotham's cries for help.

"Heh." The Joker snorted. Apparently he understood the lack of likelihood of help too.

He opened his eyes for the first time, staring up at the tiled ceiling. He took his time surveying his surroundings, slowly moving his neck to avoid the disorientation of the whiplash and concussion he was still probably suffering from. After a near fall to his death after a scrape with the Bat, the impact of being stopped from becoming ground putty, had damaged his brain. Not as if it wasn't damaged enough already.

When he first was moved into the hospital the only thing preventing his escape was the coma and a pair of handcuffs, keeping him attached to the bed- just in case an accident occurred, and he woke up before schedule- although I doubted a pair of handcuffs would prevent his escape. The Nurses quickly made the decision to upgrade his cuffs to having him completely strapped down to the bed, after he kept having violent fits in his coma causing the skin of his wrist to abrade, the ties limiting the fits to an occasional head jerk. The Nurses had to reassure Cash he wasn't being slowly poisoned to death, and that his fits were the result of some bad dream which can happen to patients in comas.

His bad dream appeared to be constant. I nearly felt sorry for the psychopath.

I was the last thing in the room he looked at, I figured he was first assessing the chances and possibilities of escape; something I had done when I was first admitted. His eyes were two black holes- less dramatic with the lack of makeup, but still terrifying. I had watched his broadcasts on a loop, pausing them to stare into his dead shark-like eyes that held little-to-no emotion. Sharks had always been my favourite animals.

Although they still looked sharp, they didn't seem dead- not at least with all the pain he was in. They had a glazed over feature, perhaps from the high dosage of medication running in his bloodstream from the induced coma. But I concluded that it was from the pain. Even though he had complained about the pain, he seemed to find it exhilarating.

I had been right to be sceptic- he was pretending to be weaker than he actually is. Trying to bait me into a false sense of security, just like the predator he is.

"Thought you were a Nurse." He croaked.

"Nope. Patient." I said, raising my bandaged wrist and holding it up in the air for him to see before dropping it down by my side again, hiding a wince as the hard mattress collided with the bruised skin. Monsters like him thrived on others weaknesses, I knew that from personal experience.

He grinned, his scars made his smile reach his cheekbones.

The makeup had worn off completely weeks ago by the sweat his fits had caused. Nobody dared wash him, fearing a consequence of manhandling him. It meant he smelt rancid, but it didn't take long for me to adjust through to only breathing through my mouth. Even though he lacked his makeup, he still looked like the Joker- and possibly a more twisted version compared to his theatrical persona.

His skin was pale, and the area surrounding his eyes dark by the hours of unpleasant sleep he suffered through. I noticed he had the habit of gnawing at his scarred gums as he underwent his fits, maybe the memory of how he got them caused him pain, or he gnawed at them to comfort himself as a perverted coping mechanism, either theory was as likely as the other. The repetitive grinding had made them nearly as red as his face paint had.

"Say, uh, why dontcha be a dearie, and loosen these straps." His eyes flickered between me and his bounds rapidly, looking about as innocent as a child who had just been caught stealing treats from a cupboard. I was wondering when he'd drop this innocent façade.

"I would but-" I clanged my handcuffs against the metal bar for a dramatic effect, and grinned up at him when the smile slipped from his face and warped into annoyance.

His eyes rolled to the top of his head infuriated his chances of escape for the time being had diminished, and he turned to face the spotless ceiling. Now that I was no use to him, there was little point of him wasting his breath on me. I'd be lying if I wasn't the slightest bit offended.

I continued watching him, as I had always done when the Nurses and Doctors and Cash weren't around. He was like an exotic dangerous bird- or maybe a wild beast, it seemed more fitting- trapped in a cage. I'd never visited the Zoo before, but I imagined this is what it'd be like. A beautifully dangerous animal stolen from the thrill of killing and feasting upon its prey, to be monitored and observed by even more destructive beings- so awful, they deny or don't even acknowledge the pain they bestow on other beings.

Well call me a cynic, that shit was deep.

"It's rude to stare." His eyes flickered momentarily back to me, before returning to the ceiling. I ignored his words, and he started to ignore my unwavering gaze. I really was worthless to him.

I ignored him and continued watching him for what felt like an eternity, there weren't any clocks to tell me otherwise. He remained perfectly motionless, like a still life painting. His eyes were open but he didn't blink, confirming my theory he was part-shark. I couldn't even see the rise and fall of his chest. I began to wonder if he even needed to breathe.

Maybe he's dead, I thought, despite the constant beeps of the ECG's readings telling otherwise.

"They're waiting two days to review your health, and then they're sending you off to Arkham," I told him, just to be certain he was living. "Commissioner Gordon thinks it's better than you staying here, where the public have a chance at getting to you. Not to mention the Nurses- you better watch out for them."

It was only one Nurse in particular I was worried about- Johnston. She had worked at the hospital he blew up, a hospital were her husband had been admitted into following a series of strokes. He had been in the toilets during the evacuation and the stress of the commotion outside had brought on another stroke. When his flattened body was eventually found from the rubble remains of the hospital the forensic investigator could no longer tell if it had been the blast that killed him, the fallen debris, or the stroke itself. Nurse Johnston had a grudge to settle with the Joker, as did most of Gotham, but unlike most people who were only talk- she meant business.

His eyes snapped towards me, gone was the glazed over look, as he held me captive with a dark glare. If looks could kill. It was as if I had personally sentenced him.

"I'm not crazy. I don't belong in Arkham" He hissed lowly as it had been me who had personally sentenced him.

"Maybe not," I lied shrugging, deep down I was happy to finally have his full attention. It had been ages since I was the centre of attention, when you're put in a room with the Joker, you tend to be invisible. "But Arkham's better than Blackgate. At least in Arkham you didn't try kill all the inmates! They'd eat you up before you could even get your first breakfast at the place!"

I would've laughed too if I sensed he was in a lighter mood, currently he was taking the news very personally. What did he expect would happen to him after he tried to destroy the whole of Gotham? The man sure was a mystery to me.

"You, girlie, are really starting to piss me off. And you won't like me when I'm pissed."

I tried to feign fright, but just couldn't. And laughed outright at his menacing smile which morphed into a furious glare.

"Sorry," I apologised, my eyes tearing up from trying to regain control of my giggles. "Making death threats to someone who just tried committing suicide? That's just about the funniest thing I've heard in a long time."

A wolf-like smile appeared on his face. "Oh, I wouldn't kill ya. What I have in mind is much, much worse."

He let the threat linger in the air ominously, and the chuckles dried out in my throat. The beeps of the ECG hastened, no doubt from his excitement at the prospects of torturing the girl who annoyed him.

And for the first time, I looked away.

Authors Note: I have incorporated some characters outside the film franchise into the story, so therefore will include Character Bio's at the end of some chapters just to ensure everyone is up to speed, and nobody has an advantage in reading.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed my first chapter. Please feel free to message me, and leave a review.

Character Bio's

Aaron Cash- One of Arkham's toughest, respected and least corrupt guards. After a confrontation with Killer Croc (who is an inmate of the Asylum), Cash's entire hand is bitten off and gets replaced by a metal hook- causing a deep rivalry between the pair to fester.

Lex Luthor- An intelligent villain who features heavily in Superman, but does have ties with the Batman Universe when he runs for President.