"Oh, baby, beggin' you to save me.

Well, lately, I like 'em crazy.

Oh, and baby, you could devastate me.

Little lady, come and fade me."

- Halsey, Hurricane

Prologue

With one hand pressed against the cool metal of the door in front of her, Harleen Quinzel exhaled shakily and bowed her head, eyes shut tight. Her other hand, clammy and trembling, gripped tattered files and an empty notebook, bound together with a pink rubber band. Thick rimmed glasses slipped further down her delicate nose.

On the door, just above her fingertips, was a thin plaque that read: THERAPY ROOM 419B

This was it. She had made it. She should be excited, elated, thrilled out of her mind!

Sweaty and sick to her stomach, Harleen instead fought off an anxiety attack and let her mind travel back to yesterday morning.

A mandatory meeting had been held in Arkham Asylum's main conference room, bright and early. All of the doctors and interns of the ward gathered together with sleepy eyes and large cups of coffee, with only one serious topic to be addressed: Joker, their resident psychopathic clown.

"As I'm sure most of you can deduce, we lost another damn psychiatrist," grumbled Jeremiah Arkham, who adjusted his glasses further up his long, crooked nose. He was a tall, gaunt man with thin red hair and hollowed cheeks. A permanent frown pulled at his thin lips.

They all understood his frustration. This had been the fifth psychiatrist to quit this year.

It was only April.

Lifting a clipboard, he read the memo, "Doctor Shannon Grey has resigned. Stated that Joker is, quote, incorrigible and deranged." Slamming the clipboard down on the table, Arkham stood and glared at his employees who had jumped at the sharp noise. "No shit. He's a sociopath, an inmate. A grown man who has killed for sport. Not some troubled teen who needs generic Zoloft and a pat on the head."

Standing at the head of the long conference table, Arkham let his beady eyes scan the room. He scratched at the uneven stubble on his cheek as he spoke, irritated. "If it were up to me, I'd throw Joker in max and leave him there to rot. But as you all know, state law demands equal treatment for the criminally insane and therefore monitored therapy sessions."

A long, impatient inhale through his nose. "So again, I ask for what I am hoping to be the very last time," Arkham dragged out angrily, his voice low and threatening, "Do I have any takers to adequately tend to this son of a bitch? Somebody looking to stay employed here for more than a damn week?"

Silence settled thick in the air. Most everyone averted their gazes to their hands, their coffees, the wall. Anywhere but him. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Arkham was growing impatient.

And then, from the back of the room, Harleen raised her hand and squeaked before she lost her nerve, "I'll…I'll do it?"

Arkham lifted his head a little and squinted at the blonde. Ah, the new girl. Harriet something-or-other. Just graduated, terribly inexperienced. He let out a humorless laugh and let his gaze drop again to the certified doctors in front of him.

"Very funny. Somebody qualified better speak up soon, or I'll pull a name out of my ass and fire them on the spot."

Lips parting, Harleen felt her cheeks burn at being so carelessly dismissed and cleared her throat, this time speaking louder and with confidence. "I wasn't kidding. Let me take Joker, sir. I can handle him."

All eyes on her now. Hushed laughter. Whispers. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears at all of the unwanted attention.

Arkham grunted and looked around one last time, visibly disappointed before he picked up a thick stack of files and trudged his way to the back of the room. Towards her.

Oh, Lord. What had she done?

Eyes widening, Harleen felt herself straighten as he approached her. Her chair creaked awkwardly as she shifted and she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Arkham loomed over her, bony shoulders hunched now, and unceremoniously dropped the files onto her lap. "You start tomorrow. Last a month with him and I'll hire you full-time," he challenged, and some of the interns seated nearby gasped quietly, jealous now and full of regret.

Speechless, Harleen gaped at the files, then back up at him, jaw slack with shock, "I…thank you, Doctor, I-I won't disappoint you, I guarantee my best work and I am sure that with time I can—"

"Whatever. You're all dismissed. Get back to work." And with that, Arkham slunk back to his office.

At his instruction, everybody began to file out of the room, most of them glancing back at Harleen before they left. Like they were trying to memorize her face before she inevitably disappeared.

"Good luck, Quinzel," spat one of the male interns, clapping her on the back just a little too hard. He was clearly bitter about her new opportunity and had stayed behind to taunt her. Harleen winced and leaned away away from him. It wasn't her fault that he didn't have the balls to speak up.

He bent forward to hiss in her ear, his hand curled tightly around her shoulder, "I heard he used to skin people alive. Men, women. Children. Wore their faces like Halloween masks. Burned their corpses. But hey, I'm sure he'll love you, hotness."

As he left, Harleen paled and looked down at the rumpled files, dirty from being passed down from person to person, and nearly pissed herself at the reality of the labelled heading.

PATIENT 0801: "JOKER"

Shaking her head and snapping back to reality, Harleen looked at her watch. 3:54. She was running out of time.

Digging into her white lab coat, she pulled out the plastic key card and swiped it. A small light beside the lock flickered from red to green before she pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside.

Wow, was it dark.

To her left she fumbled for the light switch and flipped it up. Nothing. Huh. She jimmied with it for a moment but it zapped her fingertips and she yelped, backing away into the darkness of the room.

"Yeesh…"

Squinting, she padded her way over to what seemed to be a window and opened the blinds, coughing through the falling dust as her eyes adjusted to the sunlight. It was starting to rain.

Turning back, Harleen looked around the now illuminated room and immediately wrinkled her nose in distaste.

There wasn't much to it. One metal table bolted to the center of the room. On either side of it, two cheap plastic chairs that reminded her of high school. One with cuffs and chains, the other without. Both bolted as well. To her left, a rusted file cabinet holding nothing. A very dead potted plant was placed on top.

Grimacing, Harleen placed her files onto the table and tossed the plant into the waste basket. That would have been dreadful to look at. Not that it helped very much. The brick walls were covered with peeling white paint and the room smelled like moth balls.

She wondered if all of the rooms looked like this. Or maybe this was some sort of prank.

Harleen lifted her watch again. 3:57. Her pulse spiked and she scurried over to the table again, heels clicking against the concrete floors. Sitting down, she squirmed and shifted in her seat in an attempt to find a comfortable position, but that was a lost cause. Instead, she spent her final moments opening her notebook, writing the date at the top, and cleaning her reading glasses on the hem of her black skirt.

Clink. Shuffle. Clink. Shuffle.

Nervous blue eyes shot up to stare at the door. They were approaching. His ankles must be shackled. The shuffling grew louder, followed by a low, mischievous giggle that made Harleen feel faint.

Two loud knocks. Another giggle. A gruff shut up, from one of the security guards.

Willing herself not to pass out, Harleen put her glasses back on, fixed her hair one last time, and responded, "Come in."

And then, there he was. Patient 0801, name unknown, offering Harleen a lazy, silver grin that had her reeling.

"Now, now… aren't you a sight for sore eyes."

Thank you for reading. Will update soon. Reviews are welcomed.