User:Nextoy/Batman/1

"Oh, good evening Commissioner Gordon." Alfred spoke as he answered the phone. "Is this about what was on the news today? ...I see... Oh, is that so? Well, can't have him risking his life in such a way... He what? ...You have to be kidding... Well, you can't expect me to buy him ice cream for it, can you? ...That is true, I suppose... Oh, that sounds dreadful. Well, I'll go scold him." As he's about to place the phone down he brings it back to his ear. "What's that? Oh, really? Well congratulate Mr. Dent for me, will you? Yes, goodbye." He then hung up and made his way down to where Bruce Wayne had kept himself locked up most of the time these days.

"Oh, Alfred-" Bruce had started to say before being interrupted.

"Oh, Master Bruce, you would do well to watch the news more than when you're just looking for a new target." Alfred suggested. "You make a delightful uproar. Quite a headache for Mr. Dent and the Commissioner."

"Alfred, it's not really-"

"Yes, Master. Now is the best time for this. Now shut up and let me dress your wounds." Alfred ordered. Bruce had several lacerations along his body, mostly minor, and bruising from taking and receiving blows. Additionally, from the way he held his stomach, his ribs may have been cracked.

"Whatever am I to do with you, all running off into the night and getting yourself halfway killed before coming  home and having me dress you up for only God knows what." Alfred nagged as he took care of his employer's injuries. "Tell me, what is it you dream of during your seven hours of sleep each week?"

"Gotham doesn't sleep, so neither should I Alfred." He answered as he tried to force a dislocated joint back into place.

"Let me, Sir." Alfred then quickly snapped it into place with a matching, wet, cracking sound. "Well it's been night time in Gotham for the past decade or so, Bruce. You should try being that radiating sun that your parents were before the company board started to run itself." He pointed out, getting up a bit to look at the orphan billionaire's eyes. "I mean really, some people out there are starting to think that your lovely little cape is casting a larger shadow by the day."

"Well as long as Gotham is safe then we don't have to worry." Bruce assured, giving a rare, genuine smile. "Besides, if you support me then I'll be in good hands."

"I'll support you more when you stop being moron." Alfred replied. It wasn't the first time he's had to dress such wounds on his employer, after all. "In fact, for starters I had better armor when I served in Her Majesty's royal army."

"Alfred, you know that military armor doesn't provide the mobility or protection I need." Bruce quipped back.

"So says the man running around in over glorified pajamas, a flimsy cowl, and a cape that I'm surprised you haven't tripped over yet." Alfred retorted, grabbing ahold of said cape. "Speaking of which, what is this even meant to do anyways?"

"Its to deceive my opponent and aid in gliding." He answered, glaring at the butler.

"What its good for is tying you to a telephone pole. Doesn't even act as a proper shield." Alfred pointed out.

"Alfred, Justice is my shield. I don't-"

"Yes, well justice has been working out nicely for your buddy Harvey." Alfred interrupts. "Speaking of which he managed to put away that Fish Mooney girl for bribing him today." Alfred tagged on as an afterthought.

"Oh, I'll have to congratulate him." Bruce chimed in, about to stand up when Alfred pushed him back into the chair.

"AFTER your wounds are tended to." Alfred orders.

"Besides, Gordon and Harvey handle the day time criminals just fine, don't they?" Bruce asked.

"Well they can't do anything about the criminals that run your business, now can they?" Alfred pointed out. "Batcorpse isn't exactly a substitute for Wayne Enterprise, is it?"

"Lucius is running the company just fine in-" This time it was Alfred's turn to glare, cutting him off entirely.

"Bruce. Maybe you haven't noticed, but the board is planning on hiring mafia twats to do both of you in." Alfred pointed out. "You need to take a night off."

"I can't do that, Alfred. The night I don't arrive is the night everything gets from bad to worse." Bruce assured as he stood up, his wounds fully dressed.

"Well fine, but you'd better quit eating that black velvet cake you made before it brings the attention of someone you can't handle." Alfred suggested, cleaning of his arms with some specialized Wayne Chemicals cleaning solution.

"Alfred, you worry too much." Bruce pointed out as they ascended the flight of stairs leading back up to the mansion.

"I think you worry too little." Alfred retorted, starting to grow frustrated with his employer's devil may care attitude.

"What, next you're going to tell me some guy will try and kill me with a potato sack?" Bruce mussed, chuckling to himself.

"For fuck's sake, Bruce. I'm just trying to keep you out of the morgue." Alfred snarled, "And if you get too caught up in this what'll happen if someone captures you? Where will Bruce Wayne go?" He asked, growing increasingly more frustrated.

"I'll be fine, Alfred. It's just some mobsters." Bruce assured, starting to grow frustrated as well.

"It's not just some mobsters, Bruce. Just because Mr. Cobblepot was a mafia crook with some fancy toys doesn't mean he wasn't dangerous." Alfred reminded, closing the hidden door to the stairs behind them.

"Penguin was still just an over glorified mob boss." Bruce reminded.

"And yet as time goes on he's only going to get more fancy tricks and toys." Alfred pointed out, walking down the hall without his employer. "Now go play with your girls and legal buddies while i clean up after your mess. AGAIN." And with that the door was shut between them.

Later that day Bruce, Jim Gordon, and Harvey Dent were sitting together and having lunch.

"And so I told him 'Well it'll be great! You get to see all of your buddies again!'" Harvey told them before everyone started laughing.

"And the best part," Gordon spoke through his laughter, "Is when he accused YOU of being Batman!" He added on, laughing along with them as Bruce started to grow silent.

"... Hey, what's going on Bruce?" Harvey asked. "Alfred giving you a hard time?"

"You carry a lot on your shoulders cause of me Harvey." Bruce mentioned, quieting his voice so that they wouldn't be heard over the din of the restaurant.

"Bruce, now isn't the time for that." Gordon reminded, glaring at him. "We're here to celebrate."

"Besides, more eyes on me less on you." Harvey pointed out, keeping his jolly demeanor.

"How can you enjoy that, Harvey?" Bruce asked, his expression portraying even more worry and disbelief than his voice.

"Simple: because I have Lady Luck on my side." He pointed out, holding up his "lucky" coin. Bruce attempted to stare him down before sighing and leaning back.

"Never could argue with you, could I?" He asked, chuckling lightly as Gordon patted him on the shoulder.

"Stubborn goat wouldn't have it any other way." Gordon pointed out, starting to laugh.

"Hey! I'm still here!" Harvey reminded, laughing along.

"Sir, someone's on the phone for you." One of the waiters told Gordon, escorting him to the front.

"... Hey, Bruce." Harvey began to whisper. "With Cobblepot in Arkham and Falcone's guys in disarray, what do you expect will happen next?"

"No doubt Moroni's gonna try and fill in for those two." Bruce answered. "However, I got the feeling that there's some third party acting out in Arkham as is."

"Bruce, you know that place is legally untouchable." Harvey pointed out, a defeated sigh emitting from his lips before continuing. "Even if we had hard proof, good luck getting a judge to approve the case. Even if one did the jury probably wouldn't even care."

"Still, good people are locked up in there for no good reason." Bruce reminded. "Like former detective Nygma."

"Hey, Nygma's mob connections were just as bad as anyone else's, if not worse." Harvey pointed out, fiddling with his fork. "Only good person imprisoned there is that bookworm who used to work for the public library and Dr. Insley."

"You mean that environmentalist from the west coast?" Bruce asked, confused.

"Say what you will, she was the first person to realize what was going on." Harvey pointed out. "Maybe even sooner than either of us did."

"Still, its strange that she would be locked up. Amongst the other inmates even Eddy seems a bit out of place, but Dr. Insley?" Bruce's expression changed to one of curiosity. "Something strange is going on out there, Harvey, and I'm determined to find out what."

"You aren't just going to walk in there, are you?" Harvey asked, clearly worried.

"No, even for Batman that'd be too risky. Instead I'm going to see if I can draw attention to it." Bruce answered, already thinking up plans in his mind.

"How? Whatever happens there is completely disregarded by the public!" Harvey pointed out, sighing.

"What's going on?" Gordon asked as he returned to the table.

"Do you remember your time in Arkham that well, Gordon?" Harvey asked, turning to him.

"Only too well..." Gordon answered as he gazed at the table. There was only one other time when he'd give a face like that, and that was talking about his days in the military.

"I know you don't like to think about it, but mind explaining to us what happened?" Bruce asked, giving him an interested look.

20 YEARS AGO

Gordon, in his late teens at the time, had volunteered to help at Arkham Asylum to get him through college. The pay was better than he expected, but still not quite what he needed if he expected to get by without student loans. That, however, wasn’t what worried him. Asylum work required no training or qualifications. Anyone could do it, and it was dangerous.

Normally it might not be that bad, easy money, but this was Gotham. At the time super villains weren’t a thing, sure, but Arkham doubled as a convenient storage facility for anyone Falcone wanted to keep out of the public eye. Be it to take care of them through his own methods, or to keep them protected from any outside influence.

For the mob, Asylum went by both of it’s meanings: a safe place for their allies, and a veritable hell for its enemies. Such was the mafia politics that ruled Gotham City at the time. In that sense, anyone could end up there. Politicians, street thugs, business men. For a time Gordon even found a deranged clown who had killed his entire circus troupe.

“Can you believe this guy? I even let him make stuff for my kid once!” One of the guards mentioned as he explained the clown to Gordon on his first day. Eventually he was killed for lashing out against the guards, as they tend to do. However, this was one of few he would never forget.

“Jimmy…” The white face, “Jimmy…” Dead eyes, “Jimmy…!” And the twisted grin all made his skin crawl thinking about it years later. Sometimes he wonders if that monster is part of why he joined the military. Very little compared to it. However, one did.

The way they treated the legitimate patients, rather than mob goons who just needed a safe haven, was some of the most inhuman things he’s seen. Lobotomies, electrotherapy, sensory isolation, things he’d expect people to make horror stories about. In a sense, the doctors were more horrifying than the patients themselves. And since, to the public eye, Arkham was a quarantine for the scum of the world they could run any tests they wanted with next-to-no prior authorization. Just a signature from whoever was in charge at the time and the doctor’s had an almost endless slew of guinea pigs.

There were even times when the mafia would send their own men there as punishment for disobeying orders, cleverly disguised as concern for their injuries and/or mental health. Falcone, especially, kept his men on their toes by using it as both recovery and torment. Moroni was little better, but he had less swing than most.

Even though he was only there for one summer, he would never forget what transpired in that depraved place. He was sure - no, certain - that it could have only gotten worse. People cared less, criminals were brought in more, and science has evolved an “inconvenient” sense of morals for some.

PRESENT DAY

Some such as Dr. Jonathan Crane, world’s “leading” expert on fear. A man who has devoted his life to understanding terror and torment. Now, having given free reign by Dr. Hugo Strange, acting director of Arkham Asylum, he uses the inmates at Arkham as lab rats for his experiments.

Inmates such as the merciless mob don Oswald “The Penguin” Cobblepot, repeat cereal killer Victor Zsasz, crazed scientist Jervis “Mad Hatter” Tetch, and Arkham’s official director Jeremiah Arkham. He would use his fear gas to control and subdue them while picking apart their minds based on their fears.

Not everyone was nearly as bad, though. Dr. Harleen Quinzel, one of the most gifted psychiatrists in the country, was helping them with keeping each of the patients from snapping too hard. She honestly believed that she was trying to help them, but if they did fully recover then Crane would no longer have subjects to work with. Without subjects to work with science would stop. So, for the sake of science, he couldn’t let her do her work.

“Alright everyone, front of your cells.” Dr. Crane ordered over a mic. The armored glass plating made the inside of each cell soundproof, so an intercom had to be installed into each room so that the doctors may talk to them. Though each room had a door against the back wall that lead to a containment room in case a doctor needed to speak with them on a more personal level.

At the time he didn’t actually have anything lined up, nor did he feel the need to induce his fear toxins into anyone, but he could not let the inmates grow complacent. Still, the average check up tends to lead to the average otherwise unnecessary sedation.

“Alright, who let Lynns have matches?” He asked, as one of the more pyromaniacal inmates tried to set fire to his sheets. Dr. Crane shook his head and had the door opened so that some of the security could go in and take care of it. He knew that his fear toxins wouldn’t have worked in his favor against Garfield, so he’d rather let the staff do something for once.

Along his routes Dr. Insley was slamming her hands against the glass wall, trying to yell through it. Somehow her plants had already grown back to full size, and frankly this was becoming more obnoxious than it’s worth. Perhaps… yes, that’s what he’d do.

“Guards, have Lynns room with Dr. Insley for a while. And give him his matches back, will you?” He asked, chuckling to himself. As the door opened for the pyromaniac to be thrown in with the overglorified hippie. The moment the door closed and the guards left, however, he’d let some gas into the room. It was funny for him, watching the two freak out and Lynns frantically set the plants ablaze. He was just sad that he couldn’t hear their screams or fearful ranting, but that can be saved for another time.

And then came the most obnoxious one of them all: Selena Kyle. The girl had somehow cut out a circular hole in the glass plating big enough for her to poke her head through, and was gazing teasingly at Dr. Crane as she seemed to meow at him while he approached.

“It’s so boring in here, Doctor. I wanna go play outside!” She told him, bringing her head back in and popping her arm out to “paw” at him. “You NEVER give me any toys, either. Can’t a girl at least get some yarn to catch up on her knitting?”

“...Miss Kyle, you do understand how expensive those plates are, right?” He asked, entirely uninterested in her plight.

“Ooooh, don’t tell me you can’t afford more. Hey! I know! If you ever run low on your budget, I can go out and get some toys for us. It’d be easy, nobody else uses all the stuff they got.” She assured, her voice and motions incredibly friendly despite both parties knowing her hatred of being stuck in here.

“Miss Kyle, you know I can’t let you out. After all, between your kleptomania and your nymphomania it’d be dangerous for you to leave your cell.” Dr. Crane pointed out, trying to sound empathetic.

“Are you calling me a naughty little kitten, Doctor?” She asked, pulling her arm back in and popping her head out. She hated both of those things, and Dr. Crane saw no need to hold back his diagnosis. The hateful glare she gave him showed this fully, even if it hid behind a cute pout. Though Crane has started to hit his limit as to how much he could deal with her.

“That’s right, Miss Kyle,” He answered, putting on his mask. “A dirty. Little. Slut.” He answered, pushing her back into the room and spraying fear gas through the hole she had made. This time he could hear the screams, and with his mask he wouldn’t be affected by his own gas should it float back out of the room. Sure, to some it may just look like a burlap sack, but his careful modifications made it truly something more.

“N-No! Get away!” Selena screamed, quickly retreating to the back of her cell while slashing wildly with her claws. Crane stuck his head into the hole and gazed at her, a faint glow where one might normally put eye ports in the mask.

"What’s the matter, slut? I thought you enjoyed it.” He spoke to her, his normally-calm voice being distorted from the gas into that of a much more aggressive, dominant man.

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” She ordered, kicking at seemingly nothing. In her mind this kick would be delivered to someone, but since nobody was actually there it wouldn’t have done her any good.

“You said you were bored, I’m merely solving your problem!” He assured, bringing his hand into a claw-like manner and banging it against the glass plate. It’s normally soundproof seal having been broken, it would make a loud “bang” against it.

“Stop! Please!” Selena ordered, making a scared and reluctant mewling sound.

“Dr. Crane!” Harleen called from behind. Dr. Crane slowly turned his head towards her, closing his clawed hand a little, and then turned back to Selena.

"Lucky girl.” He stared blankly, walking towards his associate while taking off his mask. “How can I be of help to you, Dr. Quinzel?”

“You can start by leaving the poor girl alone.” She stated, pointing into the cell. Selena was still shaking and breathing heavily, ready to strike him. Her breath was also heavy and her face flushed, her eyes bouncing around her field of view in a paranoid manner.

“That? Oh, you know what this place is like. People sometimes just go crazy Dr. Quinzel.” Dr. Crane pointed out, shrugging it off.

“You’re doing something with them, Dr. Crane. And I’ll find out what, believe me.” She assured, storming down the hall. Dr. Crane merely chuckled to himself as he continued his check ups, but would have to keep tabs on her.

As she went down the halls Harleen found herself at the same cell she always did. The Ghost, as Dr. Strange called him. Jack had no past, no identification, and no resources. He had been staying here for the past few months as an over glorified holding cell until someone either took custody of him or they figured out who he was.

“Hey Jack.” She greeted warmly, sitting down in front of the cell. Holding cells were more traditional steel-bar types rather than having the glass plates. Some of them were more like dog kennels than anything else.

“Oh, hey Harley.” Jack greeted back after having focused back on the world around him. He always seemed to be tired for one reason or another, with bags underneath his droopy eyes and a somewhat vacant expression.

“Jack, please don’t call me that.” She told him, looking down a bit. She enjoyed the pet name, but she had to be a professional.

“Oh, sorry Doctor Quinzel.” He apologized, his head drooping back down a bit.

“We’ve made some progress on figuring out your past, given the military equipment you came in with, and I’ve been given permission to share my findings.” Dr. Quinzel explained, looking onto her clipboard. It gave her an excuse to hide any blush that may have appeared, anyhow.

“All you’ll find out is that they were registered to the US Army as an infantryman’s gear despite being nonstandard to any known military unit.” Jack pointed out, annoyed with the game they’ve been playing for a while.

“Actually, we’ve found out more than that.” She remarked, turning around the clipboard and showing a picture that would make his face pale. A single, black mask that looked like it was made out of burnt wood. It was warped and distorted, shaped into something maniacal and demented.

“...Get that away from me.” He ordered, reaching for a pistol he had hidden beneath the bed. “That man is DEAD!” He shouted, drawing it and chambering the first round in the blink of an eye.

“Jack, please calm down!” Harleen shouted back, turning away the clipboard. “Because of where you are I will overlook your weapon, but you have to stay calm.” She assured. Jack nodded and put away the gun, laying down on his bed.

“My apologies Dr. Quinzel. It won't happen again.” He assured, yawning out and rolling onto his side. “Anyways, I’m very tired if you don’t mind.” He told her, nuzzling his pillow.

“As you wish, Jack.” She replied, walking along the empty halls of the Asylum.

“Who was that, Alice?” A normally jolly voice asked from behind her. The Hatter used to spook her, but she’s gotten used to his strange way of travelling around.

“Oh, a new friend. His name is Jack.” She answered, turning around to meet the strange man.

“Oh, the Jack of Spades has came to join us?” He asked gleefully, taking a sip of his tea.

“No, Jervis. He’s just Jack.” She corrected, rolling her eyes.

“Well with the burns on him he reminded me of the spades.” Dr. Jervis remarked. He used to be one of the most brilliant minds in his field. His work was not unlike that of Strange or Crane, but his was more technological in nature. He would build machines to let him interact with the brain more directly. At one point Dr. Quinzel was even his primary assistant, but since his falling out she’d become more akin to a supervisor.

“What burns?” She asked, giving him a confused look.

“Oh, one night I saw him come in with burns all over his face, like he’d been fighting a dragon! Oh it was quite fearsome, I assure you! I even heard it roar, I did!” He explained, growing quite excited with her. Yes! It was true! Only a dragon could make such a sound, after all. And the roar of the flames! Oh, it was a sight that would make even the lofty Queen of Hearts hold herself in regal terror!

“I don’t remember ever seeing burns on his face…” Alice pointed out, folding her arms a bit in confusion. “Really Hatter, sometimes you sprout the strangest things.”

“Oh, perhaps he had something to clean it off… or, or maybe he painted his face white! Like you used to do with the roses! Wait, no, that was red…” The Hatter spoke. Oh how his memory escaped him. Gah! Why must some things keep getting confused!

“Jervis!” Dr. Quinzel nearly shouted to get his attention back. He quickly snapped back to her, looking confused.

“Oh, what was it Harleen?” He asked, his tone completely changing to that of a more scientific man. Truth was, Jervis wasn’t always the Hatter. Him and the Hatter, though the same person, could be depicted as two separate entities akin to Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. However unlike the other Doctor the Hatter was not merely the personification of his darkness, but instead merely the person he is once he lets go of the silly logic and science that holds the human world together.

"Thank you. You sounded like you had something to say about Jack.” She explained, handing him the notes she kept on the old soldier.

“Oh, yes. Well I’m sure he has some PTSD, however that only seems to be the very tip of his diagnosis. Additionally, he seems to be fighting off some sort of unusual MPD. I’d reckon that if brought into a situation too stressful his mind could very well unravel at the seams.” He pointed out, cracking a smile and taking a drink of his tea. “Just like mine!”

“So keep him away from Crane?” She asked, sighing at the loss of her mentor back to his delusions.

“Yes! The Jabberwocky must not be allowed near anyone! Especially not the Jack of Spades!” Hatter popped off, suddenly lowering himself to the ground and listening to the floor. “...do you hear that, Alice? Someone is approaching! Heavy footsteps!” He explained, taking her hand and darting off. “We must run!”

“Jervis! Wait!” Harleen called back to him as she was dragged along. It took her some of her strength, but she managed to pull him to a stop. “Jervis, what is going on?”

“Do you not hear it! The Jabberwocky is stomping this way!” He told her.

“Jervis, everything will be fine.” She assured. “It will NOT Alice! I assure you!” He told her, hopping away. “And if you are to stay and fight so be it! I am to make like a rabbit and hop out of here!” He explained, rushing off to whatever hole he used to travel along the asylum so conveniently.

“Dr. Quinzel.” Crane spoke as he caught up with her. “What was Dr. Jervis doing outside his cell?” He asked.

“I don’t know. It's hard to tell what kind of man he is these days.” She answered, turning to him. However, Crane was furious. He always was when it came to the Hatter, but this time more than ever. “Dr. Crane?”

“It seems that the only cure for Dr. Jervis is an extreme one. Dr. Quinzel, I must ask you to come with me. We have much work to be done.” He explain, grabbing her arm much more forcefully than before.

“Dr. Crane!” She shouted, trying to struggle free. Unfortunately, he was not as easily swayed as the Hatter.

“You may ask questions later. As I said, there is work to be done!”