Dr. Harleen F. Quinzel stared resolutely at the weathered lettering inscribed above the cold iron gates. She attempted to steel herself against the horrors that were likely awaiting her inside, but couldn't suppress the excitement fluttering in her stomach. She couldn't deny it- there was an element of glamor to the extreme personalities imprisoned within.

Dr. Quinzel recalled her uneventful sit-ins on patient sessions with the general public back in medical school. Twenty minutes into their sessions, she'd already pinpointed their diagnoses and formulated several approaches to treatment. She was always right, and she always tired of it quickly. The mind of a typical law-abiding citizen was like a nearly completed puzzle. Only a piece or two was missing.

Those sessions were hardly a worthwhile use of her time. Dr. Quinzel craved a challenge, and where better to seek it than at Arkham Asylum, home to criminal masterminds capable of outsmarting The Batman? She couldn't wait to play mental chess with such worthy opponents.

She couldn't wait to see the look on their faces when she beat them at their own game.

Dr. Quinzel took a deep breath, and pushed the gates open with all the confidence and gusto she could muster. The worn metal creaked in protest as it gave way to the strength generated by her athletic frame. She puffed her chest out, and swaggered up the path, ignoring the dread creeping through her extremities with each step.

XX

Dr. Pamela Lillian Isley leaned against the tiny window at the back of her cell, head resting on her folded arms, staring sadly at the decaying foliage decorating the dismal path to the asylum's entrance. The morning sun peeked shyly over the horizon, and Dr. Isley eagerly lifted her face to the few weak rays that filtered through the steel-framed, plexiglass window. A sudden glint of sun-on-briefcase drew her attention back to the courtyard, and she squinted to see the foolish human who had dared disturb her during breakfast.

Her gaze was met with long blond hair tied into a neat bun, large irises of a brilliant blue which were further magnified by rotund glasses, and an alarmingly wide smile. Dr. Isley shook her head, and smirked morbidly.

It was that time of the week again. A fresh meatbag was here to be fed to the ravenous animals that waited inside the asylum. Dr. Isley doubted the girl would last very long. The question wasn't if or when she'd be consumed. The question was: by whom?

Dr. Isley sighed, tore her eyes away from the chipper affect and arrogant stride of the pretty young doctor, and returned to her meager meal. Everything came to Arkham to die, including the spirits of countless newly minted psychiatrists, coasting on the high of their "success" in higher education. Those credentials may as well have been cow manure, for all the good they'd do in here. Actually, cow manure would be much more useful. It, at least, could be flung in the faces of the detestable cretins to her left and right. Dr. Isley pressed her palm morosely to the glass. As much as she tried to ignore them, the forlorn cries emanating from the browning foliage were unmistakable. The manure would have served them well.

Unfortunately, it wouldn't have done much for the lamb below, marching giddily to her slaughter.

XX

Dr. Quinzel studied the older doctor's face, which was tightening automatically as they approached what she'd called the "Super Max" wing. Her superior passed calmly through the full body scanner, visibly setting her jaw for the journey ahead. It was reminiscent of full body scanners at the airport, if said scanners happened to be on steroids. Dr. Quinzel's stomach twisted as she entered the dim hall. She glanced back, and noticed a plain white door, standing out in stark contrast to the dull stone wall. Above it was a large sign, which contained only two words:

DECONTAMINATION CHAMBER

Dr. Quinzel's mind raced, imaging all the possible reasons one of those could be included as part of the asylum's charming decor. She was snapped out of her reverie by a voice to her right. Dr. Quinzel looked down. Her legs appeared to be moving of their own accord.

"Dr. Quinzel, with your marks, you could have gone anywhere. Why did you come to Arkham Asylum?"

"I've always been fascinated by extreme personalities. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to study them in person."

"That's not what I meant. Why are you here? If you're just here to write a tell-all book, you may as well leave. These people can sense a scam coming a mile away. I'm serious, Dr. Quinzel. They'll eat you alive."

Writing a tell-all book? Not a bad idea for a get-rich-quick scheme. Clearly not a smart one, though.

"I assure you, Dr. Leland, I'm only here to help. Still, you can't deny there's an element of glamor to these super criminals."

Dr. Leland grimaced, shook her head, and pressed onward. She couldn't fathom the reckless enthusiasm of these new doctors. They all learned soon enough.

It was that time of the week again. She'd toss the baby bird from the nest, and hope it was strong enough to fly.

Dr. Leland put a finger to her lips as they approached the first row of glass-fronted cells. Most of the patients were still asleep, but a man in the third cell to the left was busying himself by licking and slobbering all over the glass, failing to acknowledge the two doctors. They passed silently through the passageway, until a sign the color of a yellow highlighter, with dark, bold red letters loomed up ahead.

**EXTREME DANGER**

THIS SECTOR CONTAINS HIGH PROFILE OFFENDERS AND META-HUMANS. DO NOT APPROACH INMATES, UNLESS INSTRUCTED. ALERT STAFF IMMEDIATELY IF YOU WITNESS SUSPICIOUS ACTIVITY.

Dr. Leland sighed, and rubbed her forehead. She glanced around the passageway warily, then turned to Dr. Quinzel.

"Well, I suppose I should introduce you to a few members of the unhappy family. Are you sure you're ready for this, Dr. Quinzel?"

Dr. Quinzel nodded eagerly, failing to fight the butterflies in her stomach and sudden surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins. Suddenly, she heard a boisterous, jubilant voice to her left, at the end of the hall. Dr. Quinzel felt like she was about to explode with nervous energy, but kept her face and posture neutral nonetheless.

Dr. Quinzel trailed closely behind Dr. Leland as they walked up to the cell in question. When she saw who was inside, the floor dropped out from under her, and her throat went dry.

His cold, malevolent eyes glittered wildly under the single lightbulb that served as the sole decoration in his cell. His mouth broke into a wide, deranged grin, his yellow teeth contrasting garishly with his unnaturally whitened skin. His shock of green hair was noticeably unkempt, and he regarded the cute blonde before him with the eerie stillness of a snake waiting to strike.

Dr. Quinzel didn't see any of that. Before her, there stood a moderately handsome man with an amused smile on his face.

"So nice of you to drop by, Joanie! Oooh, and you remembered to bring an appetizer to our party! Who might this tasty little treat be?"

Joker leered unabashedly at Dr. Quinzel.

Dr. Quinzel replied before Dr. Leland could open her mouth.

"Mr. Joker, I presume? I'm Dr. Harleen Quinzel, and I may very well be your doctor, one day. It would behoove you to treat me with the proper respect."

Joker smiled wanly in response.

"Harleen Quinzel? Reconfigure that a little, and you get Harley Quinn! Now, that's a name that puts a smile on my face."

Joker's resultant smile stretched his face.

Dr. Quinzel found it endearing, but grimaced all the same.

"Yes, I know, like harlequin, the pantomime performer. I've heard it before."

Joker nodded appreciatively.

"I suspect I'll be seeing a lot more of you, toots."

Dr. Quinzel raised an eyebrow.

"Perhaps."

Dr. Quinzel was about to turn away and continue down the hallway, when she felt someone's eyes boring through the back of her skull. She opted for a 180, instead.

If the floor had dropped out from under her when she first saw Joker, then the entire roof came crashing down on top of her now.

Carnivorous, verdant irises pinned her to the spot. For a moment, Dr. Quinzel felt like a fish out of water. Their electric luminosity threatened to reel her in, to envelop her, to swallow her whole. Not one to be easily deterred, Dr. Quinzel journeyed onward, and braved those treacherous depths. There was something behind that cold, predatory stare that she just had to see.

There it was. It was unmistakable. A spark of excitement, a surge of anticipation. Qualities mirrored in Dr. Quinzel's baby blues, when an unexpected challenge presented itself.

Needless to say, the woman's eyes were an entity on their own. The rest of her was just as immaculate.

Her long, fiery hair blazed in the soft morning light, cascading effortlessly around her shoulders. Her skin was the light green of a spring sapling. She was curvaceous in all the right places. Her features were perfectly symmetrical, even with pure rage roiling through them.

In her hands was a cute little pot, with a solitary, small yellow flower. The woman was gripping it so tight, little cracks were starting to form in the ceramic.

Jessica Rabbit of the Jungle.

Dr. Quinzel cleared her throat, and shifted her attention briefly to the wall adjacent to the mysterious green woman's cell, where a giant, triangular sign was plastered. It included both a biohazard symbol, and a skull and crossbones outlined by a red diamond.

BIOCHEMICAL HAZARD

Biosafety required before decontamination: LEVEL 4

Acute Oral Toxicity: CAT 1

Acute Dermal Toxicity: CAT 1

Acute Inhalation Toxicity: CAT 1

Biosafety required after decontamination: LEVEL 2

Acute Oral Toxicity: CAT 2

Acute Dermal Toxicity: CAT 3

Acute Inhalation Toxicity: CAT 4

WARNING

Fast acting, lethal toxins present in skin and bodily fluids. Toxins may also be projected in aerosol form. Do not approach inmate outside this containment cell without first completing mandatory safety training. Proceed with extreme caution at all times. Prolonged exposure to inmate may be fatal.

ANY EMPLOYEE THAT INTERACTS WITH THIS INMATE WITHOUT FOLLOWING PROPER PROTOCOL MUST REPORT TO THE BSL-4 DECONTAMINATION CHAMBER IMMEDIATELY.

So, thought Dr. Quinzel, that's why a mental health institution requires a decontamination chamber.

Dr. Quinzel could only conclude that this woman was an absolute knockout. In every sense of the word.

The toxic green woman analyzed Dr. Quinzel's reaction in dangerous silence as the blonde read the warning. When the woman finally spoke, her voice was full of venom.

"As you can see, it was incredibly unwise of you to flirt with my boyfriend, trollop. Do you have a death wish?"

Trollop? What is this, the 1940's?

Without missing a beat, Dr. Quinzel hardened her mouth into a thin line, doing her best to look stern.

"You look like a nice young woman. Is that any way to introduce yourself?"

Joker broke out in peals of laughter behind Dr. Quinzel.

"Oh, my harlequin, you couldn't be more wrong! Why, my lovely Pammy's only a little younger than yours truly! What's more, she's far naughtier than she is nice…if you know what I mean."

Joker winked when Dr. Quinzel glanced over at him.

Dr. Quinzel expected an outburst from "Pammy" at the insult, but none came. Instead, it was Dr. Leland that spoke next.

"And how old are you exactly, Mr. Joker?"

"Aw, Joanie, weren't you listening? Isn't that your job? I SAID Pammy's older than I am!"

Dr. Leland narrowed her eyes.

"No, you said she was younger, but not by much."

Joker smiled, and made a show of adopting a shocked expression.

"Really? So, you were listening! Oopsie, Joanie! I can never quite seem to remember! Point is, Jill-in-the-Pulpit over there is a certifiable cougar! Ha!"

Dr. Quinzel quirked an eybrow.

Cougar?

"Why Jill-in-the-Pulpit?"

A wide grin broke out on Joker's sharp visage, making his affect that much creepier. Dr. Quinzel didn't notice. All she saw was his glee.

"Isn't it obvious? As obvious as your name and your smile, my harlequin! I'm Jack-in-the-Box—

He pointed to his grin, and jumped.

-So, she's Jill-in-the-Pulpit!"

Joker opened his arms invitingly, and Dr. Quinzel couldn't stop the right side of her mouth from ticking upward. Joker noticed, and if possible, his conciliatory grin widened even more. Dr. Quinzel quickly corrected, changing her expression into what she hoped was an impassive scowl. She raised her clipboard, and pretended to take a judgmental note.

"Again, my name is Dr. Quinzel, Mr. Joker. You'll refer to me as such."

Joker shrugged, picked up a deck of cards, and leaned against the wall. He shuffled them noisily, his eyes now trained on the green woman across from him.

Dr. Quinzel turned slowly, expecting to be met with a red-and-green ball of fury. She couldn't hide her surprise when she realized the green woman's features had transitioned from livid to placid. A low chuckle escaped from her perfect lips.

Perfect lips? What the hell, Quinzel. She's a patient. Don't give her any power.

"Good one, Sunshine. You always manage to brighten my day with such delightful jokes."

Joker stopped shuffling his cards, smirked, and winked at her.

"Anything for you, poo. There's plenty more fertilizer where that came from!"

Dr. Leland crossed her arms. Gross. At this point, she could write an entire novel full of nothing but bad gardening puns.

"Yep, that about sums it up. Dr. Quinzel, this is Pamela Isley. She's also known as "Jester" and "Poison Ivy", but we refrain from reinforcing those identities. She's an…accomplice…to most of Joker's crimes, as well as a prolific criminal in her own right. She's a meta-human, and her physiology is vastly different from that of a typical human. Pamela here is essentially a transgenic hybrid- part plant, and part human, specifically. It's too complex to delve into now. You can read Batman's extensive report on her physiology in her case file."

Dr. Quinzel looked confusedly from Pamela's loving smile to Joker's smug posture. Pamela seemed to be too busy making goo goo eyes at Joker to register the fact that Dr. Leland was talking about her as though she wasn't there. On second thought, maybe she wasn't there.

This was the quandary Dr. Quinzel had been searching for. Truth be told, she had initially come to Arkham Asylum with the intent to tackle Joker's apparently "incurable" case. Now, all she could think about was the glimmer of enthusiasm hidden deep within those poisonous green eyes.

Pamela was the Gordian knot of mental illness, and Dr. Quinzel couldn't wait to make her unravel.

Not like that.

Dr. Quinzel felt a tractor beam on her face again, and glanced up. She'd been so deep in thought, she hadn't realized she'd been staring at the floor. Her first instinct was to turn to Joker, but she could feel the acid intensity burning a hole in her right cheek. Coming to a decision, she turned abruptly, marched up to the glass, and met the vibrant eyes that were now mere inches from her own.

Dr. Quinzel had expected the redhead to take a step back. She should have known better. Pamela merely raised an eyebrow.

"Yes?"

"Do you need something, Pamela? I'd be happy to call an orderly."

Ivy lidded her eyes seductively.

"What do you need, Harleen? I'd be happy to—

"That's enough, Ms. Isley."

Dr. Quinzel felt heat emanating from her cheeks, against her best efforts. She watched as Pamela contradictorily smiled in triumph and narrowed her eyes in anger, never breaking from their staring match.

"It's doctor. Dr. Isley. I have a PhD in botany and biochemistry; a fact I'm sure you must be aware of by now, Joan."

Dr. Leland just sighed and shook her head, looking thoroughly bored with the exchange.

"Pamela, Dr. Quinzel here will be your new doctor. She'll decide whether or not you'll get to enjoy outside rec time, and whether or not you'll be allowed to continue to have plants in your cell. You're a smart woman, Pamela. Do you really think your behavior will help your case?"

Dr. Quinzel's eyes widened in surprise. Had this been Dr. Leland's plan all along? Thankfully, Pamela wasn't paying attention, as that was the moment she finally swiveled to address Dr. Leland. She clutched the pot in her hands protectively to her chest. Her face contorted into a sneer. She was positively boiling over with rage.

Then, it was as though a switch had been flipped. She adopted a sickly sweet smile, turned to the back wall of her cell, and sauntered toward her tiny window, making sure Dr. Quinzel was watching. As much as she wanted to, as much as she knew she should, Dr. Quinzel just couldn't tear herself away from the exaggerated display.

Ivy settled herself on the bed, arranged herself in a pin-up model pose, and regarded Dr. Leland coldly before directing her attention again to Dr. Quinzel. She calmly stroked the delicate petals of the small flower in her pot.

"Very well. Seems you owe Joan a favor, Daffodil. Walking away after entertaining me is a privilege. Most humans don't."

Daffodil? A condescending nickname. Pamela, be more predictable, won't you?

Dr. Quinzel did her best not to shrink too much under Pamela's searing gaze. Instead of trying to intimidate as before, she seemed to be sizing up the young doctor, formulating a strategy, a plan of attack.

It was clear she thought she had the upper hand. Now was the time to knock her off balance.

"You know, Pamela, I doubt it's ever worth it."

Ivy propped herself up on her elbow, and tilted her head so her hair fell over her shoulder. Dr. Quinzel suppressed a shudder.

"Oh, it's always worth it, Daffodil. You aren't curious, are you?" Ivy gave her a knowing wink.

"Absolutely not. Want to know why?"

"Do tell."

"You're all flash and no substance, Pamela. I've known you for ten minutes, and it's so obvious, it's impossible not to notice. Besides, I've got it on good authority that you're a disappointing lay."

Ivy's self-assured smirk faded into a frown, and her eyebrows knitted together. It was the first genuine expression Dr. Quinzel had received throughout this entire exchange. Pamela glared accusatorily at "Sunshine", who was nearly in tears from attempting to hold in his laughter.

"Don't look at me, rose bud. That's a woman who knows what she wants, and apparently, it ain't you!"

By the time Ivy opened her mouth to deliver a scathing retort to Dr. Quinzel, the two visiting doctors were already halfway to the exit.

Dr. Quinzel stalked away, head held high, as howls of laughter echoed around the passage. She beamed, a spring in her step.

Dr. Leland looked at Dr. Quinzel out of the corner of her eye, rather impressed that the bubbly greenhorn managed to put the domineering meta-human in her place.

She just might survive her first day.

XX

Ivy ground her teeth together, cradling her daffodil, fuming as she heard the door to the exit click behind the doctors. The lamb had quite a nasty kick.

None of this would matter in a few weeks' time. She and her Sunshine had found their ticket out of here. She'd planted the seeds, and they were already germinating. She'd tend them dutifully, and reap the benefits come fall.

It will be a bountiful harvest.