Giggles Among Sadists

Sorry for the long wait!! Hope you guys enjoy
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Chapter 3: A Bloody Transition

He wished he could retire. Damn his luck that he couldn’t just yet! Not with her as his charge. Just when it had quieted down, she HAD to act up. It was his goddamned luck…

For the last few days all Dr. Riley had on his desk was a quarterly report on the successful progress of the new Arkham wardrobe implementation, which was supposed to effectively designate the different levels of mentally unstable patients from one another. Orange jumpsuits with inmate’s serial number tagged on the chest for low-level psychotics, and white hospital-issue shirt and pants with shoelace-less shoes for the very dangerous offenders. Straightjackets were issued to the crafty and the self-destructive, but only one inmate was issued a very unique set of apparel…

And that sociopathic deviant sat strapped in the bolted chair across from the stainless steel table he now slapped his stack of files onto before taking the seat across from her. She looked up lazily at him, her face obscured by the muzzle and her wild mane of hair.

“Hello, Gwen.”

Tossing the hair out of her eyes, she leant back against the chair, the clicking of her tongue against the back of her teeth echoing in the brightly lit interview room. Inhaling between her teeth, she wheezed, “Hiiii~.”

“Let’s talk about yesterday” the doctor stated in a monotone as he flipped open one of the files, clicking his pen as he continued, “you were given 3 milligrams of Lorazepam, as well as an injection of Haloperidol after you were detained. Do you remember this?”

Her eyes narrowed at the question before rolling to the side in thought. “I remember the shower…‘a highly potent neuroleptic with several uses, such as to counteract acute manic phases, acute psychosis, acute delirium,’ and all other kinds of ‘acutes’…I don’t think haloperidol was necessary. And 3 milligrams of lorazepam…?” she cracks her neck before ending her faux drawl with, “Overkill, Doc Riley.”

“No, Gwen, that would be what you did to inmate Haxting and Romero” he stated in his monotone, scribbling a report of his interview before it was even done. If his superior was going to snoop around his files, might as well give a decent-but-bullshit-report. “Now, please tell me what you remember from the situation.”

Raising her brows at him, she whistled before chiming sardonically, “I remember Chris ‘n Nolan taking me to shower off” she closed her eyes, savoring the memory of the cold torrent pouring over her head to cascade over her numb body. “…Remember how they packed me back up in this jacket and remember…Cindy pumping me with the lovely cocktail you prescribed.”

Glancing at her over the rim of his bifocals, Dr. Riley frowned at her. “If I had prescribed it, you wouldn’t be sitting up right now.”

Gwen leant over the table as far as her restraints would allow her. “Does this mean more solitaire?? C’mon Doc Riley~” she chirped sadistically, her eyes looking glossy and bored. “It isn’t my fault you’re silly uniforms failed and the wrong guy was lumped in with us real—”

“Goddammit Gwen!” the doctor suddenly growled between clenched jaw, slamming his fist down on the table. He watched as her eyes squinted, an indication that she was grinning ear to ear. “Would you like a higher dosage? Is that it?!” he huffed in exasperation, watching as her eyes drained down to a stony quality. “Ah” he stated with a sour air of victory before scribbling down in his notes, “Good thing for you any higher dosage would make you incapable of higher brain function after several trials…”

The click of her tongue as a response.

“Let’s go over some of your history, in case it’s fuzzy” he fell back into his monotone, combing his hand through his peppered hair absently as he read through another file. “Aggravated assault on a staff member after you were denied your music listening privileges—”

“He turned off the radio while I was drawing” she hissed matter of factly.

“-Restricted to cell for a month after you snuck into the archives—”

“I was bored and I wanted something to read” she quipped in a drawl.

“-Numerous kills of both fellow inmates and security staff—”

“Accidents, on purpose, bored…and fun~” she chirped drowsily, tilting her head to stare comically when he glared at her.

Slapping the file closed on the table, Dr. Riley rubbed the bridge of his nose. “ You’re a lifer, Gwen. Why must you persist on causing trouble…”

“Because I’m not supposed to be here.”

The statement earned his stoic glare. “For once, we agree.”

“Then~” she smiled wide under her muzzle, “let me slip through the cracks~!” Leaning over the table, her eyes fluttered as she whispered cryptically, “you’ve done it once before.”

He glowered at her for far too long before he gripped his pen, scribbling furiously with white knuckles onto the report as he muttered, “I’m having you prepped for electroshock scheduled by the beginning of next month. It’d be sooner, except the waitlist is a bit full as of late.”

He felt the death glare. It was pure ice that shot down his spine and welled in the pit of his stomach. She was an animal, and he knew she could smell his fear, but took solace in the fact that she’d be zapped out of her bearings for the next good while. Collecting the folders and files, he stood up and turned for the door, knocking on the square window for the guard’s attention before turning over his shoulder with an after thought.

“Oh, and you’re dosage will remain the same. Try to forget this last week…well, I guess it won’t be too much trouble” he remarked sharply before being buzzed out of the room.

The door slammed audibly, and Gwen set her jaw against the swell of manic fury that rose in her like a wave. Her mind tried to resist the urge to let it wash over her, conjuring a flurry of memories and flashes that could sooth her into a focal point of interest, when a face framed in runny crimson stood out like a mental slap. Tinged green hair…soot black eyes—and smeared red! All on a cracking white canvas of jaw, cheeks, nose and forehead riveting enough to wanna touch, let alone sketch. His mouth…the most enigmatic of all...Oh how she itched to draw…

She dimly realized the guards were unfastening her straps before she was hauled to her feet and dragged out the room.

Could she remember him long enough to sketch? Or was he going to fall into the quagmire of memories, flashes, urges, and pictures that was her mind.

The damned dosage. She knew it was keeping her scatter brained; knew it was the only thing keeping her from being agile enough to walk out of here—well not WALK out; more like disappear out like a shadow…like she hadn’t done in years.

“In you go, Gwen” said the orderly who opened the door for the two guards who dragged her through the door into the dark cell.

Plopping her on her mattress-less bed, the guards hurriedly rushed out of the room before securing the door closed, locking it with a resounding thud that snapped her out of her reveries.

Bowing her head, she let her mind string pieces of thoughts and strategies before it could drift off against her will. The drug would have to be worked out…but that wasn’t the problem. Straightjacket was synched custom to her, and the muzzle rubbed uncomfortably against her chin and jaw…some resourcefulness would be in order…

It was time for her to leave.

Gwen cocked her head as the jiggling key ring of the nurse dispensing the meds was chiming down the hall towards her. Ah…time to see if practice can make perrrrfect~!

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The boss was the scariest motherfucker he’d ever seen. Even after working for him for so long, and being one of the lucky guys to not go on his bank heists with him or end up in the pen at the Bat’s hands, he still found the maniac wholly unpredictable. He never knew when he was serious or teetering along his sadistic comedy until he heard his voice dip three octaves down into a guttural growl…that’s when he was the scariest, he thought.

But no matter how terrified he was of the boss, he would never turn his back on the man, for loyalty’s sake more than just self-preservation’s sake. That’s why he figured the boss had dubbed him ‘Slappy,’ both because he could hold his own against a mob and because he made him “so slap-happy he wasn’t a damn dummy!,” as the boss once told him. He trusted the boss, not in the sense that he felt safe, but in the sense that he could believe his sensibilities over anyone else’s.

So, when the boss told him his new gig would be moonlighting at Arkham asylum as an orderly, Rowan never thought to question or doubt the boss in the least. However, this didn’t mean he completely understood the rationale, but he went along with it nonetheless.

He had been nervous about breaking into a doctor’s office and rummaging through the file cabinets, but he had what he was told to retrieve and was now sprinting down the corridors of the department looking for the exit. Barreling through the double-doors, he almost plowed down a woman in a lab coat, but managed to grab her by the arm before she fell back on her ass.

“Oh damn-so sorry ma’am!” he stated quickly, trying to pull off the big, dumb, and clumsy routine so she wouldn’t ask any questions.

Yanking her arm out of his grip and looking a little flustered, the woman in the schoolmarm heels and sloppily upturned blonde hair balanced the stack of files under her arm from spilling from their folders before straightening her chic glasses and directing a sharp, turquoise glare at the orderly. “Its doctor, but don’t mind the nametag; no one around here seems to anyway…” she muttered haughtily under her breath before shaking her aggression off and giving the orderly a meek smile. “Sorry, just having ‘one of those days.’ No harm done!” she laughed self-consciously, stirring the rogue blonde curls that spilled out of her messy bun.

Plastering a charming smile, the tall and broad-shouldered man rubbed the back of his neck while taking the opportunity to tuck the folder he was carrying behind his back. “Yeah, I know the feeling Doc. So sorry” he said before holding the door open for her and letting her breeze past him before calling out, “have a nice day, Doctor-uh…”

“Quinzel, and you too!” she said over her shoulder before turning the corner and sprinting further down the department corridors.

Exhaling the breath he didn’t know he was holding, Rowan made down the hall as inconspicuously as possible, tucking the folder into the back of his belt and covering it with his uniform shirt before heading to his next task.

It was time to distribute the lunch trays up in Maximum Security.

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“I’m having serious doubts about your…methods with this patient, Dr. Riley. To be frank, I’m not satisfied with the level of psychosis the patient still experiences even with these capsulated cocktails you’ve concocted.”

This man was such a sanctimonious bastard! How dare he question him now when he’s turned a blind eye for a decade?! He had some gall calling him to his office so suddenly, as if he was some quack being brought in front of a one-man tribunal. He was such a pompous narcissist—

“Dr. Riley, I do believe I wasn’t being rhetorical; I expect an answer” Dr. Bartholomew, the chief of medicine at Arkham Asylum, stated contumely as he brought his hands together in a tight clasp over his immaculately detailed mahogany desk, a desk that made Jeremiah Arkham’s accommodations paltry in comparison.

Setting his jaw in a stoic regard towards his superior, Dr. Riley responded matter of factly, “with all due respect sir, while my methods might not be 100% effective in sedating the patient, I have been the only caretaker placed to her case that has shown any results—”

“You’ve also been the only one so eager to remain on her case” interjected Dr. Bartholomew, sitting back in his plush chair and regarding the other man the way an owl picks apart its prey before ever attacking. “To be frank, you wouldn’t even be in my office at this moment if it wasn’t at the behest of Lyle Bolton. He is none the happier over the fiasco that went on last week—”

“Sir, that man is a Machiavellian brute. He fails to understand that the trial and error stage of the security implementations are solely his responsibility, not mine, or any other staff member who signed onto the project as overseers interdepartmentally. As for the ‘patient’ Gwen—”

“Excuse me, Dr. Bartholomew, but I must speak to you about inmate #4479—oh! I’m so sorry! I wasn’t aware—” stated in an almost unexhausted breath the overzealous junior psychiatrist, her eyes widening in embarrassment when both sullen-faced men glared her down from her position at the door she just bolted through unannounced. “Your receptionist wasn’t at her station, so I assumed…”

Sighing in practiced irritation, Dr. Bartholomew directed an icy glance at the bright-eyed woman with the rogue blonde strands before fanning through his itinerary. “Dr. Quinzel” he stated monotonely as he glanced at Dr. Riley, silently excusing him from the rest of their meeting so that he could ream the impetuous woman in private. “Please come in. This is as good a time as any to go over protocol once more…”

Dr. Riley didn’t pity the woman. After all, she’d been making waves the minute she was hired on by the board, and one thing he hated was someone making waves. He didn’t need another ambitious upstart wiggling in and jerking everyone around, so he was pleased that most of the administration felt implicitly the same as him.

He briskly barged into his office, avoiding his secretary’s memos and plopped into his chair, glaring at nothing in particular for a few minutes before deciding it would do him some good to call out early for the day.

“Alice, hold my appointments over until tomorrow. I’m heading home.”

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The elevator doors ground open onto the catwalk that divided the medical ward of the hospital from the Maximum Security wing. Pushing the cart loaded with bland food trays, he began to steel himself before giving his clearance to the guard booth and gaining access to Arkham’s most dangerous inmates. As he entered the wing, Rowan trained his gaze straight ahead of him, trying to avoid eye contact with the dozens of dark stares that glanced out on him through the reinforced glass walls and doors.

He quickly worked his way down the main corridor, anxiety knotting in his stomach as he neared the corner. Swiping the access key to open the tray slot to slip the food into one cell, Rowan ignored the glazed, bloodshot blue eyes that stared unblinkingly at him from the darkened corner of the cell. For the millionth time, he thanked the powers that be for keeping him obscure in the Gotham underworld…

He moved on around the corner, his cart mostly emptied but for a few trays. Avoiding one of the security cameras as he maneuvered around the cart, he skillfully pulled out the concealed folder and slipped it under the food tray he grabbed from the bottom of the cart.

Now he walked with stoic resolve around the corner to the inmate of the hour.

The Joker sat against the wall of his cell, one leg sprawled out with the other acting as an armrest for his forearm. He was staring with hooded eyes at the far wall, his white face paint cracked and brushed away from most of his face, black eyes smeared as far up as his hairline, red lips chapped and worn from his absent-minded chewing and laving.

When the swipe of his key beeped the tray slot open, Rowan felt the Joker’s eye’s slowly drag to the corners of his vision in dark regard, watching the faux-orderly as he slipped the tray and the concealed folder into the cell.

The pair regarded each other in silence before Rowan nodded and went back to his cart, trying hard to ignore the chill at the back of his neck. He quickly finished the rest of his task and moved toward the exit, worried at what his next orders would be…and unbelievably curious at what the boss would want with those files!

No matter what the reason, he knew that getting the files BACK into the doctor’s office when the boss was done was going to be even more challenging than getting them out…

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He slapped his lips together, wetting the cracked flesh with his tongue as he made his way to the tray. Sliding the tray to the side, he grabbed the folder and grunted an amused noise before plopping onto his bed, facing the wall so that any peepers could only see his back.

Dropping the thick folder into his lap, the Joker raised a brow at how bound it was, paper clips pinned all over it to keep the files from spilling out. Slapping the folder open, he chuckled musingly to himself. He slid a small manila envelop of pictures to one side as he skimmed over the patient’s medical history and information.

“Mmmm…unknown, unknown-and unknown?” his brows furrowed at the documents he was reading as the tip of his tongue tugged at the corner of his mouth absently. The preliminary patient information was stamped with a bold “unknown” for every category. No real name, background information, or even a history chart prior to 10 years before. Then at the bottom of the page he read the typewritten font: “Known Alias: Gwen”.

Very interesting...not like any chart he’d seen before. Even his chart had more dirt than this. He surmised that her file hadn’t been updated in format since she was admitted, but still…

“Oh-hohoh now what is this” his sing song whisper trailed off as he ruffled through and came upon a paper clipped stack of incident reports. Now he was getting somewhere.

He read avidly, and after a few minutes cackled a laugh before immediately shushing himself and chuckling.

The inmate viciously mauled a fellow inmate for allegedly threatening to destroy her personal sketchpad. The victim suffered massive neck, ear and nose damage after inmate bit down into and gnarled the skin. Muzzle has been advised until further notice.

He read on further, suppressing grunts and chuckles and spells of mirth with every line. A few incidents had him rolling and howling in mirth, forcing him to snicker through his yellow teeth and snort to himself the more he read.

The reports painted a picture of the little marionette that slowly developed into a macabre string of scenes in his head. Scenes that filled in fun blanks and scenarios of what kind of playmate she’d be if given the chance. The more he read, the more his mind wandered over the possibilities…

Slapping the folder closed, he huffed a little note of jollity, ready to play with his food and make a little smiley face with the green bean stalks, powdered potatoes, and mashed corn bits, when the small manila folder on his knee slipped off to thwack onto the folder. Raising a brow and sucking in his bottom lip, he opened the flap and shook the stack of polaroids into his hand.

Her unconscious countenance was plastered on the first Polaroid. The date on the picture was around 10 years ago. Her lip was split and swollen, discolored bruises riddled her face and dark circles bagged her eyes. She looked like the embodiment of grief.

The next few pictures documented the scars etched on her body. Many were along her back and sides, faint but still noticeable to a trained eye. Others were more intriguing. Well, one in particular, that is. He held this specific Polaroid up and marveled at the scar, his eyes squinting in curiosity at what kind of knife made it. One thing he knew for sure was that whoever made it was a vicious bastard. The knife and gone in vertical, and was twisted before slicing across her womb. While most would think it marred her body, the Joker thought it accentuated it; her tight navel and lithe torso looked delectable if not ravage-worthy with the scar standing out like a path that only tracing one’s lips across could do it justice.

Most of the pictures were taken while she was unconscious. They documented almost every part of her body, save for the gratuitous areas he’d been hoping to see. He flipped through the stack and stopped at one picture of her sitting Indian style in a padded room, giving a sidelong glance at something out of the shot, her lips quirked in a comical smirk, with most of her face obscured by her long dark hair.

He snorted as he shoved the pictures back into the manila folder and tossed it into the folder.

His mind was in a frenzy of ideas, thoughts, speculations, curiosities, and intrigue. Most were frivolous, but others developed into grandeur machinations. Running his hand through his greasy green hair, he licked his cracked lips and decided it wouldn’t hurt to let his thoughts continue to wander over the little minx in the straightjacket.

At the very least, the little puppet would be fun to play with…

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Anxiety and adrenaline had been pumping through his veins all day in anticipation. The hour was near, and all Rowan knew was that this place was going to be flipped upside down by the crazies. It was disconcerting to think of what would happen if he was cornered by a group of maniacs, let alone if the bust went…well, bust. He hadn’t been to prison yet, which was a big help in landing the job at the asylum. But he knew what hell was like, and getting caught was a one way ticket to one level of hell.

Everything was set. During the lunch round, the timers would go off, the guard in the switch station would unlock the doors and the asylum would be plunged into chaos. It was an ingenious strategy, but a bitch to execute from the inside of a cell. The Joker was one crazy-smart motherfucker…

“Hey man, you’re scheduled for Maximum Security again. Start loading things up and making your way up there” a portly supervisor roused him out of his thoughts before he nodded in compliance and headed out of the locker room.

The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up and his stomach was tied in knots. As if busting out the Joker from Arkham wasn’t a feat that had him nervous as fuck, the boss wanted to bust out that wild child from his first shift about a month ago. Her wild eyes and fluid mannerism had creeped him out, and having watched her on the security monitor in the guard’s booth when she went berserk, Rowan was quite frankly perturbed at the idea of wrangling one psychotic to be the plaything for another.

It was too late to back out. Everything was in motion and all Rowan needed to do was brace himself for the wave of anarchy. For the hundredth time, his stomach churned in anxiety…

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I’m so thirsty...my insides hurt…it has to be today...if I hold out any longer, I’ll be too weak to even struggle.

Her eyes flickered drowsily open, the dim light penetrating into her cell harsh to her retinas. Heaving herself up from her sprawl on the floor, Gwen huffed behind her muzzle and licked her chapped lips. The dehydration was an unforeseen side effect to her detox of the cocktail which had usually abated her appetite as well. The meager rations given to her once a day wasn’t enough to sustain her rabid metabolism, leaving her aching from stomach cramps and having to feign docility regardless of the pain.

It has to be today.

Her mind was sharp now. The muddle induced by the cocktail was a distant memory, but the chaos of her mind had never dissipated. Nevertheless, her mind was agile and skipping from scenario to scenario, trying to figure out when it would be best to strike and make her escape. The fact that the electroshock therapy appointment was looming days away also made her eager to end the rouge and escape…no matter how much her sadist muse told her she should play a game that ended with good old Dr. Riley choking on his own blood.

The image made her giggle and instantly she hissed from the sting of her parched bottom lip cracking. She laved the wound with her tongue, the taste of blood bringing back an overload of memories from the recesses of her mind. Some were clear and vibrant, others overshadowed and hazy with time.

A light chuckle echoed through her memories before receding back into the mire. His voice…it was melodious and conserved, like a rich tenor note echoing up to the ceiling. It was gone! No matter how much she tried to grab onto the memory of Him it always faded away. The flashes of Him during the many years of her confinement here were blissful rays of light that stupefied the chaos within her.

Biting down on her lip in anger, she let the shrill pain sober her mind. Just in time too, as the clinking and chiming of keys started making it way down the corridor towards her cell door. Sitting with her feet tucked under her, Gwen slacked the rest of her body against the wall, as she would normally if still under the influence of the potent narcotics. She rested her chin against her chest, looking listless in order to conceal the very small tear in the seam that connected the strip of thick cloth down the center of her jacket, in which her arms where looped and fastened.

The key was shoved into the lock, and the door ground open with a rusted groan. Gwen slowly looked at Mike the orderly as he stepped aside to let Arlene the still wet behind the ears nurse come into the cell with her daily ration. Arkham always served her a quarter to lunch, just to get her and any other psychopath who needed more than one attendant dealt with without hampering the regular lunch hour routine.

“Hello Gwen, dear…” the woman with hazel eyes said as she briskly walked into the cell, nodding for Mike to close the door partially, so as to let the badly-lit dungeon of a room get some needed light. She carried a tray and a chart, one balanced in her hand and the other cradled in the crook of her arm. “How’s my favorite patient doing?” she remarked facetiously as she crouched down and placed the tray by Gwen while she dug in her scrubs for a small flashlight.

Gwen was unresponsive and seemed to be staring blankly at the nurse. However, she’d surveyed Arlene since she walked in, and while she was disappointed that the pen was clipped to the board of her report, she was itching with glee at the boneheaded break with protocol the nurse was surely going to get reamed and fired for later…if she survived that is.

“Okay dear, can you look up for me?” she asked, clicking the mini flashlight on and holding up to flash it in her eyes and see the reaction. Gwen didn’t move, forcing the woman to crouch closer so she could run the light across her eyes and see how her pupils refused to contract and remained dilated. “Hmmm. Well I hope you’re hungry? Brought you some yummy gruel…if you can call this slop anything…” the woman with the frizzy hair and freckles mumbled as she dropped the flashlight back into her pocket and reached for the tray, sliding it closer to her. The glint of steel utensils made her lips tighten, realizing her mistake; glancing at the drugged out woman, she played it off as nothing and picked up the fork and plate.

Gwen’s lips twitched as she was relieved of her muzzle. The other woman didn’t notice, nor did she notice how Gwen eyed the knife resting idly on the tray still.

“Open up, dear” Arlene cajoled, with no response. “C’mon girl, you need to eat” and still no response from the catatonic woman. “Sigh…dammit. Mike! I’m going to need help in here; this girl might be in insulin shock.”

The door yawned open wider and the disgruntled blah-faced orderly frowned into the room. “Goddammit Arlene she can’t be in insulin shock. She’s being a pain in the ass—dammit you’re going to get written up again!” Mike glowered as he stomped past the threshold of the cell door.

It happened before either of them could say another word.

In a flash of agility, Gwen had hopped up on the balls of her feet and slammed her bound shoulder into Arlene’s solar plexus, knocking the wind out of her and causing her to slam against the far wall. Free of her muzzle but still bound, Gwen flopped down in front of the tray and snaked the handle-side of the knife to her lips before clamping her teeth down on the weapon.

Just as Mike’s adrenaline began to pump into his bloodstream, Gwen rolled to her back and flipped up to her feet, advancing at the aghast orderly who fumbled backwards out of the cell. Before he could turn to run, however, Gwen leapt at him like a jungle cat, pouncing down on him and driving the blunt knife just under his jawline and short of his jugular. The man fell to the ground hard, his scream choked with blood as Gwen pulled the knife out and was hit with a sickening spray of blood in her face. The man reached out to push her off, but before he could muster his motor skills Gwen’s lethal mouth descended and plunged the knife into his corroded artery, causing another gush of blood to spray all over before she forced the blunt metal to twist across his throat like a rusty can opener trying to force its way through thick aluminum.

His tremors and eyes went dead under her. Gwen tilted her head and marveled at the expression she hadn’t scene in over a month.

The sound of hyperventilating snapped her head back towards the mouth of her dungeon. Arlene was having a panic attack, if not a nervous breakdown as she sat stupidly inside the cell, frozen in utter horror. Gwen stood up off Mike’s corpse and turned to face the cell. Spitting the bloody knife out, she cracked her neck and blotted her chapped lips with the saliva-slick blood that dripped off her mouth and dribbled down her chin before smiling at the woman.

“Gee Arlene! You really look like you need to see a doctor” she chirped hoarsely from her parched throat, hooking the tips of her toes around the door as she added, “don’t worry, I’ll go get you one! Stay RIGHT here~!”

The woman screamed as the door was slammed shut with a deafening boom, an amusing combination of sounds that had Gwen snorting as she glanced down both ends of the corridor before skipping off in a wobbly prance down towards the closest stairwell, humming a disjoined series of melodies just as a series of alarms started to go off from the floors above…

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The fire alarm went off, forcing the congregation of doctors and staff to roll their eyes at yet another damned fire drill. They shuffled down the halls towards the emergency exits, idly chatting and uninterested in the immediacy of the exercise when the Code Red sirens started flashing and whooping throughout the asylum. Staff members looked at each other in incredulity and horror before a melee for the exits began.

Harleen was rushing down a narrow corridor as several doctors and nurses bumped into her and drove her stack of forms and files out of her hands to scatter all over the floor.

“Run you twit! It’s a Code Red!” One of them shouted back at her without stopping their mad dash.

Wide eyed and trembling, Harleen pressed her back against the wall and looked about her, too scared to make the run to the exit down 3 corridors and 4 hallways from her position. She knew she had to barricade herself somewhere and soon.

Just as she started making her frenzied run down the corridor the emergency lockdown of the psychiatric wing went into effect, trapping her in a hallway with no hope of getting out until the police came in and got her out. Sinking to the floor, she huffed a shaky breath and cursed under her breath.

“God damned if I don’t hear the end of this…”

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The glass door beeped and slid to the side before he clasped his hands together in sadistic glee and stepped out of his cell. He chuckled a series of melodic notes before grinning and clamping his hand down on Rowan’s shoulder.

“Slappy my boy, don’t look so glum!” he sneered sardonically at the chisel-jawed man with the worried look in his hazel grey eyes. “Everything in life is a learning experience” he continued as he shouldered the man against him, making him stiffen. “What doesn’t kill you makes you strongrrrr” he growled before clamping his jaw down on the word.

“Absolutely boss” was all he could muster before the sociopathic clown let him go and waltzed crookedly down the walkway.

Rowan went into renegade mode, running interference for the Joker as he surveyed the other inmates in their glass cells comically as if he was glancing at animals in a zoo. He stopped in front of one cell, blinking childlike at the bloodshot cold glare he received from Crane, who glowered at him from the shadows. Pressing against the glass, the Joker frowned at him, mocking him by gesturing with his index fingers that he needed to smile more before bursting into a cacophony and waving ‘bye bye’.

The alarms were hollering and the roar of chaos was taking over the asylum, a lovely transition from the gloom and boredom of the past month. Pretty soon the place would be rocked to its foundation, and he pumped his fists at his sides in excitement.

“Boss! Should we let the others out?” Rowan inquired in a monotone, his steely tenor terse and hard.

Looking with an air of disinterest, the Joker shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t like competition, Slappy. Let Crane and his former cronies rot” he stated as he waved dismissively at the rest of the Maximum Security ward.

As both men made their way out, the first explosion shook the world around them and the familiar sensation made the Joker shiver and whoop a stream of cackles before grinning twistedly.

“Gotta make one quick stop before we exit, Slappy.”

The calm and jovial tone disarmed the muscular henchmen, but he still gave a curt nod and led the way down the bowels of the asylum, heading for the main level to regroup with the other men.

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As soon as he flicked the switch, the loonies poured out of their minimum security cells to rage outward, attacking staff and guards and giving Bumbles enough time to meet the boss at the bottom of the main level. Yanking his clown mask on, he barreled through the maniacs and secured the gate that sectioned off the stairwell and elevator from the main corridor.

Their exit was in the process of detonating still.

The ding of the elevator snapped his attention to see the doors open and reveal Slappy and the boss, who was grinning so hard his glassgow was puckering along his cheekbones.

“She’s in the underground ward, boss. We can access it through that adjacent corridor” Slappy stated factually while the henchmen disguised as a guard tossed him a mask and a modified glock. “She’s going to be a handful, sir” he added as a sudden afterthought, looking over his shoulder at the Joker as he tugged his mask on at the same time.

“A handful is never a bad thing, Slappy” he quipped as they made their way down the corridor and ended up in a hall with multiple corridors.

“FREEZE!” the barked command was weak, earning an amused snort from the Joker while the other men pointed their weapons at the guard.

He stood just out from the corner of a large corridor, his gun pointed at the Joker’s head. Clicking the safety off, the guard knew if he didn’t shoot, he wasn’t leaving the place alive.

Then something moved in his peripheral vision just down the corridor to his right. He jerked his head toward the movement just in time to see the terrifying woman leap into the air before pouncing down on him.

His shot went wild causing the three men to take cover. When they heard the man’s shout choke, they watched as Gwen summersaulted off of him and crushed his windpipe, stomping repeatedly down until the man choked on his own tongue to death.

She was just coming off her bloodlust when she realized she was being stared at.

Blinking, Gwen turned to face the three clowns, yelping in surprise.

Then recognition set in, and she avidly stared back at the man with the fading mask and dark eyes that bore alluringly at her.

Sobering, Gwen felt herself gravitating to the man once again as another explosion caused the walls and ground to lurch.

“Slappy, help the little minx would ya?” the Joker spoke in a gruff husk and was obeyed immediately.

Too dazed at the enigmatic man to care, Gwen was hauled up into Slappy’s arms and the group began to run down to the south wing, where smoke and rubble scattered and plumed around them.

The haze made her eyes water and sting. Before she knew it, she was in the back of a van with other masked men before it lurched into a high speed getaway. Skidding into cold metal of the van, Gwen found herself flung next to the man with the dark eyes. She was so close to him that the contours of his smeared and scarred mouth caught her off guard.

“Now doll, it’s not nice to stare-uh” the amused hiss forced her to look back up into his eyes.

“But it’s so hard not to.”

Now it was the Joker’s turn to blink in surprise. Raising his brows, he let his humor warm up his throat, licking his lips and prodding at the corner of his mouth with the tip of his tongue as he surveyed her more clearly.

Her mouth was smeared with blood, some of which still dribbled along her chin and down her jaw. He smiled at her, and she smiled back, her eyes brilliant and excited.

“Boss, we managed to slip the cops!”

“Fine, good, yes you know where to go now don’t interrupt me!” he snapped at the man in the frowning clown mask. When the van’s cab went tensely silent, he leaned closer to her, and muttered convivially, “Now my dear, if it’s not too hard for you, can you tell me your name, hmm?”

Matching his muttered tone, she said in a hushed voice, “Gwen…do I call you boss too??”

Flashing his yellowed teeth in a sardonic laugh, he provocatively answered, “Only if I tell you to, puppet.”

TBC
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