The Universe's Mixer

Doctor Jonathan Crane pretty much lived at Arkham Asylum. Oh sure, he had an actual apartment in Park Row/Crime Alley where he kept his belongings and he often spent more time in the stables then he did his office, visiting Nightmare, but the fact remained that he rarely actually left Arkham unless he needed to get supplies, get something from his rundown, cockroach infested living space or visit the horse.

He saw no reason to change this when he had a comfortable couch in his office, enough patients to fulfill both of his desires, and Cash delivered wonderful donuts everyday for breakfast when the man came into work.

So the idea that something might change, something would appear to disrupt his happy schedule of treating patients, poisoning patients and then occasionally doing paperwork enough to keep the Wayne Foundation off his back was not a welcome one.

And neither was the bright neon green Joker symbol that greeted him when he woke up from an impromptu nap while Ruth dealt with a minor riot.

Rolling his shoulders under his lab coat, he stood, yawning deeply as he made his way out of his destroyed office, peeking around a corner to ensure the madman in question was no where near by, before heading for Intensive Treatment, the lat known location of the villain.

He would blame his exhaustion and a late night doing research that it took him several hallways to realize something wasn't right. The dust, the dirt and debri...none of this had been there only an hour or so before when he had gone to sleep.

Not to mention the fact the asylum should have been under lock down if the Joker had managed to escape, but instead, it was just quiet. No alarms, no annoying red light...just the space of too much emptiness and not enough bodies to fill it.

Jonathan knew fear. He created it, shaped it, bathed in it since the moment he was born...and right now, he was terrified. The long buried human instinct of something is wrong screaming at him across millenia of evolution. He paused mid-step, staring down the dark hallway he was walking before abruptly spinning on his heel, heading for the atrium, ready to simply bail and let whatever security Arkham may have had left deal with the problem. It wasn't his job, anyway. He was the Director, the one who pushed papers and argued with the foundation for higher salaries for better equipment. That was why he hired enough security for a small army in the first place.

He fumbled for a minute with the door lock, his ID card not working before he simply gave up and put his fist through the window, one of only two in the entire Asylum that hadn't been converted yet to wire mesh. Breaking away enough of the glass he carefully folded his long, thing body through the hole, hissing as a long cut was gouged out of his shoulder to his elbow.

Pulling off his lab coat he held it against the wound, looking up at Arkham, his home for a long moment before turning back to look at what should have been Gotham, mind already thinking about how to get off the island without causing a fuss.

...except Gotham had vanished, and it's it's place was something...else. A city he didn't recognize.