WEE-HAAAAAAAAAAAAA!! I'm back!! I'm suffering from IFOF (Idea Fuckin' Over Flow) so I'm jus rollin with it like a Firestone Tire!!

"Move forward a bit will you?" The model hunched forward, resting her hand on her naked hip. She stood in front of the mirror, red hair like rivulets of fire down hair back, in all her naked glory. Her body was soft, curved where it was needed and frothing with femininity. And there sat the photographer, Alicia, on the floor behind her, face obscured by her Canon EOS Digital.

.Click. Pose. Click. Pose. Clickity Clack Click

Poses were used, pictures taken, and finally Alicia stood up, peeling of her tank top as she handed a short, older man the camera.

"What the hell are you doing? The shoots over!" Alicia thought over her answer as her jeans fell in a pool on the floor and she re-strapped her bright red platform heels, coming to stand in front of the mirror, looking about the room. Next to the mirror was a bed, on its other side, a large window that made up the wall.

"Actually, the shoot with that particular model is over. My turn Rog!" She cheered and ran to the bed beside the mirror, jumping into the warm blankets. The old man looked at her with blue eyes and ran his hands through salt-white hair.

"Get ready then. Just know that these are being submitted with the other crap in your portfolio for the Gotham Underground exhibit."He took a picture. Click.

"Ain't that next weekend?" Alicia inquired as she walked over to the window, looking out at the dawn light that hovered over Gotham, and made you believe the city was calm and peaceful. But a real Gothamite knew otherwise- knew of the evils that were bubbling out of the doors.

Click.

"Yes, but they love your work so they'd be insane not to let you get away with it." She nodded and stood before the mirror, examining herself as she watch Roger wait for her signal. Like the first redhead model, she was feminine.

Only her body seemed darker- despite the long sunshine blonde hair, red lips, and brown eyes- the picture of the women the 1960's stood on, but a slightly butchered version. She usually had a cigar hanging out of her mouth (she only used cigarettes when she was on the job or couldn't get the good stuff), nothing a 1960's debutante would be caught dead with.

She signaled for him to stop and went for her bag, taking out her cigarettes. She quickly got dressed and stood in front of Roger, mussing up her hair.

"Get a close-up of my lips will you? I'll put it in black and white later. It'll look cooler that way." Even when she was modeling, she was controlling the whole shoot.

Roger was her right hand man, her father figure, and she trusted him alone with the task of using her camera. However, when she wasn't modeling, she liked to shoot the bizarre side of Gotham. The freak shows, the dominatrix, the hookers, their pimps, the addicts, the even seedier side of Gotham, the City of Eternal Dark.

She spent all her free time bathing in scandal that could potentially ruin her other job.

Her job at Arkham Asylum.

Jonathan Crane hated straitjackets.

They were irritating. Right arm over left shoulder, left arm over right, and the ends of the sleeves strapped somewhere in the middle of your back. Not to mention Arkham, his old playground, just happened to invest in the newest ones (complete with crotch straps) right when he was thrown in this shit hole. Life was indeed cruel to him. Since he lacked any other activity to choose from, he went down the lists of things he hated about Arkham, something he found himself doing often now.

1.) The food- or at least that's what they called it- was total shit.
2.) The guards-the same ones he'd handpicked when he still ran he place like a treadmill- were assholes and when he broke out, he planned on killing them all. All of them.
3.) Most importantly, he was no longer in charge.

That last one, the crucial one, was the one that made him angriest. Before the Bat threw him in here, he'd run the show. His patients unwittingly became lab rats for the toxin he'd gassed the entire Narrows with. He'd felt what it was like to have utter control over thousands of people. He couldn't do it alone though, no he was too weak for that. None of that would've been possible if it weren't for the Scarecrow.

The man in the burlap mask who took Crane over and did things the man could only dream of. Scarecrow made both his name and Jonathan Crane's a household one, and not in a good way. A tale told to children to make them behave.

They had complete power.

Only to have it taken from under him, the very toxin he'd brought to life the culprit. And the Batman. Batman- the Masked Crusader- who donned Kevlar and went around beating the holy hell out of Gotham's Underbelly.

"Hey Cob Swabber!" John turned his head, a sigh slipping out his pursed lips. The guard lifted him up roughly by his shoulder, and Crane felt the blood flow to his whole arm cut off completely.

Bruises? Definitely.

"What brings you here this glorious morning Freddy?" Crane said sardonically, regretting it when the meaty hand on his shoulder moved to land a blow to his jaw with a loud crunch.

"Remember the rules Johnny? Don't speak to me unless I speak to you and tell you otherwise." Fred said, running a hand through his salt and cinnamon hair. He then grabbed the clipboard from outside Jonathon's cell and let his beady shark eyes skim down it quickly.

"You got a session with the new doctor."

"Doctor?" John asked, disappointment filling his voice.

He much preferred to be left alone. He'd gone through about 5 doctors already, all of which he'd scared off. Didn't they understand that all he wanted was peace?

Or at least about as much peace you could get in a straitjacket?

Well, she won't last long, John thought, by the time I'm done with her, she'll be on the first bus out of Gotham. I don't even understand why these shrinks decide to come to Gotham anyway.

"Yeah. Her names....Alicia somethin'. Real Fox. 5"4, blonde..." He droned as he dragged the restrained man up the stairs, through the halls, to an office door.

"Here you are, "Fred said, and slammed the smaller man against the opposite wall," and let's make sure you got this straight. Listen here you little shit- you scare her away like the others and I'll stick my foot so far up your ass-"

"Mr. Barnes, how is my patient supposed to get better when you keep riding his balls about his behavior? Not to mention you're threatening to beat the shit out of a mental patient, one who suffered psychological trauma due to extreme violence in his youth? Tsk tsk tsk," a female voice said nonchalantly from behind the grey haired beast.

"Alicia!" Fred cried, dropping Crane to the floor and turning around.

Limey bastard...Crane thought as he looked at the back of the man head, wishing a bullet were in it.

"I don't know what's wrong with him! He attacked me out of nowhere it was li-"

"First off, it's Dr. Kneeley. Second, he's in a straightjacket Mr. Barnes. Hey you," she said, peeking her head around to look at Crane," You senselessly and violently attack Freddy?" When he said nothing, she walked over and helped him up. Crane's ears were turning pink as he watched Fred try to explain himself to the woman. She was attractive- almost unfairly so. Blonde curls the color of sunshine, chocolate eyes sparked with mischief, red lips, and a perfect coke bottle body. She was dressed in a electric blue lace long sleeve bustier, black a-line skirt, and blue pumps.

"Let him off the jacket. He can't do any harm. I mean, the man can't even piss without somebody's help." The restraints fell in an instant in a cream pool around his ankles, leaving him in a grey flannel shirt and matching sweatpants.

"Well, Bye. I gotta go watch the other patients in the Rec room." Fred said, smiling at her and turning to silently snarl at him.

"Oh, no need for that," she said, watching as Fred's stupid face twisted into confusion, "you're fired." She turned to Crane and motioned for him to come inside, leaving Frank red as a beet in the hall.

He was starting to like this shrink.