Skylar was shaken violently out of sleep in a cold sweat by the sound of yelling. Multiple voices simultaneously expressed their rage downstairs in a room directly below her. It was unpleasant, but familiar. She looked around the room. Every inch of the walls was covered with a poster of some sort. Useless junk and trash cluttered all of the tables, less the nightstand, which only held a mini-fridge and microwave. Her own bed seemed to be more blankets than mattress, and looked like a bunk. The nightstand and drawers were placed so that the bed was boxed in on both sides. Across from the bed and squarely in front of the rug was a large collection of electronics. Two televisions, two laptops, a box of tablets and smartphones, and a small entertainment center full of video games. And on the rug, sprawled out with controller in hand was Kirari. Skylar let out a sigh of relief and fell back onto the pillow.

The previous night was a blur. She could still feel those arms holding her. And as the chimes sounded, the arms held her tighter, almost defensively.

"I'm not going to let them take you." Comforting words from such an ominous voice. One hand rubbed her back consolingly while the other continued to support her as they made their way deeper into the house. And, as if on cue, there was a sudden blinding light and a deafening crash. She remembered the bitter, metallic taste of blood as she was frantically thrown around. Those arms struggled desperately to shelter her, to protect her. But she was violently ripped away from their grasp. She could remember an attempt to break free, but she was too weak to do any damage. And that was all she could recollect.

"Remember this place?" Kirari asked, shaking Skylar out of her thoughts. She looked around the room. Something about the place did seem to touch her personally, but it pained her to try to remember why. As if those memories had been locked away deep in the retreats of her soul.

"Sort of," she admitted. "But I can't…" She trailed off, unsure of whether to confide in Kirari.

"Can't what?" she pushed.

"Nothing," she sighed. It was too difficult. Maybe another time. "Where are we?"

"You don't remember that room we made above me and my mom's place?" It sounded like it could have been true, but she honestly lacked the ability to recall it.

"Uh, yeah. Wait, yeah, I do," she lied. Kirari got up and walked over to sit on Skylar's bed. She sat there for a while, biting her lip anxiously with furrowed eyebrows. It was more than obvious that she was turning something over in her mind. Kirari opened her mouth a couple of times to speak, but decided against it until she could properly express her sentiments.

"I'm sorry," she finally said. "When I picked you up, I knew you must've been… terribly upset. And I got frustrated so easily. I was just desperate to get you off my hands. I wasn't thinking. I know I should've taken you here first." Her glassy, bloodshot eyes were aimed straight at the ground.

"It wasn't that bad."

"When I got you in my car, you had a bloody mouth, several bruises, and you were barely conscious," she snapped. "Don't you dare tell me 'it wasn't that bad'."

"I think he was trying to protect me," Skylar said, her voice wavering. "His intentions are noble; he just gets carried away easily."

"As if his intentions even matter," she scoffed. The yelling downstairs was gradually getting louder.

"Who's down there?" Skylar asked. Kirari shrugged the question away and mumbled. Skylar slid out of the bottom bunk and stood up to face Kirari. "Look, I appreciate your apology, and I appreciate you bringing me here. But I know what it felt like to have Jonathan holding me. He cares."

"So, what, you're going back?"

"No, I—I don't want to," Skylar said, rubbing her forehead. "I'm just looking for a place where I feel…cared for. And I love you but we're so different; every time we're together, we fight. I need a place where I can get myself together in peace." The sound of yelling and footsteps filled the awkward silence. The floor shook with the sound of a deafening slam.

"Stop," a woman's voice yelled as the door to the room swung open. The handle slammed into the wall behind it and left a gaping hole. The woman, hidden from sight, cursed under her breath. Kirari quietly repeated similar sentiments. Neither sound registered with Skylar. Every inch of her body went cold and numb. She was too focused on the figure in the doorway; she had to remind herself to breathe. He was lanky with a ghostly complexion. His limp, emerald hair lay draped over his forehead, almost in his eyes. There were thick black circles smudged around those eyes that seemed to blend with the darkness in the room. And his face was adorned with a blood-red smile that was ear to ear. It sent a chill straight to her bones. The face stifled a laugh. An evil, cynical, familiar laugh.

"Sweetie." The one word hung in the air. The color drained from Skylar's face until she was as white as the figure in front of her. The room suddenly seemed as hot as the fiery pits of hell. She attempted to yell, but it came out as a timid croak. Her voice was gone, as was her spirit. If she could hide, she would, but there was nowhere to go. His spider-venom eyes were locked directly onto hers, and her line of sight was centered on his wide, toothy grin. It was so mesmerizing, she had to restrain herself when she began to feel the edges of her mouth curl upwards in response.

"You're not wanted here," Kirari answered for her friend.

"Oh, Miss Kyle, how well do you really know this girl?" he said. He took a single step and began to rock backwards and forwards, from his heels to his toes. "You and your mother are really just preventing this girl from receiving the attention and care she so desperately needs."

"You're the one she's running from," Kirari said.

"I said I'd give her what she needs, not what she wants." He then shrugged. "But I suppose that if she's that adamant about it, we should give her a chance to speak." Skylar's lips slowly parted. No sound. Not even a syllable. She hung her head, helpless and a bit disconcerted.

"She's too scared." Kirari came to her defense. "It's too much of a shock."

"Well, if she can't tell me what she wants, then I suppose it's up to the parent to decide what's best," he said, laughing. He reached out and grabbed a fist full of Skylar's hair, dragging her along. It hurt, but she couldn't find her voice to scream. She silently cried as she was pulled down the stairs. She wondered where Kirari's mother was. She hadn't had many conversations with her, but she was praying for her help. Nevertheless, Selina was nowhere to be seen. Kirari ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time, gun in hand.

"Stop!" she yelled as they ran through the living room and headed towards the foyer. She fired, aiming for Joker's head, but missed and hit a nearby vase. Shards of glass and water flew in different directions, showering the entire room. One of the larger shards flew towards Kirari and sliced its way into her arm. It made a considerably large gash, and drops of her blood poured from her arm onto the crisp, snow-white carpet. She paused and grabbed her arm instinctively, giving the Joker the time he needed to run out of the house, still pulling his daughter along. A black van was parked conspicuously outside the house. He pulled her close and threw open the passenger door.

"Get inside," he yelled, throwing Skylar in. Her head hit something sharp and sent a wave of pain all through her. It was too intense. She threw up, crying and still trying to scream. The can door slammed shut behind her, and she sat up in the seat, tired of struggling. Her father rushed into the truck, started it, and drove as quickly as he possibly could. The smile still remained on his brutally scarred lips. Skylar quietly mumbled inarticulate speech, struggling to regain her voice. Her words came out as a timid whisper, and she fought back nausea with every word.

"Where are we going?"

"Well, considering the trouble I had to go through, I should just take you to Jonny's. After all, I do owe him for tipping me off after you left." Skylar cringed. So much for him caring about her. And after the scene she'd caused the other night, she dreaded to think about how angry Jonathan would probably be. "Still, I'm nothing if not a family man, so I'll try to show a little restraint. But until I can permanently dump you somewhere, I've got business to take care of at home." Skylar scoffed. As if anyone could ever use the word 'home' to describe that accursed island. They were approaching the bridge to Arkham Island. Few ever traveled the path, even if it was only the afternoon. Skylar cracked the window to let in a breeze. It was a nice distraction, but the air did little to help her. She closed her eyes and tried to shut out the world around her. Some time passed. She still stared at the black emptiness behind her eyelids, hoping for some sort of miracle to deliver her.

"A little different from when you left, isn't it?" Skylar opened her eyes and looked at what had become of the asylum. It was shrouded in darkness by looming storm clouds and tree branches. It was almost as if the building had its own dark aura. But that was normal. What she really noticed were the crowds of insane inmates roaming around the dilapidated premises. They were all aimlessly attacking the air, screaming in blind rage. When they saw the van approaching, a few tore off from the pack and ran in front of the van. He didn't slow down. The can hit the bodies with such force; she could hear and feel the snapping of human bones. She peered into the rearview mirror and stared at the trail of blood tracked by the van's tires. She wished she felt something, but it didn't seem to bother her. Bloodshed was natural. "Welcome to the new and improved Arkham Asylum! Now under new management!" he said, putting the van into park. "Get out."

Skylar slid out of the van, shut the door behind her, and followed her father up the steps, which reeked of human feces. A pair of dry, callused hands grabbed her neck from behind and pulled her backwards. Their long, untrimmed nails pierced her flesh. Thick, warm droplets of blood crawled down her neck as she was thrown onto the ground. A crazed patient loomed over her and swung at her face relentlessly, spitting and cursing. She delivered a swift and powerful kick to his chest and knocked him onto the floor. She relished the feeling. It had been a while since she felt the rush that came with violence. She produced a knife from inside her sleeve, a trick she had learned from her father. She took the blade to his neck and smiled as his racing heart pumped blood out of the fresh wound and onto the grass. She returned the blade to its place and stepped back to admire her work. He was still struggling, but it wouldn't be long before he was dead, anyway. She took a step on his chest and face and continued walking into the asylum to look for her father, who had left her behind.