He’d been renamed as patient #4479. An attempt to strip him of his individuality, no doubt. That’s all they ever wanted at Arkham. To take the things you hold most dear- your pride, dignity, self respect. Even your name. It was torture and brainwashing in the name of goodwill. In Joker’s case, they even stole his face.
And so he sat there in solitary confinement. 5 feet of concrete surrounding him on all sides. The steel doors bolted shut from the outside. And no makeup. Doctors and psychiatrists passed through occasionally, sticking him with needles and forcing pills down his throat to wash away the insanity. To make him “better.” More like to keep him so doped up he can barely dress himself. After all, a criminally insane clown stoned off his ass has no chance of escaping. Right?
Wrong.
Joker had one chance. And even through his drug induced stupor, he could recognize a perfect escape plan from a mile away.
Her name is Dr. Harleen Quinzel.
“Hello… Hello!… Hello..?” she paced almost nervously in the hallway outside of the designated patient therapy cell that had been assigned her session with a madman by the name of “The Joker”. She had met him only once through a plated, plexi-glass cell door, but he had intrigued her in more ways than one. Now, three months later, she had managed to set up a therapy session and he was her first aside from clinical hours needed in college.
Needless to say she was nervous and, though she knew he was waiting in the room with a guard and a camera rolling already, she paced outside the door for a good 15 minutes mustering up the confidence to walk in.
“My name is Dr. Harleen Quinzel. I will be your psychologist from here, henceforth.” when she finally stepped through the door, the heels of her shoes clicked on the concrete floor. “Patient #4479, otherwise known as the Joker. Session one.” sitting herself down and enunciating her words clearly for the microphone recording their session, she turned sharp, blue eyes over the table to the naked, scarred face of an otherwise handsome man.
The hazel of his eyes caught her…
“How are you today?” she asked.
They’d toned down the drugs because they knew he’d be having company but his head was still a bit foggy. He just sat there for a moment trying to recover from a dizzy spell and not puke on the camera. His jaw clenched at her words, the palms of his hands- before spread out flat on the cold steel of the table- balled up into tight fists and withdrew to his lap. Leg bouncing nervously, he snapped his gaze to hers.
Baby blue.
And he could see the fear in them. She was scared out of her wits though her face told a different story. It was hard and sullen. Like she was trying to be overly professional to make up for a lack of qualifications and experience. He found her weakness.
“So you’re the new girl…”
And hit her right where it hurt.
His comment, though it didn’t catch her off guard, caused her to pause and she fixed her gaze on him.
“I hardly think that’s any of your concern.” she said coolly and flipped the folder holding his information open. Removing the paperclip holding the packet of information together. “Tell me about yourself… Why do you do the things you do?”
