章節 13: The cure
Boring. I'm sitting at a table in the interrogation room, where the only source of light is a desk lamp, the handcuffs rubbing my wrists unpleasantly, but there's not much time left. I can't be detained for more than five hours and must be transported to Arkham or released (the most unlikely option), of course you can try to ignore this rule, but my detention was widely publicized on the Internet, I even managed to give a small interview before I was handcuffed and led into the building. The Gotham City Police Department didn't need the trouble of violating arrest procedures; they already had a bad reputation for high crime rates in the city, and the election for a new district attorney was coming up.
Suddenly, the door to the room opened, and a thick, red-haired man stepped inside. As soon as he turned, my eyes were drawn to the thick, wide mustache that ran along the contour of his upper lip, a well-groomed look. On his nose were rectangular horn-rimmed glasses. He was dressed in a plain white shirt with a tie and blue pants, with a brown cape over the top with a badge hanging from his chest. It looked like he was trying to summon Bats, except it was daytime and the huge flashlight with the bat symbol wasn't very effective.
Commissioner Gordon, and it was he, pushed back his chair and sat down across from me, staring at me with unblinking eyes and clenched teeth.
"Hello, Commissioner."
I decided to break the long silence.
"Joker," said James Gordon. The venom in his voice was enough to poison a small lake. "What are you up to?"
"You can stop calling me that, I've already informed your staff that I've been cured of insanity and have decided to start a new life. I am now Jay Arkham, unfortunately I can't remember my real name," I replied, guiltily waving my hands.
"Are you kidding me? What the fuck is a new life?! You terrorized this town for two years, you fucking psychopath!"
"Because you were a sick man who needed treatment."
"And now you don't." the Gotham police commissioner loomed over me, pointing a lamp in my face.
"That's for the doctors in Arkham to determine. And could you please not do that."
The light was unpleasant in my eyes.
"Shut up. Where's Batman–" the man muttered to himself.
"Maybe he realizes that I've really decided to start a new life?"
"–Don't be ridiculous, that's the last person who would think that. You've probably managed to distract him and set him off on the wrong track,"
There was a real obsession with the Dark Knight in the police commissioner's eyes. Yeah, and this man calls me crazy.
An hour of bickering with this strange man yielded nothing, because he was one hundred percent sure of my criminal motives, putting forward quite unexpected versions, especially I was amused by the version where I distracted the commissioner while my assistant mines the city buildings, so he every five minutes he wanted to send a police squad somewhere, hoping to prevent the terrible crimes. Such a development would be completely out of character for Joker, the previous owner had been more likely to send Harley to surrender while he himself placed traps. At times like this I marveled at how this man could be put in charge, even though this world is pretty crazy. What's worth the acquittals of Penguin and Enigma, which I read about in the newspaper files I studied. It was on the basis of these two episodes that my rehabilitation plan was based.
"Are you gonna talk?!"
The man across from me raged, irritated by my passivity.
"I've already told you everything and there's no point in our conversation."
I wanted to add, "Stubborn ass."
"Sir, everything is ready for the prisoner's transfer to Arkham."
The door to the interrogation room opened and one of the officers looked in.
"Can't you see I'm busy interrogating the Joker!"
"But, sir, there were no major events this time, a couple of robberies, doesn't break out of the general statistics..."
"That's what's suspicious."
"Sir, there's a lot of reporters at the door, so some interrogation techniques aren't applicable in this situation, you know there's a D.A. election coming up."
"Damn, goddamn reporters."
James Gordon slapped the table with force.
"All right, pack him up for transport."
The commissioner leaned in close to my ear and said, "Joker, I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but know I'm watching you."
"Jay Arkham, commissioner, if I were the Joker, I'd chew your ear off," I replied in the same whisper, turning my head.
Of course, I wanted to answer more sharply after an hour of marinating in the interrogation room, but I didn't want to hurt Barbara's father; after all, he's not a bad man who loves his hometown and cares for it, using all his powers, even making a deal with Bats. Besides, I wasn't physically tortured or even beaten, then the conversation would be very different and I would find an opportunity for revenge.
"Out."
A trio of policemen entered the room and escorted me to a special room, where they removed my handcuffs at the sight of several powerful tasers. Before I could rejoice, I was put into a straitjacket and then strapped to an upright cart. Then there was transportation through the corridors of the police department, ending up in an armored van designed for transporting criminals. There were no windows in our transport, but I could hear the noise of the sirens accompanying the vehicle. Now it would be a good idea to implement the second stage of the plan, to make myself look like a victim of circumstances.
"So, how was the service, boys?"
It's a conversation starter.
"Shut up."
Or not.
I need someone to mess with my face. A few reporters took pictures of me while I was being wheeled into the transport, and I'm sure a couple of them are already on duty outside the treatment center, and they wouldn't miss a chance to take a picture with me against the backdrop of Arkham. It would have been easier with the commissioner, but I didn't want to set him up for a cute little redheaded daughter.
"Oh, did you have to chain me up? I told you I was cured of insanity. I came and surrendered myself to justice."
"Joker, you can say what you want, but everyone here knows your true nature," replied the big guy with thick brown hair and a calm gaze.
"But I've really changed."
"Who the hell are you trying to bullshit!" a man with a bald head exploded.
Sounds like my client.
"You bitch got my partner killed guarding a dinner party!"
Oh, that's weird. In researching newspaper compilations, I've come to the conclusion that the Joker never once killed anyone directly, he was more interested in making Saw-style games, giving Batman a chance to come to the rescue.
"And I'm the one who did it?"
"Who else?! The bomb didn't just materialize in the birthday cake!"
"I don't remember doing that."
Honesty is the ultimate weapon, because I really didn't do it.
"You gotta be kidding me! Peter had a family, but one fucking bastard got him killed!" the man jumped up sharply from his seat and punched me in the face, which I sought. "Bitch!"
"Ben, stop!" the two remaining guards tried to pull their partner away, but he clung to the edge of the cart and hit me over and over.
"Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha."
It's a little out of order, but the laughter scares the guards away, and besides, the pain is gone, which is a relief. I can feel blood trickling down my chin from my broken nose, and a bruise is starting to form under my right eye.... Perfecto!
"Hey! Is everything all right?" asked the driver as the curtain separating the cab from the body opened slightly.
"Yes, everything's fine," the tallest man answered, sitting his steamy partner down beside him.
"We're on our way."
The curtain's closed.
The Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane. How much sense that phrase makes to a true DC Comics fan. Many events from comics, games, and cartoons revolve around this dark and sinister place.
The hospital was founded in the early twentieth century by Amadeus Arkham, whose mother suffered from a lifelong mental disorder. Amadeus turned his own estate into a hospital for the mentally ill in an effort to help them heal. Shortly before the opening of the psychiatric clinic, while assisting the police in their investigation, Arkham incurred the wrath of a serial killer, and the altruistic doctor's entire family was brutally murdered; later that maniac became one of Arkham's first patients, and a few years later the doctor himself became a patient of the hospital. The clinic was then run by his nephew Jeremiah, who is still in charge to this day.
I was unloaded from the car after our transport passed the first checkpoint after the bridge. The cart with me was surrounded almost immediately by several sturdy guards and medics with shock batons and dart-firing weapons; fortunately, there were reporters present, who still managed to take a couple of pictures of my broken face, otherwise my suffering would have been in vain.
It's kind of gloomy...
It was the first time I'd seen the sanitarium in all its glory; last time I hadn't been able to see it, since we'd been stealthily making our way to Ivy's greenhouse at a run, but now I could see everything that wasn't hidden by the bodies of my escorts.
I recently took umbrage at the bleakness of Gotham by berating the architect, so here goes, you can forget it. I have never experienced such an oppressive sense of hopelessness before. Although the buildings seemed to be in the traditional Gothic style, some crazy architect had added his own vision by positioning the light sources in such a way that from the outside the buildings resembled a crypt and chapel where the dead are escorted to their final resting place. There was stunted vegetation everywhere, and the low twisted trees planted here and there added to the unhealthy and morbid atmosphere of the place.
Hell, you have a near-loyal Poison Ivy, couldn't you have asked her to do some landscaping?
"I can see that you missed this place, so much curiosity in your eyes."
I was distracted from contemplating the "beauties" of the hospital by a deep male voice belonging to a large man with an almost rectangular face and high cheekbones with round glasses on his nose.
From the verbal description, I recognized the current head of the clinic:
Jeremiah Arkham.
"Oh, I wouldn't say I missed you. But you can only get a mental health certificate here."
The man walked leisurely beside my cart and eyed me with interest, as if he were seeing me for the first time.
"So those Internet ramblings are true?"
"I haven't had time to read them yet, because I went straight to Commissioner Gordon for questioning."
"I see," replied the doctor, having assessed my appearance.
The bruise poured with color, and the broken nose swelled, preventing normal breathing.
"Oh, no. It was one of his subordinates. He didn't like the fact that I didn't remember anything about the events that killed his partner."
"Hmm, I see," Jeremiah glanced thoughtfully in my direction. "You really don't remember anything about those events and, I assume, other episodes related to the Joker's activities?"
"Exactly, although I don't even remember my real name, so I decided to call myself Jay Arkham, as a tribute to the place, and a certain symbolism is present."
"Curious. All right, let him go," the doctor suddenly ordered the escort.
"What?!"
That's what everyone around me heard, including me.
"This person claims to be cured of insanity and as far as I can tell with my years of experience practicing, this individual is not going to run away, plus he came forward and turned himself in to the police on his own. Isn't that right?" the last question was addressed to me.
"Yeah, that's right."
I didn't realize what was going on.
"You see. So let him go."
"Sir, are you sure?"
"Yes. Plus I can see from the muscle tension that our patient can quickly free himself from the straitjacket."
What an attentive man, I thought I'd done it discreetly. Back in my world, the great magician and illusionist Harry Houdini had used this trick, tensing his muscles and pulling the fabric of his shirt down the front to give himself room to maneuver when it was time to release. With my current flexibility, getting free shouldn't be difficult. But after the doctor's words, my escort tensed even more.
"Is it worth it to be in charge when you have to do all the work yourself?" Jeremiah unhooked the straps that held me to the cart with a couple of deft movements. "You're on your own, Mr. Arkham."
All by myself, all by myself. I relax my upper body completely and exhale. The leading arm shifts upward and gives my teeth access to the sleeve buckle, which unbuttons in a second, and my hands are now unrestrained. Next, I unbuckle the straps on my back, and there, I'm free. The whole operation took about ten seconds.
"Whew, that's much better. Thank you, Doctor."
"You're welcome. Now let me take you to your cell, we'll see where we can move you later. Stop staring like sheep, you can see that the patient is not aggressive."
"Sir, but it's Joe..." one of the guards tried to object, but was immediately interrupted by the doctor.
"One more word and you're fired."
With a single phrase and a serious look, the man managed to rein in his subordinate.
Wow, just wow. It's so cool it's even a little suspicious, but I didn't remember the head of the healing center being involved in any shenanigans at all. It's still worth being more careful, or else there's no telling which version of Earth this is out of all the diversity of the DC universe.
Our large group of us slowly made our way to the prison block, which stood apart from the main buildings and was separated from the rest of the island by a real wall. My future residence was as pompous and gloomy as the rest of the island, but it was different in that the main rooms were hidden underground.
After walking down a long hallway, we came to a huge elevator that took us to the lowest level, where I was treated for facial wounds and changed into the healer's trademark orange robe.
On the way Jeremiah Arkham asked me how I was feeling and what my plans were for the future. At first I wanted to tell him about the game development, but then I decided that I shouldn't, because Barbara was filing the patent and it wasn't worth it to give anyone any clues linking me and the heroine. I had to admit that I hadn't looked that far yet.
"Well, you'll have time to think about it... In your temporary residence."
The man gestured at a four-by-four meter cell with transparent armored glass instead of bars. There was a bed built into one wall, and on the opposite side, a toilet and sink. There were no partitions and everything was quietly viewable, no privacy, though that wasn't particularly surprising. There were some inscriptions scrawled on the walls, which at first glance did not make much sense.
"Thank you for seeing me off."
"You're welcome. Before you can be moved to a more suitable environment, you will have to undergo a few tests to confirm your adequacy. Make yourself comfortable, your neighbors won't bother you."
There were a lot of cells like mine on this floor, and their occupants wouldn't really bother me, because all the cubicles were soundproofed, and it was possible to talk only through the intercom. On the way I noticed that some of the cells were occupied by the residents, but they were not in a hurry to give me any signs of attention, being busy with their own affairs. Among the notable characters, I noted the familiar Clayface, who wore a special collar around his neck to block his powers, and The Riddler, whom I recognized only by the tattooed question mark on his bald head, for he had a very standard and unimpressive appearance.
***
The morning began with the usual pain.... I miss Harley and her nimble tongue at times like this. We crawled off the couch and washed up, getting ourselves relatively clean and shedding the remnants of sleep. I decided to try not to laugh so I wouldn't make the doctors as nervous, and after the sharp intensification, the pain was less obvious. In my search for information about the world around me, I did not forget about my own development and came across an interesting variant of exercises called isometric. These are special strength exercises, which seem to have been created for me, because all I need to do them is a strong wall and a floor.
The essence of isometric training is to exert as much force as possible. For example, trying to move a wall. Pushing, for example, a cupboard, a person is likely to move it, and therefore will not be able to develop the maximum force. Working with a "burden", which is impossible to cope with in principle, will require maximum effort.
Naturally, an ordinary person needs to train all the stages of a dynamic movement that turns into a static one because it is impossible to perform, so the complex of possible training options grows many times over, but pushing the wall is enough for me, and the rest will be corrected by the system. So we just rest against the wall and push it, giving all of ourselves to the process.
"Joe… Jay Arkham, out."
My training was interrupted by a security guard, who led me to the psychologist's office on the top floor. There I met again with Dr. Jeremiah, who was interested in my case.
After a very long and tedious conversation, the head of the treatment center summed it up.
"Well, Mr. Arkham, judging by the tests, you have indeed become more adequate and I have a surprise for you, as of today you are being transferred to the main wing."
"Wait, but you were talking about multiple tests!"
"Oh, amazingly enough, another patient has expressed a desire to leave our clinic, reporting a cure. As an experiment, I decided to put you two together, hopefully you can influence each other even more fruitfully."
"Uh... Okay..."
I wonder who the mystery patient is? Could it be that one of the supervillains has decided to take the path of correction... I don't want a roommate, but I don't want to go back to the stone box any more. I hope it will be someone adequate, though adequate in Arkham...
After the session, we went back to the main mansion with the doctor, and then I was led to a room in the east wing.
"Well, this is where I'll leave you. There is a library at the end of the corridor where you can quench your thirst for knowledge."
No guards, no sturdy orderlies, the cameras in the corridor stand more for looks, having many blind spots.
"Shouldn't there be some kind of control?"
"We're reasonable people, so why go to extremes?" Jeremiah dismissed it lightly. "The cameras in the corridor and the guards at the entrance are enough. There will also be daily monitoring by a psychologist."
It's getting weirder and weirder, as Alice in the Looking Glass used to say. It's like some kind of experiment.
"See you tomorrow, Mr. Arkham."
"Yeah. Goodbye."
I was left alone in front of the entrance to the room.
Whew, it's time to meet the neighbor.
"Hello..."
The words stuck in my throat when I opened the door, as my neighbor was a red-haired dryad, better known as Poison Ivy, dressed in a standard patient robe rather than the traditional leaf bathing suit.
Ivy was busy watering the plants set up around the room, turning it into a small greenhouse.
"Okay, don't touch the plants, don't bother me. I need to leave this place, not recycle idiots for fertilizer.... What the hell are you doing here?!"
Ivy finally turned around and gave me a surprised look.
"Looks like I'm your neighbor..."
I've thought about her, but we're not the same sex! Although... We can take into account Pamela's man-hatred and Joker's passivity, who wasn't even sexually attracted to his assistant, but it's still a bit much. If we also take into account Ivy's hatred for one clown, then our neighborhood is really becoming like one big social experiment.
"Uh, okay. Cover the door and take off your pants," with a sigh, the girl knelt down.
"What?!"
"What's what? Harley came to see me yesterday and asked me to take care of you with a blow job. You can't count on any other orifices!"
"Uh, uh," I got a blue screen. "You don't like it, we can just tell her that you did all the–"
"What an asshole you are, how can you deceive the person you love?"
The beauty's indignation was boundless.
"–Okay, okay, I'm stupid, but I'll make it up to you."
I close the door and walk over to Ivy, pulling out my cock.
"Gross, go and wash up first."
Silently I go to the bathroom and take a shower. Still, it was a little out of the way for these two days, and there was nowhere to do it.
"Better now," said the girl, sitting me down on the bed.
It's unrealistically arousing when such a beauty sucks you off, if she didn't throw fierce glances at me in the process, it would be absolutely perfect.
"Are you going to cum or not?" the dryad interrupted. "My jaw already hurts, why the fuck would you even grow such a club!"
"We need some extra excitement."
Ivy began to silently bare her breasts.
"Wait, what about sixty-nine?"
I wanted to make a girl feel good, too.
"Hmpf... Shit, all right. But if you use anything other than your tongue, I'll rip it the fuck off!"
I laid down on the bed, and Ivy was on top of me, pulling down her pants. Her pussy was covered by a light red fuzz.
"What are you standing there for?"
"I'm admiring."
Bon appétit. I tried to use all my abilities that I used to train on Harley and even managed to bring the girl to orgasm, but at the end I almost bit off the end, but I managed to get out in time.
"Hmm, that's nice," Pamela Isley was pleased. "But don't get too excited, because I'm only doing this for Harley."
"I get it."
***
We sit in the general therapy room and play cities. This is our third therapy session together.
"Belmont."
"Tegucigalpa."
"You're annoying, there's no such town!" Ivy was annoyed, we'd gotten to know each other pretty well over the past few days, but instead of an even relationship, Ivy was angry at my behavior. She'd hoped I was still the same asshole, so she could easily get Harley off my back by showing her love and concern, or just kill me with a clear conscience, but the reality was disappointing.
"Ms. Isley, calm down, this is the capital of Honduras," said the head of the clinic. He was sitting with us and watching our reactions.
~R-r-r-r-rum~
A vibration went through the whole building. That's not good.
A second later the door to the room swung open and four panting guards with M16 assault rifles poured in, and one of the men said:
"Mr. Arkham, sir, the security systems of the prison block have failed, the prisoners have broken free and have already taken over a third of the building!"
After that, everyone looked at me for some reason.
"Hey, easy, I'm not involved and I don't give a shit about this hemorrhoid."
"I need to get you to a safe place immediately. And your patients."
Suddenly the lights in the whole building went out and now, without the noise of the running air conditioner, a suspicious buzzing could be heard from the street, which was quite unusual for a remote island, and the prisoners would not have had time to get out of the prison block and over the fence separating it from the administrative buildings in such a short time.
In the silence that ensued, my strained voice rang out.
"Uh... I don't want to start a panic, but did the clinic guards own assault weapons?"
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