Just as Dr. Shawn stepped out of Arkham Asylum, the familiar voice of his system echoed in his mind.
That's right.
Shawn was a time traveler.
He hadn't come from around here—or even this world. And when he first awoke after transmigrating, he'd thought Lady Luck had cursed him permanently.
Why?
Because his very first stop wasn't some pleasant, peaceful world. No. He landed straight into the depths of Hell—specifically, the demonic prison realm from The Adventures of Jackie Chan.
And worse—he hadn't landed as an innocent bystander either.
He was the Demon of the Moon, Curse Blue—one of the infamous Eight Demon Sorcerers.
At first, he thought he'd be stuck in that blazing hellhole forever, surrounded by infernal siblings he absolutely despised. The environment was harsh, the politics brutal, and the company unbearable. He had seven brothers and sisters, each more annoying than the last, each trying to outdo one another in chaos and cruelty.
He wanted no part in their pointless schemes of domination.
Luckily, before he lost his mind completely, the Sign-In System activated.
After completing the novice task, the system granted him an escape from hell—and just like that, he was out.
Free.
That was also the moment he realized how chaotic this world truly was.
It wasn't just Jackie Chan Adventures. This reality was a fusion universe, merging elements from Marvel, DC, and who knew what else. It was a madhouse of superheroes, villains, gods, and monsters.
But for Shawn?
It was paradise.
As a demon, chaos wasn't a threat.
It was home.
He wasn't interested in world domination like his siblings. All he wanted was to survive. Maybe even enjoy life a little. Keep a low profile. Stir the pot here and there.
And if he could build a nice little empire of his own along the way? Even better.
That's what brought him to Gotham City—a cesspool of crime, madness, and disorder. The very air seemed to hum with darkness.
Perfect.
Utilizing his demonic abilities—most notably, the power to hear the innermost thoughts of humans—he set up a private psychological clinic right in the heart of Gotham. The Angel Psychological Counseling Clinic.
Though between you and me, he'd originally wanted to call it the Demon Psychological Clinic. But… branding matters. He didn't want to draw unnecessary attention.
So "Demon" became "Angel." Ironic, but subtle.
The city welcomed him. Over time, he became something of an underground legend. Villains like Scarecrow, Deathstroke, Penguin, even the Joker—they all showed up at his clinic, seeking treatment for mental or physical trauma.
Sometimes, Shawn patched up bullet wounds.
Sometimes, he stitched together minds.
Sometimes, he just listened—and laughed.
It was during one of his sign-in quests that the system gave him his newest task:
"Sign in at Arkham Asylum."
And so, with a casual shrug, he accepted a new identity: the part-time psychiatrist of the most dangerous asylum on the East Coast.
Thankfully, the position didn't require daily attendance. Twice a week—Wednesdays and Fridays—he'd show up, listen to lunatics, and enjoy the background noise of screams echoing through padded hallways.
A perfect part-time gig.
So here he was, walking away from Arkham, smiling to himself as he reflected on his confrontation with the Joker.
That's when he heard hurried footsteps—and then a familiar voice.
"Boss! Are you okay?!"
A young woman came running toward him, her face flushed with concern.
Blonde pigtails. Pale skin. A red-and-black jacket.
Harleen Quinzel.
Or as the world would come to know her… Harley Quinn.
In the original DC timeline, Harley had been a psychiatrist assigned to Joker—until she fell in love with him, broke him out of Arkham, and descended into madness.
But that future?
Not happening here.
About two weeks ago, Harley had walked into Shawn's clinic looking for a job.
And he'd hired her.
Now, she was his assistant—sometimes receptionist, sometimes counselor, sometimes bodyguard. It all depended on the day.
When she found out he was going to Arkham for work, Harley had tried everything to convince him not to go.
"Boss, the people in Arkham are psychos! Monsters! Someone literally murdered a doctor with a pen last week!"
He remembered her rant fondly. Her concern had been genuine—if a bit self-serving.
After all, where else would she find a boss generous enough to rent her an apartment and pay $10,000 a month?
Shawn peered into her thoughts with ease. She was worried about him, yes—but also deeply worried about losing her cushy job.
"Harley, are you afraid no one will pay your rent or salary if I die?" he asked playfully.
Harley's eyes widened. "H-Huh?! How'd you—?!"
Then she quickly shook her head. "No, no! Boss, I'm seriously worried about you, not my paycheck!"
Shawn laughed and tossed his bag into the back of the nearby car. "Sure, sure. Hop in."
She climbed into the passenger seat, muttering to herself.
They drove through Gotham's cracked streets. When they passed a small French bistro, Shawn pulled over.
"Food?" he asked.
"Yes, please!" Harley chirped.
They stopped for a bite, even packing some to-go meals.
An hour later, they arrived at the Angel Psychological Counseling Clinic—a cozy brick building wedged between two shady pawn shops. The sign above the door was painted in soothing blues and whites.
As soon as they stepped out of the car, another voice rang out.
"Took you long enough! You two forget someone else works here?! I'm starving!"
A tall, fierce-eyed woman stormed out of the clinic, arms crossed.
Selina Kyle.
Better known as… Catwoman.
Once a world-class thief, Selina's specialty had been lifting priceless art, jewelry, and relics from under the noses of high-security museums and billionaires. She met Shawn during a botched heist when a rival gang tried to kill her.
He saved her life.
In return, she decided to stick around—ostensibly as the clinic's receptionist, though she still enjoyed the occasional late-night burglary.
"Relax, Selena," Harley said with a grin. "Brought your favorite—steak sandwich and tiramisu!"
Selina snatched the bag. "Hmph. You're lucky I didn't break into the vault and fire you both."
She turned and walked back inside.
Shawn watched her go and scratched his chin. "Maybe I've been too nice to those two…"
Once inside, Shawn retreated to his office. He left the front to Harley and Selina.
Harley, having been a psychiatrist before her descent into madness, handled patient counseling when needed. She had a sharp mind, after all—though it was wrapped in cotton candy and chaos.
Selina?
She was more of a deterrent.
In Gotham, even a peaceful clinic wasn't immune to gang activity. Every few days, thugs would show up thinking it was an easy place to rob or extort.
Until they met Selina.
When she wasn't purring seductively, she was snapping bones. And if she didn't finish the job, Harley was happy to tase them in the groin.
In the old days, Shawn would've handled such pests himself—by turning their minds inside out or snapping necks.
But now?
He preferred not to get blood on his nice carpet.
And besides—
He wasn't human.
He was a demon.
A devil who just wanted peace, money, and the occasional spark of chaos.
And with Harley and Catwoman running the clinic while he pretended to be a therapist?
Life in Gotham was shaping up to be exactly what he wanted.