Gotham City. A name that once tasted like iron and fear on the tongues of its citizens.
Under the tireless watch of Commissioner Gordon, the city's chaos had been corralled, its monsters and madmen caged within the stone confines of Blackgate Prison and the padded walls of Arkham Asylum. For a time, a fragile peace settled over the concrete canyons. But beneath this quiet façade, a special kind of darkness festered, and within the madness, a new brand of insanity was brewing.
Arkham Asylum, a fortress of Gothic spires and barred windows, held the city's most infamous criminals. It was, of course, also a respected medical institution, treating patients from all walks of life. The infamous Penguin, for instance, had already "graduated" from its care and was now pursuing postgraduate studies in Blackgate Prison.
"I am the knight of justice walking in the darkness, the embodiment of fear for all criminals," a voice intoned from a cracked windowsill. "Joker, Scarecrow, Riddler, Two-Face… I will be watching you. Forever."
The man wore a tattered black curtain as a cape and a crude, bat-shaped mask on his head. He stared out at the other inmates with an unwavering, heroic gaze.
"Alan, it's time for your medicine."
A heavyset nurse, her uniform stretched taut, pushed a rattling medicine cart toward him. She held out a small paper cup containing the day's pills.
Alan turned, his expression sternly righteous. "You have the wrong person, my dear Ms. Catherine. I am the Dark Knight. I am Batman."
A genuine smile bloomed on Catherine's face, something she rarely experienced outside these walls. She had been teased her whole life for her weight, a wound even her own partner would sometimes poke. But here, in the dreaded Arkham Asylum, this peculiar young man named Alan had a way of making her feel seen. She knew he was a patient, a lunatic by definition, but his compliments were a balm she couldn't resist.
"I have to admit, it's been nice talking to you," she said, her smile softening her features.
"Alan, please don't steal the curtains from the dean's office again," she chided gently. "There are plenty in the storage room. First row, second cabinet. Also, you tore up Dean Quesi's limited-edition Playboy magazine. He's furious. He might put you in solitary."
Her concern was palpable. In a place filled with violent and unpredictable personalities, Alan was a strange exception. He was committed to his heroic role, and apart from petty theft for his costume, he was always well-behaved.
"Thank you for the warning, Ms. Catherine. Your kindness shines like a star in the night sky." Alan clutched his curtain-cape dramatically, half-covering his face to mimic the iconic silhouette of his hero. The effect was only slightly undermined by the red bikini pattern printed right over the eyeholes of his mask.
Catherine chuckled. "You have such a sweet mouth. Too bad I'm already married with kids."
"I wouldn't mind having another daughter."
"I have a son," she corrected.
A sly, knowing smile crept across Alan's face. Catherine's eyes widened for a second before she blushed and huffed, "You little devil. Take your medicine."
"Ahhh." He opened his mouth like a child.
"Such a grown man, and you still need to be fed," she sighed, though there was no real annoyance in her voice. She popped the capsule into his mouth, then bustled away with her cart, her cheeks still flushed.
The moment she was gone, Alan leaned over and discreetly spat the pill into his palm.
I will not allow anyone to take away my right to be an idiot, he thought firmly. No one.
His real name was Ai Minglun. In another life, he'd been a VIP patient at Westwood Psychiatric Hospital. One fateful day, while secretly using his attending physician's computer, a freak electrical accident sent him waking up here, in Arkham. Alan wasn't panicked. He was a strategist. After careful analysis, he had deduced a clear path home: get electrocuted again. The goal was simple and urgent. He had to get back to the Blue Planet and clear that physician's browser history. As a man of culture, he couldn't let his one-dollar contribution to certain... viewing habits be discovered.
"Andy! When did you get behind me?"
Alan jumped like a startled cat, clutching his chest as he spun around. The Riddler, Edward Nygma, stood there, his posture rigid and his expression intensely serious.
"I challenge you, once again, to a duel of wits!" Edward declared, his voice ringing through the common area.
Instantly, the listless energy of the room shifted. Inmates turned their heads, their dull eyes lighting up with interest. A low murmur grew into a chorus of jeers and shouts. Even the guards in the corridor leaned in, looking forward to the daily spectacle of riddles and brain teasers. It was one of the few reliable entertainments Arkham had to offer.
"The usual rules?" Alan asked, a glint in his eye.
"Of course," Edward snapped.
A makeshift ring was formed as patients shuffled into a circle.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" A man with a flair for the dramatic, Arthur Fleck, stepped into the center, his exaggerated gestures commanding attention. "I shall be your referee and commentator for this momentous clash!"
He swept a hand toward Alan. "In this corner, we have the Knight of Justice, the one, the only… Batman!"
A wave of boos and hisses rolled through the crowd. Talk of justice in Arkham was about as welcome as a priest in a brothel. Alan, unbothered, simply gave a leisurely nod to his audience.
"And in the opposite corner," Arthur boomed, gesturing to the other side, "Gotham's wisest man, Edward… the Riddler!"
The response was electric. Applause, whistles, and even a few female patients shouting lewd proposals echoed off the grimy walls. The atmosphere was perfect.
"The duel begins! As is tradition, the challenger asks first," Arthur announced, pointing a bony finger at Edward.
Edward pushed his glasses up his nose, his expression turning grave. "I am taken from a mine and shut up in a wooden case, from which I am never released, and yet I am used by almost every person. What am I?"
He looked immensely pleased with himself, already tasting victory. The surrounding patients descended into thought. Some scratched their heads, others pulled at their hair, their poor, overtaxed brains practically smoking.
"The countdown begins!" Arthur cackled, a malicious grin on his face. "Ten... nine... eight..."
"Pencil lead," Alan stated calmly, his voice a low, magnetic baritone.
Silence fell. Every eye swiveled to the Riddler, hoping for a denial.
"You... are correct," Edward admitted, his voice tight with frustration. The riddle he'd agonized over all night had been shattered in seconds.
"Alan, you're brilliant! Let me give you your first kiss!" Poison Ivy, Lillian purred, slinking toward him with pouting lips.
Alan held up his hands defensively. "My ex and my current girlfriend would be jealous. Besides, are we sure this would be your first kiss?" he asked sincerely. The last thing he needed was a fatal, poisoned smooch. How could he get back to his computer if he was dead?
"My turn," Alan announced, his voice cutting through the chatter. "Please listen carefully. A rare steak and a medium-rare steak are cooked on the same grill. Why don't they talk to each other?"
It was a brain teaser, a lateral thinking puzzle. There was no rule against it.
"Protest!" someone shouted. "Steak can't talk!"
"Counter-protest! You're discriminating against steak!"
"Protests are futile," Arthur declared with a chilling smile. "Anyone else who protests, I'll personally make into a steak." His reputation as a former butcher lent the threat an undeniable weight. The room fell silent.
Edward wiped his lips and adjusted his glasses, a bead of sweat tracing a path down his temple. He thought for a long, agonizing moment.
"Because... they aren't cooked well enough to 'meat' yet," he answered, trying to force a pun.
"Congratulations," Alan said with a slight smile. "You are correct."
The crowd erupted in cheers, slapping the Riddler on the back. Edward breathed a sigh of relief, glad to have survived the first round.
"If you know me, you'll want to share me," he began his next riddle, his confidence returning. "But if you share me, I disappear. What am I?"
A normal person might have been stumped. But Alan had binged every Riddler comic known to man. He knew the answer instantly but let the silence hang in the air, building the tension.
"Time is ticking, Alan," Arthur taunted. "I'm starting the countdown..."
"A secret," Alan said.
Edward's pupils constricted. The surprise on his face froze for a moment before he replied, his voice strained. "The answer... is correct."
"Alright, let's increase the difficulty," Alan said, a playful edge to his voice. "An American woman who doesn't speak a word of English marries an English man. One day, she goes to a supermarket to buy a whole chicken. She communicates this by flapping her arms like a chicken, and the butcher understands perfectly. The next day, she wants to buy a sausage, so she brings her husband with her. How does she buy the sausage?"
A wave of knowing, dirty smiles spread across the faces of the inmates. Edward's face mirrored theirs as he answered with smug confidence, "She points to her husband's lower body and—"
BOOM!
A deafening explosion ripped through the asylum, shaking the very foundations. The far wall of the corridor disintegrated into dust and shrapnel. A flood of clowns armed with assault rifles stormed through the breach, swiftly neutralizing the terrified guards.
The Joker's gang had arrived to welcome home their king.
Arthur Fleck, who had been playing the role of a humble referee, stood silently amidst the chaos, a slow, terrifying grin spreading across his face. It was time for the true king to be unleashed from his cage.
As inmates scattered in a panicked frenzy, Alan saw his opportunity. There was no electrical socket in the common room, but the explosion had exposed the building's wiring. This was his chance.
Before he darted away, he turned to the Riddler, who was still waiting for the verdict.
"You lose," Alan said, his voice cutting through the mayhem. "Her husband can speak English."
For a moment, Edward just stood there, the words hanging in the air. Then, a wave of pure, unadulterated frustration crashed over him. When he finally shook himself from his stupor and looked for Alan, he was gone. All that remained, lying next to a sparking, exposed electrical socket, was a tattered curtain and a mask with a red bikini print.
"I don't believe you!" the Riddler's anguished roar echoed down the chaotic corridor. "You were lying to me!"
***********
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