TRANSMISSION DATE: 3/15/09

PATIENT NAME: HARLEEN QUINZELL (aliases - HARLEY QUINN)

DISORDER: SEVERE SCHIZOPHRENIA, POST-TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER.

NOTES: Harleen's alter ego, Harley Quinn, shows a complete disregard for human life,

the textbook definition of a sociopath. Harleen, on the other hand, is completely normal,

quite pleasant, and charming, though her previous career as a doctor at Arkham has caused some resentment towards her therapists. While Harleen claims to have "killed" Harley, the latter still makes appearances from time to time, and must be sedated and restrained in order to be controlled. Patient is considered extremely dangerous.

ADMITTANCE DATE: 2/05/09

Metal door swings open, and Dr. Michael Foreman walks in. Harleen sits patiently, her arms folded underneath her on a metal table. An armed guard waits at the door.

Dr. Michael Foreman: Good morning, Harleen. How are we feeling today?

Harleen Quinzell: I'd like it if you'd refer to me as one person doctor. 'How are we feeling'? That's not really establishing any sense of normalcy for me.

DMF: I'm sorry Harleen, just a habit. How are you feeling today?

HQ: I'm fine, thank you. How are you?

DMF: Fine, just fine. How are your headaches?

HQ: The drugs seem to be helping.

DMF: We prefer to call them 'little helpers'.

HQ: Isn't that cute?

DMF: I think so, yes.

HQ: That's great.

DMF: I wanna start off today with just a little reminiscence of your past relationships.

HQ: Wow, you're really going in for the jugular.

DMF: Why do you say that?

HQ: What are you, half-retarded?

DMF: I didn't mean we had to talk about the Joker. You're almost 33, you must have had other relationships in your life time.

HQ: Are we talking meaningful ones, or fuck buddies?

DMF: Either one.

There is a pause as she gets a far-off look in her eyes.

HQ: Yeah, there was one meaningful one. I guess. Sort of. It was complicated. It's like every relationship I've had has been complicated.

DMF: That's normal. I've known plenty of adults who haven't had a single solid relationship in their lives.

HQ: I didn't say there haven't been meaningful relationships, you dumb motherfucker.

DMF:...what was that?

Another pause. Harleen's eyes have rolled back into her head, and her head rolls to one side. She makes a few gurgling noises, as if she can't make out words.

DMF: Oh no...Daniel, quickly, I need restraints and a sedative!

GUARD: ...but...Dr. Foreman, are you sure you can handle her alone?

DMF: I won't be able to if you don't get me a damn syringe right now!

The guard takes one last look and quickly leaves. Harleen is convulsing now.

DMF: Come on Harleen, stay with me...don't give in to her, she's dangerous! Don't become that part of yourself!

Harleen's head snaps forward and she smiles, then begins to laugh, which quickly escalates into a full-blown cackle.

HQ: I called you a dumb motherfucker. Those are your initials, right? DMF? Dumb. Mother. Fucker.

She laughs hysterically at this for an incredible amount of time.

DMF: Now, now, there's no need for name calling, Harley...

HQ: SHUT UP! You tell me that I haven't had a meaningful relationship, even while I scream Mr. J's name in my cell at all hours of the night? PLEASE! You never even felt that kind of love in your life!

DMF: Well, that's not entirely true...I mean, I'm married, I have two children...

HQ: Oh, do you? 'Twould be a shame, wouldn't it, to have that pretty little wife of yours widowed and your two darling children orphaned?

DMF: Oh, Harley, you wouldn't...

HQ: Oh, wouldn't I? You know, Mikey, the human jugular vein can be punctured with just about anything. Of course, knives work the best, but there's always the more common household tools. A pair of scissors, a piece of broken glass. A fountain pen that some dumb motherfucker has left carelessly lying around.

Harleen reaches into her bra and produces a fountain pen and slowly stands up from her chair.

HQ: But you're a 20 year man, aren't you? You would never make a rookie mistake like that.

Dr. Michael Foreman stands up and runs to the door, and Harleen leaps over the table at him, grabbing his collar and throwing him into the metal table. He lays there for a moment while she laughs manically, clicking the pen comically and dancing to the rhythm it creates. She bends down to him and takes the pen to his neck, then turns around towards the camera. She walks toward the camera and bends down until she is eye-level with it.

HQ: I'm sorry, but this party's by invitation only.

She laughs and reaches at the lens as Dr. Michael Foreman screams, then disables the lens.

END TRANSMISSION

THE END