Arkham Asylum.
A fortress of steel and shadow, echoing with the madness of its infamous residents. Within its cold, suffocating walls, a new psychiatrist walked down the dim corridor, his polished shoes clicking on the stained tile floor with each confident step. The guards escorted him with visible tension. After all, this was no ordinary first day.
The man stopped outside a reinforced observation cell and adjusted his tie. Inside, restrained to a heavy chair with thick leather straps, sat a pale-faced man with green hair, smeared red lips, and eyes that gleamed with a twisted, perpetual amusement.
The Joker.
He had murdered his last psychiatrist yesterday—with a pen.
Yet, the new doctor didn't flinch.
Instead, he stepped forward and greeted the madman with a warm smile.
"Hello there. I come from a truly nasty place," the doctor began casually, as if recounting a vacation gone wrong. "A place where there's almost nothing. No food, no water, no wine… and no women."
He took a seat across from the Joker, folding one leg neatly over the other.
"But that's not the worst part," he added with a grin. "No, the worst part was being stuck with seven brothers and sisters. For years. All of us trapped together."
The Joker tilted his head, intrigued.
"I never liked them much," the doctor continued with a chuckle. "In fact, I often thought about killing them. But… it's not so simple. Not where I come from."
The Joker's grin widened. "Now this… this is interesting."
"I was trapped there for a long, long time," the doctor said wistfully. "Until recently. To be honest, I love this place. This asylum. This city."
He extended a hand toward the restrained Joker. "Oh, and my name's Shawn. Dr. Shawn, if you prefer. From today onward, I'll be your new psychiatrist."
He glanced down at the Joker's tightly bound arms.
"Ah—right. Can't shake hands. Forgot."
He retracted his hand, still smiling.
The Joker studied him with a curious glint in his eye. Most people were terrified of him. Most wouldn't dare get within stabbing distance—especially not after what happened yesterday.
But this man… this man was different.
"You sound like you're from Hell," the Joker remarked.
"You guessed right," Shawn replied without hesitation.
The Joker's eyes narrowed, the smile never leaving his face. "So, how'd you escape?"
"Hmm…" Shawn scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Let's call it a jailbreak."
"And do you plan on going back?" the Joker asked. "You clearly hate your siblings. If I were you, I'd go back and kill them all."
"I've thought about it," Shawn admitted. "But that place... it's special. If I go back, I may never return. So for now, I'm staying here."
He leaned forward slightly. "And trust me, my siblings aren't easy to kill."
Joker's eyebrows rose. "There's nothing too hard to kill for me. If they're human, I can end them."
Shawn smiled cryptically. "But what if they're not human?"
That comment made Joker pause.
Something in Shawn's voice... his tone, his certainty—suggested he wasn't joking. The Joker's mind, sharp as ever despite its fractured edges, picked up on the subtle cues.
Was he serious?
Was he really not human?
That possibility only made him more interesting.
"So, Dr. Shawn," the Joker said, leaning back as far as the restraints would allow. "Do you know why you're here?"
"Of course," Shawn nodded. "Because you murdered your last psychiatrist with a pen yesterday. But to be honest…"
He flashed a grin.
"I think you're normal."
That made the Joker freeze.
Normal? No one had ever called him that.
But before he could react, Shawn added smoothly, "Don't misunderstand. I'm talking about your thought process. Your reasoning. You killed your psychiatrist because you expected Batman to visit afterward."
He paused, letting the idea sink in.
"And, theoretically, that plan made sense."
Joker narrowed his eyes. "But Batman didn't come."
"Nope," Shawn said cheerfully. "I did."
The Joker didn't respond at first. What Shawn said was accurate. That had been his plan. So how did this newcomer know?
"Interesting," the Joker murmured.
Shawn stood up and paced casually in front of the table.
"You suffer from schizophrenia, dissociative identity disorder, movement tic disorder, and borderline personality disorder," he said calmly. "It's extremely rare for someone to have all those at once. Statistically, it's like winning the lottery."
He turned and gave a mock bow. "Congratulations."
The Joker snorted.
"According to protocol, I should prescribe you medication." Shawn pulled a pen from his pocket, jotted down a list of drugs on the notepad, and set both on the table.
Antipsychotics. Mood stabilizers. Nothing surprising.
But the pen…
The Joker's eyes locked onto it like a hawk.
A familiar tool.
A weapon.
For just a moment, that unmistakable gleam of chaos returned to his eyes.
But before he could act, Shawn spoke again without looking up.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he said lightly. "I quite like this job. And as of now, I'd prefer not to kill you."
That made Joker pause.
Then—grin.
A grin stretching ear to ear.
Suddenly, Joker raised both hands, now mysteriously unbound, and placed them slowly on the table.
"When did you notice I was free?" he asked.
Shawn didn't flinch. "Not important. What's important is that I'm not your enemy. In fact… I think we could be friends."
Joker laughed.
"A friend? My last friend got pushed off a 50-story building. The one before that was stabbed repeatedly. The one before that got hit by a truck."
He leaned forward, eyes wild. "You sure you still want to be my friend?"
Shawn gave a small nod. "Absolutely. Because I won't die."
Joker looked at him long and hard. "You're… fun."
Then, with no warning, he lunged forward and snatched the pen from the table.
With lightning speed, he drove it toward Shawn's eye.
But Shawn didn't blink. Didn't even move.
The pen stopped—one centimeter from his eyeball.
The Joker held it there, trembling with excitement. The tension was electric.
Then, just as suddenly, he let go.
"Y'know what? You're right. We can be friends," he said with a delighted laugh. "You're as crazy as I am."
He placed the pen neatly back on the table.
Shawn calmly retrieved it and slid it into his pocket.
"It's good you didn't try anything serious," he said mildly. "Because I really would've killed you."
The Joker didn't doubt him.
For some reason, he believed every word.
And that unsettled him.
Before either could say more, the cell door slammed open. A team of armed guards stormed in, triggered by the Joker's apparent movement. They tackled him, restraining him roughly against the table.
"Take it easy," the Joker said cheerfully, laughing through the struggle. "We were just bonding!"
Still pinned by the guards, he turned his head toward Shawn.
"So, Doctor… we'll be seeing each other again?"
"Definitely," Shawn replied, brushing off his coat. "From today forward, I'm the permanent psychiatrist assigned to Arkham Asylum."
He turned and walked toward the door, leaving behind the chaos and the mad laughter echoing behind him.
The Joker chuckled, then cackled, then burst into full-blown hysterics.
Because somewhere deep down, he knew—
Another lunatic had just entered his world. And this one might be even crazier than him.