Arkham's Education (Cain and AliceArkham)

[Cain]

The rain fell steadily that night on Arkham Asylum. The Victorian former hospital, built of brick and steel, stood like a blight in the desolate area known as “The Narrows,” a slum in Gotham City. Deep inside, the troubled vagrants, volatile discontents, and devious monsters are treated, healed, and sometimes held for the benefit of society. Much to the excitements of many local psychologists, the hospital has taken on many of the later ever since the rogue vigilante, known as “the Batman,” began his unique style of vigilante justice upon the city. As the asylum begins to accept more and more dangerous felons, the administrations struggles to find a way to deal with the influx of unique, new patients.

However, amongst the patients, one reigned supreme with the psychologists. Patient #1593156, known as the “Joker,” would often find himself with a line of visitors every day and one-by-one, he would see them all. Young up and coming doctors who all wanted to take a crack at the madman who’s rampage nearly a year ago brought the city to its knees. One thing many of them first noticed is that he would see them without his makeup. The hospital staff would refuse him this, citing it as a trigger for his malcontented episodes. Truth be told, the staff citied him as the model patient, much to the chagrin of Commissioner Gordon who decreed the Joker’s progress as nothing but “…a facade of the highest caliber.” However, the doctors of Arkham discredited the policeman, their focus on their careers as “Doctors who cured the Joker.”

As the rain poured, the Joker’s cell was quiet. He sat, quiet, upon his crude mattress, looking out the window he watched as the clouds, lit up by the orange glow of the streetlights of Gotham, slowly passed over Gotham, blocking out the moonlight. Slowly he would stand up, dressed in his orange, Arkham Asylum patient outfit, and turn his focus on the door. Peering through the glass, he would smile and nod as the guards made their way up and down the hall.

”Hello. Charlie.” He said as the young guard, Charlie Witkers, passed by.

The guard turned and smiles at Patient#1593156 and retorted, “Hello, sir. Glad to be out of the rain tonight? Haha.”

”Most Indubitably,” the inpatient replied as he watched the guard continued his duties, his lips resting from a smile to a more tensed grimace once the guard was no longer watching.

 

[AliceArkham]

Alice didn’t hear the sirens until she dropped the hole puncher. Not in her right mind, she confused the wails of the approaching vehicles with what she perceived as a distorted, metallic echo from her impromptu weapon hitting the floor. Once she realized what the sound was, she decided to drop to her knees—and drop she did, suddenly and without bracing herself. As she made contact with the floor, she slid a bit on something vaguely warm. Running a hand through her hair, she felt a sticky substance catch against the blonde strands. “What the—?” Alice looked at her hand and saw that it was coated in fresh and dried… “Blood?” Turning her attention to the floor, she realized her white knee socks were soaking up what was left of the battered man, almost unrecognizable as a human, beside her. Shaking her head, she experienced brief flashes of what she’d done, but at the moment, she wasn’t lucid enough to discern motivation.

Alice jerked upright at the sound of fast, heavy footsteps echoing in a staircase. She whipped around to face the door just as the first officer stepped inside; he didn’t have to open the door because she had kicked it in. Not quite 5’2” and, excepting a few flattering curves, having a lithe body type, Alice could never have done that by herself. But a hefty snack of the PCP-like compound she took before arriving at the scene had changed her. She was deceptively strong and in a drug-induced state of psychosis.

When the first policeman entered the room, he stared at Alice, mouth slightly open. She was quite a sight. A mixture of her own blood and the blood of her victim decorated a good portion of her body. Dressed in her hacker clothes—save for the black wig she had worn on the way in, which she had discarded before entering the office—Alice’s white button down and white knee socks looked particularly gruesome. She was also wearing a tie and plaid mini-skirt, her entire appearance discordant with the scene.

“Little lady," he began, "I need you to--" Alice grinned before, without a second’s warning, lunging at him. It would take three officers to subdue her enough to cuff her. Not surprisingly, rather than carting her over to the Gotham City Police, they carted her straight to Arkham.

 

[Cain]

"How's the kids. Little Thomas make the team?" the Joker asked, looking through the small slot on his door, watching the guard, Charlie, have his dinner as he turned on the evening news.

"Yeah, he'll be their shortstop! We're all excited," Charlie began, setting down his TV dinner and turning towards the small, chest-high slot, "He's real excited, he just got into sports, but he's never done anything like little league." Meanwhile the small television on the guards desk. The news started out with another Batman citing, a grainy noise-ridden video of a man jumping between buildings 200 feet above the camera. While most of Gotham no longer denied his existence, the evening newscasters often turned into gosspis nightly. The Joker could only roll his eyes as the newscaster, a young man of around 30, continually denied the existence, calling the video just some kids doing that new "jumping craze from France...or something."

"Still marvelous," Joker said under his breath as he smiled. After the death of District Attorney, Harvey Dent, the Batman has been on the run from the police. When he was hauled into Arkham by Commissioner Gordon, he was said to be in an persistent laughing fit. By that time, Harvey Dent had been found dead and the vigilante known as the Batman was responsible for multiple murders. A thin grimace lingered on Joker's face. He did not break the Bat. He broke Dent, but not in public. His devious acts as Two-Face were covered up...and despite multiple interviews, no one seemed to care that the Joker knew what really happened to ol' Dent. That story was followed up by an interview with Gordon, who defended his police department when questioned about the hunt for Batman.

"We are actively searching for the Batman," Gordon began, looking off-camera during the interview, "But we have many other obligations to the city right now, we can't devote more men to go after one person when we have millions to look after in Gotham." And with that, the Commissioner moved into his squadcar and drove off. Carlie chuckled and pointed to the television with his fork, dropping some of his lasagna TV dinner onto the table.

"They ain't catchin him," Carlie began, sliding more saucy noodles into his maw, "The Batman's too smart for them."

"They want him here. They need him here. So long as he's here, I'll be here.." the Joker began as he lazily watched the news story about the theft at the Gotham Museum of Natural History, quickly losing interest. Though he had only been a patient here at Arkham for months, the Joker quickly felt a sense of unusual welcoming. He was quick to make friends with the vast majority of the patients, the ones who could hold a conversation, that is. When Jim Leek, a long time patient at Arkham, passed away in the night, the Joker was the one who said kind words about Leek during the Asylum's moment for Jim.

Jonathan Crane, the former caretaker of Arkham and current resident, was known for his dislike of this new popular patient, however. No one had really figured out why, but the two of them would rarely be seen talking together. Some said that the "Scarecrow" was upset that his Asylum hosted an individual who was no more insane than any other man...just more motivated. Some suggested that Crane feared the Joker. He understood that a man like the Joker was always entertaining devious suggestions and inner demons and that they could be unleashed at any moment. Best not to be around when they do...

 

[AliceArkham]

Alice still hadn’t come down off the drug when they brought her in, a bloody mess in handcuffs, screaming at a volume you wouldn’t think a person of her size could pull off. Her nonsensical raving was heard in more than one cell block, catching the attention of inmates and guards alike. Rather than causing a stir, it instilled an uneasy quiet in the building. Anyone who saw Alice brought in that night remembered the sight of her for weeks to come, some men even telling their wives about her over dinner when they went home for the night. Alice had struggled against the handcuffs so ferociously that she had dislocated a shoulder, and as such, her posture was a little off. This didn’t stop her from fighting against the officers with as much strength as she had left in her. There was the obvious memorability of her look, a horror-movie-esque vision of gore paired with a miniskirt and knee socks. Then there was the question of her age. When the intake officer had asked her how old she was, she had given him a string of letters instead of numbers. She looked to be at least 18, but none of the doctors were certain. They decided it best to detain her for the night and try to get a sensible answer out of her in the morning.

In order to reset her shoulder, Alice had to be sedated. She was put in an inmate uniform while she was under and would wake up, very uncomfortable, in the unfamiliar clothes. The next morning she would barely remember being brought into Arkham. She definitely wouldn’t remember what she had told the officers or the doctors who had interviewed her when she came in—not that any of it was really comprehensible. From what they had gathered, she thought she needed to “stamp out” someone. And it was that someone who got Alice caught. The police hadn’t been alerted by any breeched alarms—Alice had disabled all the security remotely. But the sound of Alice slowly and brutally extinguishing her victim had been audible enough to disconcert some customers at the deli next door.

“Nmghh…” Alice moaned as she woke, rolling onto her side. The stiffness of the mattress was the first thing that alerted her to her new location. Opening her eyes, Alice let out a gravelly yelp—her voice exhausted from its overuse— as she sat up. She quickly scanned the room, blue eyes narrowed as they adjusted to the light. “Where am…?” Alice moaned and covered her face in her hands, not needing to finish the question. She was in Arkham. Slowly, it dawned on her that what she thought had been nightmares were more than likely memories of what she had been doing less than 24 hours ago. The combination of the horror at that realization in addition to the dehydration brought on by her near overdose on medication caused her to be immediately, and violently, ill. It was the sound of her being sick that brought a guard over.

“Hey miss,” he said, peering in at her with an apathetic glance, voice almost monotone. “You alright in there?” Alice didn’t bother raising her head. Voice thick with misery, she said simply,

“No,” and then was sick again. A doctor was called to check on her. By the time he arrived, Alice’s thinking had cleared a bit. She had to make a choice, and she had to make it quickly. It was highly unlikely that the drug she was on would show up in a blood test. Therefore, she could either admit to being sky high when she murdered that man, or she could let the doctors think she was suffering from a psychological disorder. The former would get her sent straight to prison, and in Gotham, that was, if not a death sentence, often a disfiguration sentence. By the time the door was opened to let the bespeckled, balding man in an overly starched coat into the cell, she had made her decision.

 

[Cain]

She was quite a sight, indeed. A feral beats being dragged down the halls, covered in blood and kicking and screaming. The Joker smiled to himself, watching her as the guards dragged her down the street.

"Ahh....some new blood! And a fighter too! If she can formulate a sentence, unlike the rest of you mooks, then I found my new best friend," the devious one said as he closed the flap down and moved away from the door, laughing softly to himself. Many of the people here you couldn't talk to. Most were more interested in their self-obsessions...or just drooling all over themselves. But despite that, Joker knew that everyone could be a buddy...if he needed them to be.

The next morning, Joker opened the flap to his slot again when he heard the new girl throwing up. Laughing to himself, he watched as guards and doctors all rushed her cell. Through their forms he could see glimpses of her, throwing up, making a huge mess in her cell.

"Now she's done it," he said, throwing his arms up haphazardly, "That smell will never come out." Then, moving his lips closer to the slot, he yelled at the guards, "Get her a glass of water, sloth! Stomach acid is horrible for the teeth," he said as he smiled, his yellowing teeth glistening as he stifled a laugh. The guard marched away from her cell and, pulling out his nightstick, rapped it on the Joker door as he walked pass.

"Don't tell me how to do my job, Clown. I don't tell you how to murder," the guard said as he passed the Joker's door to fetch some water. The Joker smiled as he walked back across his door, carrying a glass of water like he suggested. The Joker found himself very interested in this new patient. Usually he saw people carried in here, just comatose and dirty...she was covered in bloods and fighting. Very interesting, indeed. He watched anxiously, his cheek firmly against the door as he had one hand keeping the flap open and the other against the door to steady them. He waited for the guard to pass him again with the empty glass.

"Hey, can you ask her to the prom for me?" he chuckled, mocking her schoolgirl outfit. No doubt she'd never see those again, the guards had a habit of discarding the in-patient's clothes upon arrival. This was a pet peve the Joker, as he watched the guards take his suit when he was first checked in. He remembered the guard, Victor Olet, and made sure he'd remember his face...for later.[/B]

 

[AliceArkham]

Alice paced in her cell, not sure of what her next move should be. She had a decent background of psychology knowledge, so she had already decided on a disorder to emulate. Schizophrenia was easy, but it was such an obvious choice. Too obvious for comfort. She figured she’d stick to Bipolar I Disorder with Psychotic Features. The symptoms a jury would eat up—the raving, the hallucinations—would be present, but she wouldn’t have to act like a loon all the time. No, to be convincing with that disorder, all she’d have to do is fly off the handle every once in a while, and then pair that by withdrawing and being unresponsive for a stretch.

“Damnit!” Alice said, louder than she intended, hitting a hand against the wall of her cell. She couldn’t believe she had gotten herself in this mess. Her specialty was cybercrime, because behind the scenes was where she thrived. Violence, on the other hand, was an anti-specialtiy. What on earth had possessed her, besides the PCP perversion, to kill someone? She shook her head. It wasn’t coming to her yet, not clearly anyway. Her recollection was still frustratingly fuzzy as to why she had decided to venture outside the veil of code and silicon to actively assault someone. “And with a hole puncher,” she murmured, sitting back down on the “bed,” although it was really just a worse-for-the-wear mattress propped up by an unsteady excuse for a bedframe.

Uncomfortably warm, Alice took the orange top of her prison uniform off, revealing a dark tank top underneath. For some reason they had let her keep her bra on, which made her smile even then, in a dark sort of way. Eventually they’d probably issue her some horribly unflattering, wireless monstrosity, but at the moment she was still sporting the push-up bra she had paired with her hacker uniform. That get-up was a private joke of hers. In public, Alice was shy and would never be caught in a sexualized school girl outfit. But in the privacy of her own electronic crime den, she could dress however she wanted. For a moment, her eyes brightened. “At least they didn’t catch me at my real…” she started to say quietly before putting a hand over her mouth. She was already talking to herself. That’s not good, she thought, deciding to distract herself by looking at the patients around her. Alice was a little embarrassed by her entrance and behavior in the morning, and as such had avoided drawing the attention of any of her fellow inmates by moving. Restless, Alice approached the end of her cell, trying to catch a glimpse of her peers-to-be.

 

[Cain]

"You clean up well, Alice," the Joker said, his eye looking at her through the food slot. "You'll have to excuse me, I overheard one of the doctor's shouting your name through the night. And what a night it was! You, looking like poor little Carrie, as the guards dragged you down the hall. Must say, I'm impressed, kid. And I don't impress none too easy." He licked his lips as he continued speaking. "Tell you what I'm going to do here," he began. "In a few minutes we all get to go outdoors for an hour or so, so we'll save formal introductions then. But I can tell you're going to need a friend here. You look like a deer in headlights. So unless you're one of those "comatose" broads, consider me a friend, Alice." And with that, he grinned through the slot and then let it close.

That afternoon in the field, the Joker quickly approached her and extended a hand to her. He was unsure if she knew him, most didn't until they imagined white and red facepaint upon him. But she had no doubt heard of him - unless she was literally living under a rock.

"Good. You made it. Wonderful," he said, licking his lips as he looked around. "Listen. This place here? It's not so bad. It has...central air, 3 meals, and more entertaining people you can count. But things are changing here. We get more and more violent offenders than pacifists. They are turning Arkham into another Blackgate, Alice. You're not safe here. I can help you out, get you things you can't normally get. Keep some of the scum here off of you....catch my drift?" His demeanor changed, his lips curving into a frown slightly. "Come now, speak up. I don't buy that story you gave the doc just now. Not one bit. I saw you when they dragged you in. That's who you are now. Not the little proper woman...no. You belong here with us now, Alice." He began laughing softly, his eyes on her as he took a step back.

He already took a liking to this one. Rarely did the place actually get woman, and already the Joker noticed some of the other malcontents eyeing her, noticing one small little man across the field in particular eyeing Alice intensely. They wanted her, the first non disfigured woman they had access to in months, perhaps years. She would be torn up in a place like this. Of course, she was dragged in here covered in blood, some of it had to have belonged to someone else. The Joker extended his hand to her and smiled, "You can call me Joker."

 

[AliceArkham]

Alice eyed him carefully as he shook her hand. Being out in the open had made her much more defensive. She had put the orange shirt back on before going outside, doing her best to look as unappealing as possible. She saw the way the other inmates were looking at her. Understandably, it made her nervous. Incredibly nervous. She was surprised that she was being forced to mingle in with the general population, because while half of it appeared to be in a chemical haze of docility or inherently absent of an affect, the rest of the inmates were lively, most of them male, and many of them of an intimidating stature.

The man shaking her hand was not of an intimidating stature, but the way he spoke and carried himself made him seem more untouchable than the hulking lunatics. Working as a cybercriminal had impressed one very basic tent of existence upon her again and again: nothing is for free. Indeed, she was often paid to enforce that principle. So when the man in front of her said he could help her out, it made her feel slightly uncomfortable. His standing within the asylum was already apparent. He had walked up to her without a moment’s pause, while the rest of the inmates who could be bothered to check out the fresh meat had congregated in clusters, inching towards her like dogs on a chain testing the limits of their restraints. When the Joker had walked over to her, they all retreated slightly, although some kept an eye on her as though they were waiting for the Joker to walk away and leave her open to attack. Alice shuddered, looking past the scarred man before her at some of the inmates. The only reason Alice was able to kill that man was because she was out of her mind on a PCP derivative that not only gave her an inhuman amount of energy but eliminated her sensation of pain. In here, she would have neither of those advantages.

“It’s nice to meet you, Joker,” she said evenly, her eyes widening once the final word left her lips. Joker? The Joker. Alice had to frown to keep the mix of awe and interest from candidly displaying itself on her face. To prevent guilt about her actions from catching up to her, Alice did her best to distance herself from knowledge of the criminal classes. But anyone who lived in Gotham, or who lived in the same state as Gotham, knew enough about the Joker to regard him as a pseudo-celebrity. Albeit a terrifying celebrity. “I appreciate you taking the time to introduce yourself,” she said finally, voice soft, a bit of fear making its way into her tone. Unable to help it, she once again glanced nervously at the men looking at the two of them. Perhaps it was just her feeling paranoid, but she thought they had all gotten just a little bit closer. “You say you can help me out… how?” She looked back at him, watching his face as she asked, “And at what cost?”

 

[Cain]

"Look, I'm a people person. I can get you things. I can get rid of things just as easily," he paused for a second and smiled, chuckling, "It's all the same to me. You need drugs, that can be ar-ranged. You need someone killed...also ar-rangable. It's really not an offer, if you think about it. You either take my help or I throw you to the dogs and watch them tear you apart. That would be equally entertaining to me. As for what I get out of all of this...let's just say you'll work for me. I'm sure you'll have many traits we can barter over." He turned his head back to face some of the thugs behind them, taking note. "Lawrence, you take one more step and I'll make sure you daughter never gets to blow out those 16 candles on her next birthday." That's all it took for one of the thugs to suddenly lose interest in Alice for the time being and sulk back against the gate.

"First of all, what's your story, Alice? Why are you here? And who's blood was on you?" he asked her. He actually had a good idea, most of the times he could get guards to spill the beans on new arrivals. But he was mostly interested in seeing what she'd say. He was curious to see what he was working with here. How could he use Alice to help further his goals here.

It was then that they heard the sounds of whistles and they caught glimpses of guards pouring out into the field, ordering the patients back into their cells immediately. The place was on lockdown. "Uh oh, looks like we'll continue our delightful chat from our cells, Alice...." he said chuckling as he walked away from her, raising his arms with a wicked smile as he walked back inside. The place would be under high security for awhile now, for the guards have found a body. Victor Olet was found in the custodial closet, his face had been cut off his skull and floated in the bucket next to his body. His body was covered in lacerations and if not for the pool of blood leaking past the door and into the hallway, one of the nurses would have undoubtably just passed on by and poor Victor wouldn't be found so fresh.

 

[AliceArkham]

When the Joker first started speaking, saying he was a people person, Alice relaxed slightly. He was acting friendly, and even though she knew she should be more on her guard, having someone be nice to her when she was feeling so scared and so vulnerable made her let down her defensive walls, just a bit. However, when he delved into the semantics of “offer,” she tensed, hands unconsciously clenching, a small frown appearing on her face until she noticed it and evened her expression. She should have, in all likelihood, been more concerned about the non-offer he was referencing, but the way he spoke was imbued with a casual confidence that disarmed her. He didn’t seem like such a bad guy. Alice pushed the news stories she had been exposed to, the ones detailing his creative slaughters in an unflinchingly descriptive manner intended to sell more papers and retain more viewers, from her mind. This was a task she was a bit too good at, having practiced it for so long with the other criminals she had helped.

When the Joker threatened one of the creeping dogs, Alice’s reaction was mixed: of course it disturbed her that he offhandedly threatened a fellow inmate, somehow made more disconcerting by the wit he laced the threat with, but it also made her feel secure. Provided she was amenable to sharing whatever skills it was he was interested in, he really could keep her safe. As they walked inside, several of the inmates got close enough to her for her to experience their signature offensive aspects, be it the smell of rotten breath or the stench of a uniform that had skipped a washing… again.

After reentering her cell, Alice sat on the mattress, waiting for the bustle of the location change to dissipate entirely. She now allowed herself an unreserved grimace. She was in trouble. This place, it could be big trouble. Biting her lip, she prepared what she was going to say to the Joker.

“So, my story,” she peered out to his cell, checking to see if he was watching. When she was confident he was listening, she went on, “I’m here for killing someone. Specifically," her voice became more casual as she admitted, "for beating a man to death with a hole punch. That’s whose blood I was wearing—that son of a bitch’s sludge ridden blood.” Alice’s eyes widened at her own bitterness. Shaking her head, she went on, “That’s the most of my story I’m comfortable announcing through this flap. They caught me for that but,” she couldn’t suppress a wicked laugh, “the sentence I might get for that is child’s play compared to the sentence I should have.” She paused a few moments, listening for any guards approaching. “I’m not a violent person. That’s not my forte. But I do have a skill or two that might be of particular interest to you.” She shrugged, adding in a voice of mock-innocence, “It’s had a loyal fan base thus far.”

 

[Cain]

"A hole punch?" he said, taken aback a little. "Sounds like a lot of work. And can the act, lady...you have violence in you. I can sense it. You can blame it on the drugs, but something inside of you drew you to end a man's life with a harmless office tool," he spoke very softly, grinning all the while as he whispered back to her. "And maybe he deserved it? Maybe the right thing to do was to end his life in such a mannor that it would send a message out to everyone that THIS is what happens when you try to fuck with me," his voice deeper and slower now.

"So what can you offer me? And please don't say cigarettes. Everyone thinks I want cigarettes. No. It's a bad habit. And we can't let bad habits ruin this happy little place, can we?"

As he spoke, he took a seat at his bed. The bed was made of hollow steel tubes. And as he waited for her response, he pulled out a blood makeshift knife he had made from one of the steel poles of his bed and screwed it back onto the bed, hiding it. In fact, had you not known of its existence, you'd never think of unscrewing the bed to look for a weapon. Truth be told, the security here at Arkham was fairly lax. Ever since Crane was caught, the Asylum's been in crisis mode, trying to cover up as much as they could from Crane's experiments. However, each patient was allowed to mingle with one another and, except for cell time, they could roam the public areas with ease. Of course, if the administration had any idea of what was happening inside Arkham now, they'd certainly begin talks of 'solitary' to begin separating out the agressive patients from the truly dangerous ones.

 

[AliceArkham]

Alice cocked her head as he called her assertion that she wasn’t violent an “act.” Is it? she asked herself. She’d never attacked anyone before, and she didn’t enjoy her first experience with lethal violence—not planning it and not thinking about it in retrospect; she had very little memory of doing it, so she couldn’t say how she felt about it at the time. She considered correcting the Joker, trying to impress upon him that she really wasn’t violent, but she wondered if it was to her advantage for people to think she might turn on them and beat them to death with whatever was handy.

“Cigarettes?” Alice laughed, genuinely amused. “I don’t smoke. And that is not what I would call a ‘skill.’ No,” she lowered her voice, “I was talking about being able to do something no one else can.” Alice listened carefully. She would want to hang herself if any of the guards heard what she was saying and connected it to the unsolved computer crimes from the an unidentified hacking menace. Plus, she didn’t want any of them keeping a close eye on her. One upside to her appearance was the powerful advantage of underestimation.

She went on, voice soft, “I could disarm the security in this building without question—it would just be a matter of how long. I’m quick at that type of cracking, much faster than your average techie miscreant. I’m…” she sighed, hoping no one else was listening, “a polymath of electronic mischief.” Alice considered how detailed she wanted to be, unsure of whether or not he’d even be interested in the specifics. “Disarming security may not be a unique feat, but something you could,” she unconsciously emphasized the word ‘could,’ reluctant to use the more affirmative ‘can’ and lock herself into an agreement she didn’t want, “get from me that you can’t get from other hackers is the scripts I use. I write my own programs. You can’t prepare for an invasion from an entity that doesn’t exist yet. I specialize in twisting security, confusing it and invading it without detection.”

Alice stepped back, shaking her head at herself. That was probably giving him too much information. Before she started working anonymously and selecting her own clients, she’d had more than one gun pulled on her to ensure that her employer got to take full advantage of her skills. She didn’t like that kind of pressure. It wasn’t that she wasn’t up for the challenge—she thrived on challenges, and they made her a better hacker. No, what bothered her was the coercion. Ever since she went underground, she’d become especially averse to even the suggestion of coercion. Feeling too warm again, Alice took off her shirt and sat down, wondering what the Joker was thinking.

 

[Cain]

"Fascinating," he though to himself as he looked at her through the food slot. He could have a lot of fun if every cell were opened at once. There were certain inmates would could easily be relied upon to act as the Joker intended with minimal suggestion. Of course, now was not the best of times. With the building on lockdown, his "fun" was limited. But he had some ideas swirling in his head as he watched her remove her top.

"I'll keep that in mind. I could have a use for that. Not now, mind you...but the skills you posses are quite valuable. I do have...something in store for this place. A celebration is approaching, if you will and you are now a part of it whether you know it or not."

"Now who was the guy you broke? Ex boyfriend? Father? Oh, please tell me it was a priest!" he laughed at that before composing himself and continuing. "As I recall, you haven't done your medical examination yet. That will probably be after dinner, being that they just put you on observation for the first night and then do a full medical examination. On your way there, one of the guards will hand you a small box. Hide that box and when you are alone with the doctor, open the box near him or her....and then step away."

 

[AliceArkham]

A priest? Alice smiled in a spite of herself.

“No, not a priest,” she said quietly. “The guy I broke–” Furrowing her brow, Alice wasn’t sure how to answer. This time it wasn’t a question of inability, as had been the case when she was trying to remember earlier that day-- she knew who the man was now. But she didn't want to give anyone, let alone the Joker, that much information about herself.

The knowledge of the identity of her “victim,” if he could really be called such, had slowly dawned on her as the amphetamine worked its way out of her system, manifesting first as a feeling of hatred painfully edging its way into her consciousness. By the time all of the drug had been metabolized, she recalled why she’d taken it in the first place. When she was a sophomore at GSU, her godfather was sent to Blackgate. And not long after being incarcerated, he was been stomped to death in his cell. Alice believed it a random act of prison violence and, while devastated, had no intention of carrying out retribution. Of course she wanted the person responsible dead, but her godfather wouldn’t have wanted her to risk her freedom by going after a rabid inmate.

Three days ago, however, while invading networks to find customers, she came across a bank account with a peculiar pattern of withdrawals. In retrospect, she wasn’t sure what made her look into the consist payouts he thought he was hiding— stupid bastard, she scoffed— but it didn’t take her long to connect him to the death of her godfather. That man— she half smiled to herself as her mind scrambled to piece together the look of horror on his face as she had grabbed the hole punch and made it clear to him what his last minutes alive had in store— had ordered a hit on everyone involved in a local operation that had been centered on, from what she could gather, something as mundane as a bank robbery. For whatever reason, he became disenchanted with the idea and had everyone involved in the planning of it offed. Although her godfather was jailed by the time the job was canceled, he was killed for his trouble. That man—she pictured him, on his knees, begging for his life until she smashed his slimy jaw apart to shut up him—may not have physically killed her godfather, but he ordered the hit. There were very few people in her life that Alice had grown to care for. Her godfather was one of them, was the one of them. He raised her selflessly since she was a small child and taught her a lot of what she knew that helped her make her living.

Alice sat down slowly, a noticeable pause starting to form after her last words. What could she say to the Joker? That she found out who was responsible for her godfather’s murder in the afternoon, and in less than 24 hours, she'd sought what she perceived to be justice?

“He was, ah, responsible for the death of someone I cared about.” Voice slightly raised, she added, "Deeply cared about." Shivering, as if trying to shake from her body the memory of what she had done, of what had been done to her godfather, she changed the subject. “The box… what’s in it?” Alice wasn’t prepared to start pissing off guards already, so she wasn’t going to open something she needed to step away from without knowing what it was.

 

[Cain]

“Killing to protect the one’s you care about isn’t immoral, it’s a duty to those you love,” the clown said, his face stoic and his eyes looking at her, as if he were peering into her soul, “When I was younger, I remember killing a man who tried to scam my mother out of some money. He made up some ‘lovely’ story that she had accidentally ran over his dog and he demanded compensation. Well…..I took a look under the car and didn’t notice a thing. Not one speck of blood. So I went over to have a chat with the man. It was then that I saw, through his window, the dog he claimed my mother killed,” he paused and smiled gleefully, as if he were about to unveil the twist in some grand mystery, “Well I went inside and found the man, watching television and sitting in his underwear. The dog started barking incessantly, and no doubt was a disturbance to the neighbors. So I did the neighborly thing and stomped the small beasts head in until it would finally respect the neighborhood silence. The man was horrified. He lunged to his phone and started dialing. He got the ‘9’ in, but I had his fingers broken before the first ‘1,’” he laughed under his breath.

“While he twisted and writhed upon the floor, I went into his kitchen and found a butcher’s knife. I went back to the man, he was in tears by now. And after kicking him on his back, I leaned over him, my feet on either side of his big, fat, stomach. And with one mighty blow, I left the knife in his chest. He was still struggling when I left.”

He smiled, his mouth full of dirty, yellowing teeth, his lips deformed and scarred over. It was a story he was quite fond of telling. For no other reason, it sent a message. A message that most people understood….those that were still with us, that is.

“Inside that box is a small gift to the doctor. He wanted something and I delivered. I can’t speak directly of it. In fact, the less you know, the better. Plausible deniability and all. But needless to say it’s something he couldn’t get outside. It’s only something that could be procured inside these walls. Now be a good girl and deliver the package.”

The food slot closed once more. Unknowingly to Alice, the package contained the second part of a binary compound to make an effective nerve gas. Something he had worked on with Professor Crane. The Joker had never really been a fan of chemistry. He considered it unnecessary for his line of work. But when he read the stories of Dr. Crane’s chemicals and their effect on people, it piqued his interest. He found it easy to kill people, he’s been doing it most of his life. But perverting people, altering them, making them change…that was more to his liking. Nothing brought a smile to this man’s face like watching a well-to-do deteriorate into an uncivilized beast, dropping their morals and doing whatever is necessary to survive. The land was, and will never be, for the meek so long as he roamed these lands.


((That version of purple easier to read?))

 

[AliceArkham]

“’The less you know, the better.’ That may be,” she kept her tone casual, “one of the most inaccurate clichés in existence.” She sighed, trying to keep her voice from betraying nervousness. “When is it ever better not to know?” Admittedly, Alice had a particularly strong opinion on that front. She made her living proving the fallibility of that mantra, and in so doing, her actions had reaffirmed to the point of certainty that ignorance, no matter how comforting, was never a good thing. Never. She was willfully ignorant of what her crimes had done to the people around her, and look where that had landed her. Perhaps not the most direct correlation I can make, she mused, but it's true.

Despite opening with a defiant line, the Joker had spooked Alice. The hair on her arms stood up when he talked about breaking a finger; by the time he got to leaving the man with the knife in his chest, Alice had gone rigid with trepidation. Had the Joker not started off with the dog story, Alice might have outright refused to have anything to do with the box. As it was, he got to that part next. “Good girl,” she had grumbled, leaning her head against the wall for a moment before finding it uncomfortable and sitting awkwardly upright. Her mouth was turned down as she thought over his dismissal of her question. She did not want to deliver the box. She didn’t want to open the box. She didn’t want anything to do with it at all.

Alice begrudgingly acknowledged that already this could be a defining moment in their interaction. He was giving her an outright order, with no obvious benefit to herself, to do something that was almost certainly going to get her in trouble. He was that secure in his influence over her, an influence he had cultivated in only a few hours. She shook her head. No, no, I can't deliver that stupid box. He had started the conversation with a threat, so she knew he wouldn’t take a refusal lying down. But she was never a “good girl” in the sense that he was using. She may have been shy—am still shy, she corrected herself—but she had always been feisty.

“A gift to the doctor, you say? You don’t even know the gender of the doctor I’ll be seeing.” Alice shook her head, blonde hair starting to feel heavy. When do I get to take a shower? she wondered. Biting her lip, Alice's teeth caught on a scab forming where the man, thrashing as he died, had slugged her across the mouth. When the Joker didn’t respond to her, which she expected, she went on at a conversational volume, “If you want to omit information from me, I’ll respect that. But I haven’t even known you for a day and you’re already lying to me? That’s not a good way to start things.” Alice swallowed hard. Things? Really? she chided herself, feeling utterly powerless. She hit her head against the wall gently, the action still sharply knocking her teeth together.

When she felt secure that, at least for the moment, the Joker had no intention of addressing her concerns, she became reflective. The discomfort of the wall had stopped bothering her enough that, after striking her head against it, she held the position, her neck bent at an almost uncomfortable angle. Closing her eyes, the unevenly textured wall grasping at strands of her hair as she tried to shift to a more relaxed position, she mumbled, “It wasn’t protection though. My godfather was dead years before I killed that man.” Hearing herself say that made the hair stand up on her arms again. She had killed someone. Physically ended someone’s life. Gotten his blood all over her. Over something had happened years ago. Granted, what that man did set into motion the worst event she'd experienced that far in her life, but she had beaten him with the savagery as if he had killed her godfather in front of her the day before. But I'm not a violent person. I'm not, she told herself, closing her eyes harder, trying to decide what she'd do when they came to collect her for the medical examination.

 

[Cain]

Dr. Spelding made his way down the aisles of Arkham, the overhead lights flickering as he passed cell after cell. He was called in from Gotham Medical to evaluate a patient who was brought in late last night, too late to perform a medical examination. Passing checkpoint after checkpoint, Dr. Spelding paused a moment when he passed the Joker’s cell. He remembered that man, the man who nearly killed him in an explosion that rocked his former hospital. The sight of him, even without his facepaint, made his skin crawl. As he checked his clipboard to make sure he had the right patient.

“This one, Drawls,” he said, pointing at Alice’s door. Bill Drawls, another guard opened up the door, revaling Alice to the doctor. Smiling, Spelding extended a hand to her, helping her to her feet. “Alice? My name is Doctor Alan Spelding. I’m going to be executing your medical examination. Is that alright?”

He had no idea what kind of mental state she was in. Often he was used to having patients berate, or even accost him, during their evaluations. One time, he performed an evaluation of a man who threatened to eat his bones, another time he had a female patient sexually accost him, and then there was the Joker’s examination…that one left him oddly feeling violated and exposed. Once she was on her feet, he started to make his way to the examination room.

It was then that Drawls turned to Alice. His eyes looked at her intensely, perhaps to make sure she wouldn’t try to use this moment to escape. His hand ducked slowly into his pocket as he reached inside to reveal a small white jewelry box, the kind one would buy to package a ring in. Setting it on the floor in front of her, he focused on her and took a step back. “Best not to keep the good doctor waiting,” Drawls said, his voice timid.

It was then that Drawls looked behind him at the Joker’s cell. The food slot was open and the patient’s eyes, encircled with dark, tired skin, was watching him deliver the package. The slot slowly closed and the Joker sat up, smiling wickedly to himself, looking at his own reflection in the door’s view window.

 

[AliceArkham]

“Is it alright?” she asked, speaking mostly to herself, eyes narrowed. “Do I have a choice?” Alice mentally scolded herself for being rude to the doctor, even if he hadn’t heard her. Those superficially polite faux-questions aggravated her. Still, he was taking out her frustration on Dr. Spelding, frustration he had nothing to do with cultivating, and that wasn’t fair. Alice tried to even her expression, looking as neutral as she could manage.

Just as she had gotten her facial muscles under her control, she saw the guard set down the tiny box. All of her silent work was undone, overcome with an abrupt frown. The Joker would know if she didn’t take it, so she had to do that much at least. Touching it with a gentleness and dislike as though it were coated with broken glass, Alice carefully put it in her jumpsuit. Glaring so fiercely at the guard that he flinched, Alice left her cell and tried to decide what to do with the box. She refused to allow herself to look towards the Joker.

Alice padded quietly down the hall, watching the doctor with a detached look intended to mask her apprehension. So focused on trying to determine what to do with the item the Joker had forcefully entrusted her with, Alice was unaware of the jeering of the inmates as she walked by. I have to warn him… right? she asked herself. And then her gray hat hacker morality kicked in. Kicked in almost physically, manifesting as a twitch of relief skipping across her expression. Immediately the pre-remorse she had been fearing slipped off her shoulders, replaced by a calming sensation of intellectual apathy.

Her godfather had indoctrinated her into the gray hat hacking way of life. Unbeknownst to herself, she quickly took that shaky base of an ethical foundation and generalized it to her everyday life. She could be a good person if it benefited her, but if it benefited her to behave otherwise, she’d do that with just as much ease. Alice didn’t enjoy doing the right thing or doing the wrong thing… she just did things. For fun, for money—it didn’t matter. Exhaling deeply for the first time since the Joker had closed his food flap and ended their conversation, she sighed out the last remnants of the guilt she’d been harboring in anticipation of completing her assigned task. Alice’s dislike at being compelled to deliver whatever it was she was hiding in her jumpsuit had distracted her from the task itself. True, she didn’t want to get in trouble. But she also didn’t care if the doctor got hurt if that kept her from getting hurt.

Her thoughts no longer clouded by the uninvited question of morality that had been lingering since her intake, Alice came up with an idea. A back up plan of sorts. Looking around for security cameras, which were obvious in their placement, she chose a spot where she would be in direct view of the feed. She immediately stopped walking, halting so suddenly that the guard bumped into her and knocked her down. Bracing herself, once on the ground, grimacing at the sensation of her bones connecting with the cold, scarred floor, Alice quickly set the box on the ground in front of her. She counted to two, holding it in plain sight, to control for any delays in the footage capture, and then put it back in her jumpsuit. Neither the doctor nor the guard noticed the box—and if someone was watching the footage in real time, they wouldn’t notice it either. And that was the point. As she stood, Alice saluted the camera. If something very bad did come about from her using the box—if I choose to use it, she reminded herself—she could say she was coerced, hoping that the elaborate bit she did there would show that she was trying to indicate that she had the item and didn’t want it.

Standing on her own, Alice looked up at the doctor. Maybe if he was nice, she’d be swayed, but at the moment, she was more than ready to set down the item she had flashed for the camera and back against the wall, leaving him to fend for himself.

 

[Cain]

The Joker sat solemnly in his cell, staring at the textured paint upon the bricks across from him. His lips curved into a grin as he reflected. “Oh, Victor….you simply don’t throw away such an amazing suit like that…” And with that, he cackled and stood up from his cell, slowly walking towards the door, peering out the food slot and seeing the guard. “Hello, Charlie.”

“Well Alice,” Dr. Spelding said as he closed the door behind them, “How are you feeling? I mean, aside from sores and bruises from the police last night, are you feeling ill? Unusual at all?” He had her sit on the examination table across from him as he began looking over her medical records. Flipping through the pages, often looking at the same page multiple times, he sighed as he set the file down and moved over to her. Taking his stethoscope, he began listening to her heart. Soon he moved to take her blood pressure, weight, the whole deal. He wrote everything down, and when he closed the file and sat it down on the table next to her, he spoke frankly. “We’ve decided to keep you here at Arkham Asylum while your treatment is underway, Alice. I apologize for not getting here late last night, but there are some special rules here at Arkham. Ever since the, ahem, Crane incident, we’ve been reviewing all security protocols and have adopted some of Blackgate prison’s procedures in dealing with the influx of violent patients we’ve been receiving lately.”

“First off, you are allowed to have visitors between ten in the morning until noon. Breakfast is at eight, lunch at one, and dinner at seven. From one until six, you are allowed to be in the commons areas. That includes the mess hall, dining hall, lounge, and the field outside. You are not allowed to touch any of the guards, doctors, or administration. And lastly, we are treating very volatile people here. Interfering with their treatment will be delt with and serious ramifications will be handed down for interfering with the doctors and their work.”

Spelding had seen the vast majority of the recent patients here. Ever since his predecessor was found murdered in his apartment, Spelding’s career had skyrocketed as he published paper after paper on the many emotional facets of Arkham Asylum. He was making the rounds at the late night talk shows and he was gearing up to publish what he considered to be his legacy, “The Joker and Emotional Instability,” as the only doctor with exclusive permission to treat the Joker, Spelding was positioned to profit more than the hundreds who visited the clown daily. He had been seen boasting to the guards about how he was going to retire, leave Gotham, and settle on the West Coast, in a small beach bungalow. In fact, the guards were actually getting tired of hearing Spelding’s plans.

“So Alice, your vitals look good, which is a relief,” Spelding began, “I mean, sometimes patients have serious lacerations and bruises. That Batman packs a punch.” He chuckled before finding his composure again. “Well, I mean….anyways…” Spelding seemed to get a little nervous, looking to the door, making sure no one was watching them before he continued. “I hear you have something for me…a small box, yes? Give it here,” his voice taking a softer yet darker tone.

 

[AliceArkham]

Alice did her best to control her flinching as he took her vitals. She didn’t like being touched. She wasn’t sure when or why it had started—maybe from her godfather’s lack of physical displays of affection—but regardless, she did not like people putting their hands on her unless they had explicit permission. And even then, the “liking” was relative. She’d had a few boyfriends in the past who she was more than happy to let touch her, but getting to that point took time. Something as common as shaking with someone the first time she met them made her grimace, although Alice had since gotten that overt expression in that instance under control. Her purposeful vacation from touching and being touched also made her unusually sensitive to physical contact, especially when it involved bare skin. Thankfully, the doctor was wearing gloves. True, the latex wasn't all that different from the feeling of skin when it brushed across her back as he moved the stethoscope, or when he turned her cheek so he could shine the pinpoint light into her eyes, but still... if he had tried any of those moves bare-handed, she'd probably have hopped right of the table.

As he detailed the visitors policy, a sad sort of amusement swept over Alice. Visitors? There was no one who would visit her. That fact served to enhance her discomfort with being stuck in Arkham. There truly was no one out there who would know to check up on her. I need to find a way to keep that from being public knowledge, she thought to herself, looking down at her small feet swinging off the edge of the table. After all, she imagined that some of the nasties trapped in here would feel significantly reduced reservation with having a go at her if they knew there were no outsiders checking up on her. Sighing, Alice looked up from her feet and back at the doctor. It was then that he asked for the box. Alice’s entire demeanor changed. She displayed what she was thinking more candidly, affect changing as a feeling of disgust weaved its way through her. Corruption rampant on Day 1, she mused, narrowing her eyes at him.

“It’s funny you should say that doc, on the heels of reviewing the strict safety protocols and such.” She took the box, holding it gently in her palm. “As you can see, yes I do have it." Alice looked at the box, not setting it down. “I wasn’t told what was in it though." Alice jumped quickly off the table. "So,” she glanced at the door, walking to the opposite side of the room as the doctor, “what’s in it?” Truth be told, Alice really did not care what was in it. But before she handed it over, she wanted to know what she was going to be trapped in the room with. A self-directed sardonic smile crossed her lips. What could it possibly contain that would be dangerous. Still, the Joker had told her to take a step back, and she’d feel much better setting it in front of the puffed up hypocrite if she knew what he was expecting.

 

[Cain]

The doctor quickly snatched up the little box in his hands, holding it like a father would his son after having through he’d lost his child forever. He struggled to hold back his smile, occasionally letting his teeth gleam in a grin. He finally had it, something he had wanted for the longest time. His attentions were soon back on Alice, who was now on the other side of the locked room from him. Clearing his throat, he regained his composure, smoothing out any wrinkles on his lab coat before speaking.

“This….this box is a gift from the Joker. It contains the remnants of Victor Zsasz’s teeth he lost in a fight with the Batman. I don’t know how he got them, but he did, and he told me he’d give them to me,” Dr. Spelding said as he sat the box down beside him…not too far from him though. “Victor was once a patient here, before my time. I guess you could say he’s kind of the first of his kind, a murderous killer who would cut himself with tally marks after each kill. Well, this is where the box comes in. Once Victor was out of places on his skin, he had to get creative. So, taking a small knife and some hydrochloric acid, he began to etch additional tally marks into the backs of his teeth. That way, he could savor each kill by simply running his tongue over his teeth.”

Spelding smiled as he sat up a little, trying to look a little more professional. “It’ll all be in my paper on Zsasz, which I expect to submit for peer review later this month. The Joker has really been a gift for me here, he’s given me insight to so many different patients here. If he weren’t a murderous psychopathic clown, he’d make a decent psychologist.” Spelding laughed at the joke he perceived as witty. When he noticed that Alice wasn’t reacting, he cleared his throat and picked up the box. “Well then, let’s take a look…” he said as he opened the box. It was then that a burst of yellow dust exploded in Spelding’s face, much to his chagrin. He dropped the box, which contained no teeth but a small balloon filled with yellow powder which popped upon opening. “What is this!?” Spelding said as he looked to Alice, his teeth clenched as as moved towards her, “What did you do with the teeth!? You stupid, dumb, little bitch…I can keep you locked up here for all time, you know!!!”

The man shouted at her. As he took another step, Spelding began to notice that he was sweating a little more than usual. Wiping his brow of the perspiration with his hand, he began to breathe deeper. Looking at his hands a moment, he soon turned his attention back to Alice. “You dirty cunt….” he began, edging closer, “No matter, I can always just take your teeth and mark them up to look like his. No one will know the difference!” Spelding took another step, no longer fearing any repercussions of his actions. He would have his teeth.

It was at Spelding’s next step that the room suddenly went dark. In fact, the whole Asylum went dark. Had the examination room not been soundproofed, both Spelding and Alice would have heard everyone outside in the cells yelling and hollering. Except for patient # 1593156, his cell was dead silent.

Inside the examination room, Alice could hear Spelding breathing deeper and deeper. He gasped at the air and fell silent. The room was pitch black and silent. It was only a moment though until Alice felt someone grab both of her arms by the wrists and move her from the edge of the room back into the center. She would hit the edge of the examination able, her chest on the soft cushion, bending over. Before she could move, the person was behind her, leaning over her and keeping her against the examination table. “Don’t move,” the man said as he pressed something against her neck. It was a small scalpel, one you’d expect to find in the surgery room here at Arkham, not the examination room, where sharps were not permitted. “Move and you’ll die,” he said as the edge of the blade pressed further against her neck. One of his legs kicked hers aside, forcing her so spread her legs a little. The blade firmly against her flesh, the assailant’s other hand began to creep down her side until it could sweep under her, caressing her between her legs through her Arkham uniform.

 

[AliceArkham]

Alice could not easily recall a time she had been more disoriented in her life. The doctor going from a composed academic to a foul-mouthed lunatic bent on getting her teeth… then the strange box expelling powder from a balloon, followed by darkness… and now the scalpel and the stranger. What kind of place was this?

Had the man accosting her been just a bit quicker getting her to the table, he would have gotten a one-sided earful of screaming. Lucky for him, by the time he roughly guided her over, Alice was certain the room was soundproof. Very recently certain— she still had her mouth open in anticipation of crying out. After he pressed her head against the table, though, she knew that should have been the sound of something, anything going on outside. But there wasn’t. All she could hear was breathing, strange uneven breathing, which she couldn’t quite place, in her haze of fear and confusion, as the doctor’s or belong to the man holding her down.

“Who the fuck are you?” she asked, surprised at her own mouth. When she got nervous, Alice tended to curse. She wasn’t proud of it—in fact, if anything the profanity was amusing when spoken in her voice rather than even the slightest bit intimidating—but it’s how she was. Alice, to distract her own self from what was going on, wondered how someone got in that room. It wasn’t particularly large. Augh, these guards!, she thought angrily. Of course—who else could have gotten in there? First they give her a stupid box filled with powder poison, and now one of them is in the room, teasing her legs apart while holding a knife to her throat! Might even be that jerk who brought me here in the first place… It almost made her want to join ranks with the Joker.

Alice briefly weighed the pros and cons of her three possible routes of resistance. There was the obvious, active route of fighting. The cold steel tracing a crooked line down her neck, almost making her cut herself with a shiver, was a solid voice of reason against that route. However, the other two options were passive, leaving the final call in his hands. In her limited experience with hold ups, Alice had found it was nice to know how serious a death threat was. The person threatening you with death probably wouldn't off you immediately, at least not in a situation like her present one. Indeed, a kid cornering her in an alley in The Bowery had almost started crying once she put him in a position where he either had to stab her or admit defeat. But this, she made a frightened noise of resistance as he continued to touch her, is not a kid.

Taking a deep breath, Alice prepared to try the direct route. Since her assailant’s other hand, the one not pressing a blade into her skin, was being used to violate her, Alice had a tiny opportunity to escape, provided she could use his distraction at assaulting her to delay his other hand from slitting her throat. Blinking once, realzing she was near tears, Alice ducked her head in the opposite direction of the knife while his non-weapon hand was distracted and then swept her head down and in the other direction to get away. She didn’t really think this through, of course. While the shock of her impromptu resistance did not end in her being gutted, Alice was immediately aware that she wasn’t sure exactly how far from the table she had gotten, let alone how close she would be to getting out of the room… if I can even remember where the door is.

“Fuck,” she said, and then clapped a hand over her mouth. Announcing her position—that was a great move. Stellar work, Alice. The man who had been accosting her was completely silent. Alice took a tiny step to the right, thinking that was around where the doctor’s body was. Maybe I could hold him up as a shield if the guard tries to stab me. Another step—nothing. Inhaling as quietly as possible, Alice took a third small step away.

 

[Cain]

It’s when Alice took that next step back that she bumped into her assailant. Standing behind her, he left her no chance of reacting to this discovery before his arm wrapped around her neck, holding her against his body. The other arm went behind her head, forcing her forehead down. This was a move meant to subdue, to deprive the victim of oxygen and move them into unconsciousness. She could flail all she liked, she could scream, but she would not break this hold. Within a few seconds, she would fall limp, unconscious in her assailant’s arms. It was only then that the man would let her go, letting her body fall to the floor like a ragdoll. His breathing was irregular, but not labored.

“You’re not going anywhere,” the assailant said as he leaned down to pick up her body.

When she awoke, she would find herself back on the examination table. The room was still dark, and the room was silent. If she would struggle, she would soon find herself restrained. Often the patients were unruly, so the hospital had a set of restraints attached to the bed, large leather belts that would hold a patient’s limbs down. And that’s how Alice would find herself, tied down to the examination table, her wrists and ankles bound to the table. Her arms were over her head, her legs were spread. As soon as she moved, her assailant stood up, noticing she was awake. He moved towards her, standing at the end of the table, reaching his hand out, finding her neck, and drawing it down her body. He traced out the valley between her breasts, down her firm stomach, and finally down her torso until he was once again caressing her sex through her uniform.

He reached back for her neck, caressing her, running the back of his hand against her skin. She would feel him tug on her shirt, almost lifting her body up against her restraints as he pulled up on her tanktop. However, as the scalpel met the fabric, the sound of cloth tearing filled the room, following by Alice’s body landing back on the table, her breasts now exposed to the cold, dark night air. Her assailant smiled to himself as he took the blunt edge of the blade and drew it over her body, pressing hard on her skin, letting her know where he would cut her if he needed to do so. He traced down her body, and let the blade trace around her breasts, flicking one of her nipples with the steel.

Once the blade reached the hem of her pants though, he wasted no time in slicing those off as well, ripping the fabric when necessary and discarding the orange jumpsuit to the side as he left her in nothing but her panties, strapped to the table. He had plans for Alice…

 

[AliceArkham]

Alice whimpered softly as she tested the restraints on her arms and legs. They were solid, making uncomfortable ridges in her soft skin. This cannot be real, she thought, realizing that she must have been crying before she passed out: the space around her eyes was uncomfortably wet. Don’t cry, Alice, don’t cry, she urged herself, biting her lip very hard to distract herself from the emotional torment that was starting to take over her senses.

“Stop …” she cried out as he slid the back of his hand along her bare skin. Her entire body shuddered at the touch, her dread at the unfamiliarity of the sensation enhanced by the pitch black, soundless prison; “Please…” she didn’t manage to get the ‘stop’ part of the plea out as he carefully drew the knife along her torso, the cold steel such a jarring sensation in the dark that she wasn’t positive he hadn’t cut her; “Stop, please, stop…” she said more urgently as he traced the blade around her breast, whimpering when he pressed the steel against her nipple; “Stop it!” she finally shouted, the sound interrupted by a sob as he cut off the rest of her uniform. Biting her lip harder, she listened in horror at the sound of her own anguished voice as it resonated and dissipated in the otherwise silent room. She was surprised by the sound of it, an unfamiliar mix of terror and… anger? Was that what it was? Or panic. Alice wasn’t a tough girl, not really. She had a smart mouth, but if he pushed hard enough, she’d break and behave.

“Does it make you feel like a man, retraining an unconscious girl so you can molest her in the dark?” Alice used the word molest, spoken through gritted teeth, because she wasn’t willing to even entertain the possibility of it going farther than that. True denial had lasted right up until he cut off everything but her panties. Now that he had gotten to that point, his intentions horrifyingly apparent, Alice panicked. She really didn’t want to beg. She abhorred begging. It just… made her feel dirty. Her only other option, as she saw it, was asking questions. They were a good distraction. Outright begging wasn’t as effective at delaying an assailant’s action because that kind of communication could be ignored, made into a perverted soundtrack for whatever they were planning. Questions, though. Those were like skips in the music—just jarring enough to slow things down. Although Alice had never been strapped to an exam table and had her clothes sheared from her body before, she’d been in more than one situation where she’d chosen questions, and she was alive to talk about it.

The obvious question of “What do you want?” was beside the point now. The first time he forced his hands against her sex, she could have pulled it off. Maybe even if she’d been coherent enough to form words before her sliced through her tank top, she could have asked him then. Leaving her naked except for her panties, though, restrained with her legs spread, made the answer to that too apparent to warrant a question. Moving on, she told herself, imagining her internal voice beginning to become unsteady with fear. Feeling hot tears leak out of the side of her eyes, Alice shut them. It didn't matter-- she couldn't see anything either way. Before he could touch her panties, she said quietly,

“Please don’t do this. Is there anything, anything you want from me that I can give you instead of…” she swallowed a sob before adding weakly, “this?”

 

[Cain]

The man remained silent. He ignored her pleas and sobs as he continued to explore her body, fingertips rounding ever corner, descending down every valley, riding ever ridge. He licked his lips as he slid two of his fingers into his mouth, his tongue sliding over his digits as he licked and coated them with his saliva. Once removed, he was quick to move the fabric of her panties aside with one hand, and began rubbing at her sex with his wet fingers, coating her womanhood with his spit. Caressing around her pussylips, he would ‘test the waters’ by sliding in a finger, just a knuckle deep, inside of her, feeling her pussy grasp at his finger. This lasted only a minute as soon he slid both digits very, very deep into Alice, forcing her to spread for him. Once his fingers were buried inside her slick sex, he turned his hand until the palm was facing upwards and, after curling his fingers slightly, began to pump his digits in and out of her, his thumb rubbing up against her clit each time he buried his index and middle finger deep inside of her.

He continued this, invading her body with his fingers, violating her as she writhed helplessly in the silenced room. Though she could not see, a grin was upon her assailant’s lips as he felt her pussy tighten about him. She might resist, but she no doubt was being affected by being touched by a man. As he pulled his fingers from her, he could feel them soaked with her wetness, just as he desired. One arm goes to rest by her side as he leaned over the table to her. She could feel his breath on her, the hot air blown over her soft skin. Reaching for her, he smeared her own juices over her lips, coating her with her own essence as if to see “Struggle all you like, your pussy doesn’t lie to me, Alice.”

It’s then Alice could hear him begin to shuffle…no….he was undressing. He pulled his shirt off of his chest and tossed it to the corner and soon followed by his pants and, finally his boxers. He stepped up to her, positioning himself between her legs, inches from her dripping slit. He held his hand to his face and Alice could finally ‘hear’ him as he spit on his hand, reaching down to begin stroking his hardening cock, slathering his manhood with his saliva. His free hand went to grasp at the strings of her panties as he roughly tore them from her, the fabric snapping and quickly removed, leaving her nude and vulnerable. He set the panties down on her stomach as he stepped closer. Grasping at his cock, he edged closer as Alice soon felt the bulbous head of his cock against her lips. The swollen head would rub against her lips, collecting more juices upon the tip. He was ready, but he held back, listening for her reaction to the upcoming heinous act that she was about to be subjected to.