Title: Project: Arkham, part 1.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. All characters belong to DC and Warner Brothers except Dr. Fredericks and no one probably wants to use him anyway.
Notes: I wrote this to explain the difference in some of the Rogue's appearance between "Batman: The Animated Series," and "The New Batman Adventures." I tend to switch freely between the characters real names and their criminal aliases so I hope it won't be too confusing. Also, the poetry included at the beginning of each chapter is meant to complement the story as in a song-fic. Enjoy.
******************
"Much Madness is divinest Sense
To a discerning Eye
Much Sense-the starkest Madness
'Tis the Majority
In this, as All, prevail
Assent-and you are sane
Demur-you're straightway dangerous
And handled with a chain."
Emily Dickinson
*****
Jeremiah Arkham regarded the gray-haired man sitting across from him with a skeptical glare. Dr. Wilhelm Fredericks, the latest psychiatrist to show up at Arkham with a "sure-fire" cure for it's inhabitants, reacted to the glare by smiling wider and pushing his papers across the desk to Arkham. He was a medium-sized man in his early 60's who appeared perfectly normal and congenial but there was something about him that Arkham found irritating. He'd developed a certain sixth-sense about others in his years working at Arkham and this man was setting it off. The man's credentials were impressive and verified but some of the best psychiatrists in the world had passed through the asylum's front doors confident they had some miracle treatment only to leave in abject failure.
"I realize you must be skeptical about my claims, Mr. Arkham, but if you'll just look at my past studies, you should see that I've had several successes in treating severely mentally ill individuals." Fredericks smoothly accented remark was spoken in a very condescending manner but Arkham took the papers anyway. The man might be irritating but if there was any chance he could succeed, then he would be given that chance. Jeremiah Arkham sincerely wanted to help his charges and it had been this sincerity that had led to problems in the past. He didn't want another Harley Quinn or Lyle Bolton on his conscience just because he was so desperate for success that he let someone get away with too much.
To his surprise, the papers were very well-done and thorough. They had been published in Fredericks native Germany in a number of prestigious medical journals. Everything appeared in order and according to the articles, Fredericks had if not always cured, at least grounded the manias of many mentally ill patients through an experimental treatment involving drugs and physical therapy. It all sounded plausible enough to Arkham. Maybe he'd been wrong about Fredericks. Just because the man was arrogant didn't mean he was incompetent.
"This is all very impressive Dr. Fredericks, but what exactly do you plan to do at Arkham? You've treated passive patients who were only a danger to themselves but here we specialize in dangerous and homicidal inmates who you wouldn't be allowed to interact with in the same way as your previous treatments. I need to know exactly what you plan before I can give my assent."
"I understand the difficulties inherent in working at Arkham but my plan is to start off with a small group of inmates. If the therapy shows signs of working I can expand the number but all I would require at first is to place this group of selected inmates in a secluded area where I can work with them on a daily basis without outside influences and a small contingent of guards to stand by in case anything goes wrong. You would be free to monitor my progress or halt it at any time, of course. I just want to help these poor people get better."
Arkham tried not to roll his eyes at the man's earnest expression but he couldn't see anything wrong with the plan. There was a secluded medical wing that could be converted for Fredericks use and if Arkham didn't like any part of it, he could shut it down. If it worked as well as the articles suggested, Fredericks might very well be able to help some of the inmates.
"I'm inclined to say yes but first I want to know who you plan to include in your initial group. I simply can't allow you access to someone like the Joker who is an expert at manipulating his doctors. Nor can I allow you any of the Class 3 inmates such as Killer Croc and Blockbuster who are too dangerous for you to handle freely."
"I wouldn't dream of starting with such inmates. I took the liberty of making a list. I think five would be a good number to start with and these would be the ones I think would respond best to my treatment."
Arkham took the offered piece of paper and read the list of names silently. They were all reasonable picks and he could see no reason to refute them so sighing gently, he handed the paper back and nodded to a delighted Fredericks.
"Very well Dr. Fredericks, you can begin your treatments as soon as possible."
*****
One week later..
Edward Nygma sat down at the computer in the lounge with a feeling of anticipation. The techs had installed a bunch of new games on the computers including several puzzle and word games a few days ago and he was having fun playing them, especially the progressive ones. His high scores were already unbeatable by anyone else at Arkham but he could still try and beat them himself. There were several computers, none of which were occupied as he sat down. The inmates weren't allowed Internet access except under supervision because of the possibilities for contacting others to assist them in an escape but there were plenty of games to keep them amused.
There was barely anyone in the lounge except Killer Croc who was watching some nature show on TV and the Mad Hatter sitting quietly in a corner with his nose in a book as usual. That was good because Riddler hated it when it was crowded or noisy which it usually was when Joker was around. The clown didn't care who he upset as long as he was having fun and his idea of fun usually involved other people getting hurt or embarrassed. Content that he would be undisturbed, he launched into a marathon of gameplay. He was so engrossed in playing that he barely noticed when Scarecrow was led into the lounge. As he unscrambled numerous cryptograms, Jonathon Crane began arguing loudly with Killer Croc.
"But I insist you change the channel! The 'X-Files' is coming on and they're showing my favorite episode, 'Blood.'"
"No way. This is a brand-new episode of 'Croc Hunter,' and I ain't missin' it for somethin' you already seen a hundred times."
"Oh please, what is your fascination with watching that dim-witted Australian wrestle your slightly-more advanced cousins?"
"I'm studyin' his moves so if he ever comes after me, I can take him down. Now quit yer whinin' or got lost."
"Why you overgrown handbag, I'll..."
The argument continued behind him as the guards kept an eye on the two but Nygma wasn't listening. He'd just passed his previous high score and was well on his way to a new record when a new group of guards walked in. They walked over to the commanding officer and whispered something to him. He looked bored as he waved a hand at them in agreement.
"Nygma, Crane, Tetch. The three of you are going with these men. On your feet now." Tetch looked up from his book in confusion and Crane tensed as the guards came to handcuff him in preparation for the move but Nygma was so intent on his game that he didn't even hear the guard until he was hauled to his feet and the computer turned off which meant his high score was now lost.
"What the hell...? I just got here and you made me lose." He glared at the burly guard who was obviously not impressed as he twisted Riddler's arms behind him and attached the cuffs. Crane began protesting as well.
"This is unacceptable! I'm owed an hour of lounge time and I don't see
why I should..." The other guard shoved him towards the door cutting him off as he stumbled and almost fell. He glared at the guard but offered no further resistance as he was led along with a fuming Nygma and a seemingly, unconcerned Tetch.
Nygma's mind worked frantically as the guards led them to an unfamiliar section of Arkham. He didn't recognize any of the guards but that was hardly surprising. The turnover rate for staff at Arkham was quite high. But something about this whole situation made him uneasy. He didn't know where they were going or why and he didn't like questions unless he was the one asking them. He glanced over at Crane and the lanky man rolled his eyes and mouthed "2's," at him. Riddler bit back his snort of laughter.
He and Crane sometimes had discussions about various topics. Scarecrow was quite intelligent although his intellect couldn't compare to Nygma's but it was still enough to hold his own in a conversation. They had once got into a talk about the staff at Arkham and Crane had explained his theory about the three types that worked here. Type 1's were ingratiatingly helpful and cheerful. They acted as though they were the inmate's best friend and for this reason they never lasted long. Harleen Quinzel had been a Type 1 and look where it had gotten her. Type 2's were overly aggressive, even bullying as they tried to intimidate the inmates with their bluster. They tended to be large, over-muscled men like the guards currently dragging them towards their unknown destination. Lyle Bolton had been an extreme Type 2 but bluster usually didn't work well on inmates who faced the Bat on a regular basis. Type 3's were passive, remote and uncaring. They treated the inmates like pieces of meat and didn't let anything get to them. They lasted longer than the other two.
They were led to a remote wing that looked newly renovated. The guards paused at a door and one of them unlocked it with a key. The three inmates were roughly shoved through the open door to a snarl of anger from Crane who hated being pushed around. They were in a large, well-lit laboratory with five hospital beds and various medical equipment placed around the perimeter. In the center were six chairs, five in a row with one facing the others. Two of the chairs were already occupied by an irritated Pamela Isley, aka Poison Ivy and a nervous Arnold Wesker, the Ventriloquist. The opposite chair was occupied by a tall, calm, gray-haired man wearing a lab coat. He got to his feet and greeted them with a wide smile.
"Will we join the dance?" Tetch asked rhetorically as they were forced into the three remaining chairs and strapped down at the wrists and ankles. This was unusual as most medical or psych sessions only required handcuffs. Something different was happening here and Riddler couldn't figure it out. Group therapy usually didn't work well at Arkham and this seemed like an awful lot of preparation just for a psychiatric session.
The unfamiliar doctor smiled wider at their obvious confusion. Scarecrow and Poison Ivy were glaring at him. Ventriloquist was huddled in his chair, quite harmless and lost without Scarface's presence. The Mad Hatter was staring off into space, humming to himself while Riddler simply looked at him narrow-eyed as he contemplated the situation.
"Good afternoon to you all. I'm Dr. Wilhelm Fredericks and I've chosen the five of you to participate in a unique therapeutic endeavor."
"Lucky us." Crane replied sarcastically. Dr. Fredericks inclined his head in Crane's direction.
"Yes, I assumed you would be especially thrilled, Dr. Crane. After all, you can probably best appreciate my efforts. The five of you have been chosen because I think all of you have the best chance of responding to my treatments. When I'm successful, you will be joined by other inmates. And now for the first step..."
Riddler was bored now that the mystery had been resolved so quickly. Fredericks was just another quack that Arkham had allowed to come in and treat the inmates. It had happened many times and they were still all here and those doctors were gone. This doctor had the oozing charms of a motivational speaker but he would be about as successful as the woman who had tried to use toys and stuffed animals as therapy to release their "inner child's." That had lasted until Wesker, in desperate Scarface-withdrawal, had stolen several of them and made new puppets. The resulting chaos, as four new personalities tried to battle for control of Wesker's psyche and the inmates made bets as to which one would win, had ended that doctor's career at Arkham.
Fredericks pulled a supply tray towards them. On it lay five syringes and a bottle of amber-colored liquid. The guards came forward to hold each one of them down as they were injected starting with the Ventriloquist. Tetch and Wesker offered no resistance. Crane struggled a little but he was easily restrained by the guards. Pamela Isley stared icily at the doctor as she was injected but affected outward calm. Nygma shrugged and let himself be injected. It wasn't like he wasn't used to being injected with strange drugs. It was standard activity at Arkham.
The guards stepped back and Fredericks carefully put the supplies away.
He turned around and regarded them again but this time the smile was gone and he was studying the five of them as though waiting for something to happen. Minutes ticked by without the doctor saying anything or moving a muscle other than the way his eyes flicked back and forth between each of them. Nygma felt that stir of unease again. Wesker suddenly sat up straight and looked around him with an air of bewilderment. Fredericks eyes fastened on him.
"What's going on? I can't hear Mr. Scarface anymore. I'm, I'm...alone." Wesker's voice cracked and then he began weeping and shivering in the chair. Ivy was acting up now, shrinking back in the restraints and looking confused.
"Everything's so...dead in here. I'm surrounded by death. Can't get away from it." There was panic in her voice and Crane might have started to gloat if he hadn't started to shake just then. Within seconds he was in the middle of what looked like a seizure, his body slamming against his restraints as he shrieked mindlessly. The guards stood impassively, not moving to help in any way. Tetch hadn't moved at all next to Nygma and after a minute he realized that the Mad Hatter was simply frozen, staring at something only he could see. He was whispering something repeatedly and Nygma strained to hear before finally making out, "off with his head, off with his head, off with..."
"What did you do to them?" The Riddler demanded, sweat starting to trickle down his back as he wondered when he was going to start acting like them.
"The drug affects everyone differently, Mr. Nygma. It works on each person's unique brain chemistry and certainly the inmates here have VERY unique brains. But rest assured, just because the effects haven't happened for you yet doesn't mean that they won't. It's only a matter of time."
Nygma's mind worked frantically trying to figure a way out without success and then suddenly everything was too frantic. Light seemed to explode in brilliant colors in front of his eyes. His mind was bombarded with information as though a crowd of people were shouting questions at him. "What is the capital of Mauritania?" "What is the atomic weight of cesium?" "In what year did Edgar Allen Poe die?" He screamed silently trying to block out the noise and only had time to recognize that it was Batman's voice barking the questions at him before everything went mercifully dark.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. All characters belong to DC and Warner Brothers except Dr. Fredericks and no one probably wants to use him anyway.
Notes: I wrote this to explain the difference in some of the Rogue's appearance between "Batman: The Animated Series," and "The New Batman Adventures." I tend to switch freely between the characters real names and their criminal aliases so I hope it won't be too confusing. Also, the poetry included at the beginning of each chapter is meant to complement the story as in a song-fic. Enjoy.
******************
"Much Madness is divinest Sense
To a discerning Eye
Much Sense-the starkest Madness
'Tis the Majority
In this, as All, prevail
Assent-and you are sane
Demur-you're straightway dangerous
And handled with a chain."
Emily Dickinson
*****
Jeremiah Arkham regarded the gray-haired man sitting across from him with a skeptical glare. Dr. Wilhelm Fredericks, the latest psychiatrist to show up at Arkham with a "sure-fire" cure for it's inhabitants, reacted to the glare by smiling wider and pushing his papers across the desk to Arkham. He was a medium-sized man in his early 60's who appeared perfectly normal and congenial but there was something about him that Arkham found irritating. He'd developed a certain sixth-sense about others in his years working at Arkham and this man was setting it off. The man's credentials were impressive and verified but some of the best psychiatrists in the world had passed through the asylum's front doors confident they had some miracle treatment only to leave in abject failure.
"I realize you must be skeptical about my claims, Mr. Arkham, but if you'll just look at my past studies, you should see that I've had several successes in treating severely mentally ill individuals." Fredericks smoothly accented remark was spoken in a very condescending manner but Arkham took the papers anyway. The man might be irritating but if there was any chance he could succeed, then he would be given that chance. Jeremiah Arkham sincerely wanted to help his charges and it had been this sincerity that had led to problems in the past. He didn't want another Harley Quinn or Lyle Bolton on his conscience just because he was so desperate for success that he let someone get away with too much.
To his surprise, the papers were very well-done and thorough. They had been published in Fredericks native Germany in a number of prestigious medical journals. Everything appeared in order and according to the articles, Fredericks had if not always cured, at least grounded the manias of many mentally ill patients through an experimental treatment involving drugs and physical therapy. It all sounded plausible enough to Arkham. Maybe he'd been wrong about Fredericks. Just because the man was arrogant didn't mean he was incompetent.
"This is all very impressive Dr. Fredericks, but what exactly do you plan to do at Arkham? You've treated passive patients who were only a danger to themselves but here we specialize in dangerous and homicidal inmates who you wouldn't be allowed to interact with in the same way as your previous treatments. I need to know exactly what you plan before I can give my assent."
"I understand the difficulties inherent in working at Arkham but my plan is to start off with a small group of inmates. If the therapy shows signs of working I can expand the number but all I would require at first is to place this group of selected inmates in a secluded area where I can work with them on a daily basis without outside influences and a small contingent of guards to stand by in case anything goes wrong. You would be free to monitor my progress or halt it at any time, of course. I just want to help these poor people get better."
Arkham tried not to roll his eyes at the man's earnest expression but he couldn't see anything wrong with the plan. There was a secluded medical wing that could be converted for Fredericks use and if Arkham didn't like any part of it, he could shut it down. If it worked as well as the articles suggested, Fredericks might very well be able to help some of the inmates.
"I'm inclined to say yes but first I want to know who you plan to include in your initial group. I simply can't allow you access to someone like the Joker who is an expert at manipulating his doctors. Nor can I allow you any of the Class 3 inmates such as Killer Croc and Blockbuster who are too dangerous for you to handle freely."
"I wouldn't dream of starting with such inmates. I took the liberty of making a list. I think five would be a good number to start with and these would be the ones I think would respond best to my treatment."
Arkham took the offered piece of paper and read the list of names silently. They were all reasonable picks and he could see no reason to refute them so sighing gently, he handed the paper back and nodded to a delighted Fredericks.
"Very well Dr. Fredericks, you can begin your treatments as soon as possible."
*****
One week later..
Edward Nygma sat down at the computer in the lounge with a feeling of anticipation. The techs had installed a bunch of new games on the computers including several puzzle and word games a few days ago and he was having fun playing them, especially the progressive ones. His high scores were already unbeatable by anyone else at Arkham but he could still try and beat them himself. There were several computers, none of which were occupied as he sat down. The inmates weren't allowed Internet access except under supervision because of the possibilities for contacting others to assist them in an escape but there were plenty of games to keep them amused.
There was barely anyone in the lounge except Killer Croc who was watching some nature show on TV and the Mad Hatter sitting quietly in a corner with his nose in a book as usual. That was good because Riddler hated it when it was crowded or noisy which it usually was when Joker was around. The clown didn't care who he upset as long as he was having fun and his idea of fun usually involved other people getting hurt or embarrassed. Content that he would be undisturbed, he launched into a marathon of gameplay. He was so engrossed in playing that he barely noticed when Scarecrow was led into the lounge. As he unscrambled numerous cryptograms, Jonathon Crane began arguing loudly with Killer Croc.
"But I insist you change the channel! The 'X-Files' is coming on and they're showing my favorite episode, 'Blood.'"
"No way. This is a brand-new episode of 'Croc Hunter,' and I ain't missin' it for somethin' you already seen a hundred times."
"Oh please, what is your fascination with watching that dim-witted Australian wrestle your slightly-more advanced cousins?"
"I'm studyin' his moves so if he ever comes after me, I can take him down. Now quit yer whinin' or got lost."
"Why you overgrown handbag, I'll..."
The argument continued behind him as the guards kept an eye on the two but Nygma wasn't listening. He'd just passed his previous high score and was well on his way to a new record when a new group of guards walked in. They walked over to the commanding officer and whispered something to him. He looked bored as he waved a hand at them in agreement.
"Nygma, Crane, Tetch. The three of you are going with these men. On your feet now." Tetch looked up from his book in confusion and Crane tensed as the guards came to handcuff him in preparation for the move but Nygma was so intent on his game that he didn't even hear the guard until he was hauled to his feet and the computer turned off which meant his high score was now lost.
"What the hell...? I just got here and you made me lose." He glared at the burly guard who was obviously not impressed as he twisted Riddler's arms behind him and attached the cuffs. Crane began protesting as well.
"This is unacceptable! I'm owed an hour of lounge time and I don't see
why I should..." The other guard shoved him towards the door cutting him off as he stumbled and almost fell. He glared at the guard but offered no further resistance as he was led along with a fuming Nygma and a seemingly, unconcerned Tetch.
Nygma's mind worked frantically as the guards led them to an unfamiliar section of Arkham. He didn't recognize any of the guards but that was hardly surprising. The turnover rate for staff at Arkham was quite high. But something about this whole situation made him uneasy. He didn't know where they were going or why and he didn't like questions unless he was the one asking them. He glanced over at Crane and the lanky man rolled his eyes and mouthed "2's," at him. Riddler bit back his snort of laughter.
He and Crane sometimes had discussions about various topics. Scarecrow was quite intelligent although his intellect couldn't compare to Nygma's but it was still enough to hold his own in a conversation. They had once got into a talk about the staff at Arkham and Crane had explained his theory about the three types that worked here. Type 1's were ingratiatingly helpful and cheerful. They acted as though they were the inmate's best friend and for this reason they never lasted long. Harleen Quinzel had been a Type 1 and look where it had gotten her. Type 2's were overly aggressive, even bullying as they tried to intimidate the inmates with their bluster. They tended to be large, over-muscled men like the guards currently dragging them towards their unknown destination. Lyle Bolton had been an extreme Type 2 but bluster usually didn't work well on inmates who faced the Bat on a regular basis. Type 3's were passive, remote and uncaring. They treated the inmates like pieces of meat and didn't let anything get to them. They lasted longer than the other two.
They were led to a remote wing that looked newly renovated. The guards paused at a door and one of them unlocked it with a key. The three inmates were roughly shoved through the open door to a snarl of anger from Crane who hated being pushed around. They were in a large, well-lit laboratory with five hospital beds and various medical equipment placed around the perimeter. In the center were six chairs, five in a row with one facing the others. Two of the chairs were already occupied by an irritated Pamela Isley, aka Poison Ivy and a nervous Arnold Wesker, the Ventriloquist. The opposite chair was occupied by a tall, calm, gray-haired man wearing a lab coat. He got to his feet and greeted them with a wide smile.
"Will we join the dance?" Tetch asked rhetorically as they were forced into the three remaining chairs and strapped down at the wrists and ankles. This was unusual as most medical or psych sessions only required handcuffs. Something different was happening here and Riddler couldn't figure it out. Group therapy usually didn't work well at Arkham and this seemed like an awful lot of preparation just for a psychiatric session.
The unfamiliar doctor smiled wider at their obvious confusion. Scarecrow and Poison Ivy were glaring at him. Ventriloquist was huddled in his chair, quite harmless and lost without Scarface's presence. The Mad Hatter was staring off into space, humming to himself while Riddler simply looked at him narrow-eyed as he contemplated the situation.
"Good afternoon to you all. I'm Dr. Wilhelm Fredericks and I've chosen the five of you to participate in a unique therapeutic endeavor."
"Lucky us." Crane replied sarcastically. Dr. Fredericks inclined his head in Crane's direction.
"Yes, I assumed you would be especially thrilled, Dr. Crane. After all, you can probably best appreciate my efforts. The five of you have been chosen because I think all of you have the best chance of responding to my treatments. When I'm successful, you will be joined by other inmates. And now for the first step..."
Riddler was bored now that the mystery had been resolved so quickly. Fredericks was just another quack that Arkham had allowed to come in and treat the inmates. It had happened many times and they were still all here and those doctors were gone. This doctor had the oozing charms of a motivational speaker but he would be about as successful as the woman who had tried to use toys and stuffed animals as therapy to release their "inner child's." That had lasted until Wesker, in desperate Scarface-withdrawal, had stolen several of them and made new puppets. The resulting chaos, as four new personalities tried to battle for control of Wesker's psyche and the inmates made bets as to which one would win, had ended that doctor's career at Arkham.
Fredericks pulled a supply tray towards them. On it lay five syringes and a bottle of amber-colored liquid. The guards came forward to hold each one of them down as they were injected starting with the Ventriloquist. Tetch and Wesker offered no resistance. Crane struggled a little but he was easily restrained by the guards. Pamela Isley stared icily at the doctor as she was injected but affected outward calm. Nygma shrugged and let himself be injected. It wasn't like he wasn't used to being injected with strange drugs. It was standard activity at Arkham.
The guards stepped back and Fredericks carefully put the supplies away.
He turned around and regarded them again but this time the smile was gone and he was studying the five of them as though waiting for something to happen. Minutes ticked by without the doctor saying anything or moving a muscle other than the way his eyes flicked back and forth between each of them. Nygma felt that stir of unease again. Wesker suddenly sat up straight and looked around him with an air of bewilderment. Fredericks eyes fastened on him.
"What's going on? I can't hear Mr. Scarface anymore. I'm, I'm...alone." Wesker's voice cracked and then he began weeping and shivering in the chair. Ivy was acting up now, shrinking back in the restraints and looking confused.
"Everything's so...dead in here. I'm surrounded by death. Can't get away from it." There was panic in her voice and Crane might have started to gloat if he hadn't started to shake just then. Within seconds he was in the middle of what looked like a seizure, his body slamming against his restraints as he shrieked mindlessly. The guards stood impassively, not moving to help in any way. Tetch hadn't moved at all next to Nygma and after a minute he realized that the Mad Hatter was simply frozen, staring at something only he could see. He was whispering something repeatedly and Nygma strained to hear before finally making out, "off with his head, off with his head, off with..."
"What did you do to them?" The Riddler demanded, sweat starting to trickle down his back as he wondered when he was going to start acting like them.
"The drug affects everyone differently, Mr. Nygma. It works on each person's unique brain chemistry and certainly the inmates here have VERY unique brains. But rest assured, just because the effects haven't happened for you yet doesn't mean that they won't. It's only a matter of time."
Nygma's mind worked frantically trying to figure a way out without success and then suddenly everything was too frantic. Light seemed to explode in brilliant colors in front of his eyes. His mind was bombarded with information as though a crowd of people were shouting questions at him. "What is the capital of Mauritania?" "What is the atomic weight of cesium?" "In what year did Edgar Allen Poe die?" He screamed silently trying to block out the noise and only had time to recognize that it was Batman's voice barking the questions at him before everything went mercifully dark.