What happened

He'd done his best to keep himself from picking at the skin under the bandage that House had placed on his hand, but in the end, curiosity and morbid obsession won out, and he'd made the bandage bloody. Thankfully, it wasn't dripping through the white, he'd just gotten the sterile plain color all prettied up with red.

In one hand he held a black bag. It could have been flung over one shoulder, but then he might have ended up looking like one of those foofy men who carried a fucking murse and got their nails done. Jack did not get his nails done. Vanity was one thing, bordering on feminine was another.

Barbra's outfit was a little worse for wear. He'd worn it all the way home, and then for some time after. He'd played with the boys in it. Not thinking about it at all. Bud had so completely enjoyed the smell of the hem that he'd left with it, and Lou had decided to sleep on it when it'd been removed from Jack's body. He hoped Babs didn't mind a little hyena drool.

All day he'd been hanging out in her usual spots, waiting for her to turn up. She hadn't shown anywhere. He'd stopped in a coffee shop and had gotten himself a giant thing consisting of caffiene, chocolate, and some other things that maybe shouldn't have been mixed in with the previous two, but he'd insisted.

He stood outside drinking it and trying to think of where to look for Babs next.
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House stood in the former lobby of the Arkam Asylum. It shared more in common with barn now than it did a lobby. It was obvious that the prisoners were running the prison or something of that affair. None of that was his business. Unless they touched his cane. Then they might have a problem. He took down the drawing for him. It had a quasi-map scribbled on it as well as a doodle of himself.

He didn’t have that many wrinkles did he?

In the right pocket of his coat was a former pill-container turned transporter. It held Experiment 1. A sticky sludge with opposite components to what he’d deciphered from The Joker’s writing. Sadly, there wasn’t a hobo melted into it. There may have been horse. Horse found itself in so many strange products whether they be medical or not.

Cane made thuds along the trail the drawing had indicated for him to meet. He was pretty sure there was a man licking the wall to the left of him. He decided it was best not to look. If he did, he may lose the day and end up watching for hours. The City continued to interest him more and more.

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Jake had taken Barbara's warnings seriously. He may have been only eleven, but he was far from stupid. Only a fool would have ignored the fear and the concern in Bab's mind.

His first order of business, after making sure the doors were locked and the alarms set, was to venture up to the attic and retrieve his guns. The first was in a shoulder holster - what Roland (and subsequently, Jake) referred to as a docker's clutch. It felt comfortable there. The weight was familiar, soothing. Like an old friend that had been waiting to give aid and comfort.

The second gun was slung low on his hip. He wasn't expecting anyone else to come home until Babs did, so walking around with the guns strapped on. If Roland wandered back this way, Jake knew the gunslinger would only approve of the weapons.

He locked up the elevator once he was back downstairs and went to the kitchen to find something good and edible -- something that wasn't ice cream -- for himself and Oy. Of course he knew ice cream wasn't dinner. But ice cream certainly was dessert.

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The helicopter landed just as Lex had promised, and Jack climbed inside with two large boxes of flyers. The door was left open because of what he had to do, and he just didn't want to try to fuck with it when they were up in the air. His luck, he'd fall out somehow.

When they were well over the city, smack dab in the center of it, Jack opened first one box and then the other. He dumped them both out.

Fluttering over the people below were hundreds, thousands of flyers. All with the same thing on them. Going in every direction the wind carried them.

Jack smiled.


From: i_playhard Date: 07/26/2006 12:45:06

Harley had been walking along (okay more like skipping) when something fell down in front of her path. She nearly stepped on it but something compelled her to pick it up instead. Reading it slowly, to take in what it said, she began to jump around clapping her hands.

"MISTAH J!" she chanted skipping around.

This called for a visit back to Arkham.

Jack strutted around his newly aquired asylum. Cock of the walk. King of the mountain. It was his. Everybody who had disagreed with him were now dead. The others were... well. Marked. Clearly his now. Their faces carved in grusome ways. Some with hideous smiles. Some missing parts of their facial anatomy. Scarred. Ruined. Jack's.

The inmates who hadn't wanted to stay had been set free upon the city. Allowed out to roam as they pleased. They'd taken the clothes of the dead so that they might blend in better. They'd also taken with them the bodies of the dead, to place around the streets willy nilly. Jack knew some of the corpses would find themselves in compromising positions. He knew for a fact that at least one was going to be flung from the roof of a tall building, just to see what would happen to it, and whatever it landed on.

Whatever pleased them.

There were some who stayed, however. Ready to do as he wanted. They too had been ruined. Because he had to distinguish those who he could expend from those who he wanted to keep around. The more scars they had, the more mutilated they were, the more worthless to him they were.

Not a theory that worked with everybody, of course. On the outside of these walls were ones he wanted to keep forever and scar. Like Maxine and Barbara. And some who he wanted to just kill and be rid of without touching with his hands. Like Jesse and that Terry kid.

He whistled as he walked. Happy and satisfied.

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Such devious things he could do with such a simple thing as a pen.

His bindings removed, cut through completely, ripped straight down the front. It had taken a couple days, but it had been done, and now his arms were free. Due to the tip of metal being flattened and made sharp on the pen that House gave.

The door was now open, the entry unblocked, his way was cleared for him, thanks to the spring, his bindings removed because the sharpened tip of the pen that House gave.

The next step was quick, for who could stop him, who could stand up to him now that he was free? Jack's personal guard was killed with the shaft, once the door had been opened by spring, and his bindings removed because of the sharpened tip of the pen that House gave.

Others had been freed using the keys from the orderly who had gotten a body thrown at him, and now they too were running free. Flooding into the city after the doors had been jammed using the clip, after the guard was killed with the shaft, once the door had been opened by spring, and his bindings removed because of the sharpened tip of the pen that House gave.

Those that would not join him were dead, other inmates doing the deeds he required after the heads of the future dead had been marked using the ink, after the doors had been jammed using the clip, after the guard was killed with the shaft, once the door had been opened by spring, and his bindings removed because of the sharpened tip of the pen that House gave.

The staff that remianed were followers of Jack, agreeing to doing his bidding. They'd seen what he could do, once before and now, and they didn't want to be next to die by the pen. They agreed he was Lord, and gave him the keys, gave him the deed, gave him their lives, but not by the pen, they had seen the dead had been marked using the ink, after the doors had been jammed using the clip, after the guard was killed with the shaft, once the door had been opened by spring, and his bindings removed because of the sharpened tip of the pen that House gave.

Now Jack sat in the office belonging to the man who had long ago created this building. His feet up on the desk, a smile on his face, his name scrawled in crayon across the deed hung on the wall. Arkham was his, and nobody could take it. All because of the pen that House gave.

Right after this

Guilty guilty guilty.

Of course he was guilty.

The insanity judgement was just oh so much better. Back to Arkham he was going. Back to right where he wanted to be. Could life get any better than this? No. Yes. OF course it could. Life could always get better.

Jack had ways of making his own life better. Even if it was at the expense of others.

"Sally! Don't forget me Sally! Wait for me, Sally! I promise good things are on their way!" He grinned over his shoulder. They hadn't put him in a straight jacket yet. It was something they refused to do in the public eye. He'd done his best to not laugh in their faces as they told him this. Because it was fucking hilarious.

Jamie had brought him a thermos of cold water. It was a thoughtful gift. The last purified water Jack would taste for at least a month.

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“Hemorrhoids.” House said more than asked upon entering the examining room.

This had become his life for the past couple of months. Doing clinicals since his takeover concept didn’t work nor did it win him his own practice. It was an early twenty-something who sat on the bed. Boy had long hair and an equivalent goatee.

House leaned on his cane with both of his hands.

“This is where you talk.”

Gowns weren’t flattering things. The boy wrapped his arms around his stomach. “Well, yeah, about a month ago it hurt to sit. And then there was a growth. My friend told me about how he had ‘roid problems but his popped. These haven’t popped… they just throb.”

“Well, as you know, we took a few tests. To make sure you were a good boy and didn’t deserve coal for Christmas.”

There was a hopeful look on the boy’s face.

“You’ve been naughty, son, and that’s not hemorrhoids on your ass. That’s venereal warts. I bet you believed all that business in Sex Ed about how condoms were latex Jesus Christs.”

The boy’s eyes were the size of cup coasters.

“I checked into it. Your insurance covers cryosurgery. That means we’re going to prop your bare ass up and have our way with it with nitrogen. This doesn’t mean you’re cured. So, next time I see you, I want to hear how you’ve been spreading your disease. You’re infected, might as well infect everyone else.”

House smiled and nodded as he began to walk out.

The boy simply blinked.

Sitting in House’s inbox wasn’t another room number and file. Instead, it was a request on behalf of Arkham. House flopped on the lobby couch as he thumbed through the file. A patient gave the doctor a bizarre look and House snarled back.

There were errors everywhere. The Joker’s real name was never revealed. But House could help Arkham (if only to get to go to the magical land of Batman’s rogue gallery) because The Joker was never ill. He found it amusing that his resume could get him respect to validate the body of a murdering comic-book psycho but god forbid it get him any respect at the hospital. After awhile, the lobby began to get thick with actual sick people and House decided it was time to exit left.

As always, he walked. There was no hurry when approaching the epic Arkham. Once inside, there was the paperwork to fill out to prove that he wasn’t a nutcase (which could be argued) himself or someone attempting to break out the Joker. What shocked House the most was the fact the man wasn’t Jack Nicholson or Cesar Romero but he did have the character. This Joker seemed to inhibit the feral nature of the comics.

Two fictional characters in a padded room.

"They fetch me, of course, because I've nagged the shit out of my superior. Probably sent me here to be scared. Well, I don't scare easily. Even if you fucked a skull. People have kinks. My name is House, don't feel like you have to introduce yourself. I have a clipboard. It has magical things on it. Like your name."

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Judge McRiley entered the court room and sat down. The room was eerily silent.

"Bailiff, enter the jury, please."

The group arrived in a single file line and filled in the seats. The judge remained quite for a good five minutes after everybody had settled in. He was gathering his strength for this. There was no telling which way the jury had voted. No way to know what they were thinking right now. And he wouldn't know until he called for his answer.

It had to be done. Putting it off would not make things better.

"Miss Forman, have you come to a decision?" He asked.

"We have, your honor." Said a slight blonde woman.

The judge motioned for the slip of paper. It was brought to him, and he read it. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or not. He passed the paper back.

"Please read it for the court."

She nodded. "On the count of malicious harassment we find the defendant guilty." She paused and went on. "On the count of assult, we find the defendant guilty. On the multiple counts of murder, we find the defendant guilty."

"Thank you."

"Sir? We have a recommendation."

"Go ahead."

"Given the light of the situation surrounding these crimes, and what we've seen in this court, we have deemed Jack Napier unfit for the public. We see him as severely mentally ill, and would request the court take that in stride with the sentancing."

"Thank you, Miss Forman, you may sit."

The judge, frankly, felt the same way himself. Jack Napier should not, in any case, ever, be allowed to commune with the populus. It wasn't right. There was too much danger in it, and in him.

"I don't think I need any time to think this over. I am ready for ruling now. Please stand, Jack Napier, and hear your fate." He waited for Jack to stand, and was surprised that there wasn't anything wild or scary going on. "Given the decision of the jury, and their recommendation, and given the state of this entire trial, I have to agree with the idea that you are completely mentally unfit. For anything. I cannot in good conscience send you to prison and hope that you get the help that you need. And that society needs for you. So. My ruling is this: Life imprisonment in Arkham Asylum with a strick rehabilitation program. I have no faith that you'll ever actually get help, but, we can hope."

The gavel banged. It was over.

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With the opening statements out of the way, the judge took a deep breath and decided to proceed. He knew it wasn't going to go very well, already it had started going badly. Jack Napier was all too glad to be here, and the amount of people who had showed up were only making it worse.

Sensationalism at it's best.

"We will hear from the witnesses. One at a time, please, and no interruptions from the others in the room. Each lawyer will have their time with the witnesses. Please, let's just try to do this in an orderly way."

McRiley sat back in his chair, tired already. Wanting to get this over with as soon as possible.

"Mr. Dent, your witness."

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It had begun like any other trial. Smoothly. Calmly. The judge entered and the people silenced. The baliff called for everybody to stand, and they did so, respectably. They sat just as silently, just as calmly when the judge called for them to do so. Judge Scott McRiley presiding...

It was just as the judge was settling in that the first mishap occured.

Jack Napier stood up to introduce himself to the court. And to the audience of people attending. He did so with a flourish and a bout of laughter so nerve-wracking that it took Judge McRiley a good ten minutes to quiet everybody down again.

"That is the last we'll have of that, I hope." He stated, looking Jack directly in the eye as he spoke.

Little did the poor judge know that this was only a pre-cursor to the sorts of things that could go on in a trial like this. A trial against Jack Napier. Maybe the only truly insane genius The City had ever seen. The misguided fellow might actually mistake to think he'd be able to control The Joker.

Jack himself spent a good few moments blowing kisses at Harvey Dent while Judge McRiley tried to call for order and the beginning of the trial.

He looked out at the lawyers and nodded. "Prosecution? You may begin."

And then he sat back, ready to hear this fantastic case.

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"Oh God! don't send me to th' chair! Don'tcha do it! I won't do it again, I promise! Okay, well. So that's not true.... I did it out of love! Love, don'tcha hear me!"

The sharp crack of the gavel got Jack quiet. The room was filled with a thick impatience.

"Mr. Napier. This is the hearing to decide when your case will go to court. There isn't even a jury here. Your lawyer isn't even present. I would advise you to sit still and just wait."

"Yes, your majesty." Jack grumbled and sank into his seat.

"It has been well advised that you don't get released on your own recognizance, and further advised that you shouldn't be left in anybody else's custody. So you will remain contained until the date of your trial."

Jack stood quickly again. "WHAT!"

Another banging from the judge. "Sit down Mr. Napier. You will remain a charge of the city until your trial. I have decided and I will hear nothing else about it."

Jack grumbled again and sat down heavily. This wasn't really going the way that good ol' Harv had said it would. Where was the sensationalism? Where was the crowd?

There was a long bout of silence and then the judge spoke again. "We will set your court date as June the 10th. It should give both sides plenty of time to gather their information and prepare. I will preside, and we shall get you a jury of your peers."

One bang of the gavel and it was settled.

"Please rise." The bailiff called as the judge himself stood and left the room.

From there, Jack was taken downstairs to a cell. It was one of only four. Generally people were kept at the jail, but this was a special case. Nobody wanted to risk what Jack might do in general population. He was handed a pillow and sheets for his little cot along with a roll of toilet paper, toothbrush and paste. He'd be there a little over a month.

The screams still rang out every so often and unspeakable smells floated on the air. The gothic, stone structure of Arkham Asylum, straight out of some centuries-old nightmare, was surrounded by modern police vehicles, flashing their lights. Cars on the bridge and boats in the water shined spotlights on the walls and blared warnings and reassurances. Harvey stood on the single bridge to the island, just behind the formation of riot trucks. "They must be terrified in there," he heard himself say.

He had already read enough police reports to know the usual routes for escape from Arkham. He doubted the city's SWAT team was as familiar with the building's history. If he could get inside, he might be able to calm some of these people down. He had personally processed almost half of them, and was familiar with the cases of several more. No sense getting the SWAT team excited about a back entrance they could use to assassinate the poor nutcases.

Resolving himself, he quietly slipped over the side of the bridge and into the water.

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Jack's head was pressed against his mesh covered window. Pressed hard. Like he thought that maybe he might be able to fit between those little diamond shapes. Squeeze himself through the holes and get out.

"Babsy. Babsy Baby, darling, my love. Apple of my eye." He said, quietly, to himself. And to her. She could hear him, he knew. She knew his heart and his soul. Because she was his soulmate. Beautiful. Wonderfully scarred. Destroyed. Like. A broken doll. You love it more because of it's imperfections.

Jack turned his face toward the door as he heard footsteps passing. The diamond pattern etched onto his face.

"HEY!" Jack sprang to the door and pounded on it. "You have to let me out, you motherfuckers! I have to go to her! She needs me! Needs me, do you hear!? Fuck you, dicklick, let me out!"

He pounded with the flat of his hands, but to no avail. He was starting to get bruises. And cuts, but those were mostly on his face.

Jack was desperate to get out. To see her. Hold her. Give her some lovely flowers, and maybe some new scars. Be tender. Caring. And bite her really hard on the shoulder, just so he could have some bit of flesh to carry around with him always.

Back to the window he went, as soon as he figured out that nobody was going to open the door.

"I know you're waiting for me, Babsy. Daddy's here. Daddy loves you. Jack loves you." He imagined he could almost see her sitting at a window, longing for him.

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It had taken a long time for him to regain consciousness. The blow he'd taken had wiped him out for days. As his eyes opened, he didn't even know what was going on. Where he was. What time it was. His vision was fuzzy. Hell, his entire brain was fuzzy. He could hardly recall what had gone on. Part of him told him that he didn't really want to, anyway.

Jack tried to sit up.

But couldn't.

At first he wondered if he'd been paralyzed somehow. There had been some accident and he'd lost the ability to move. He stayed still, not wanting to risk further injury to himself.

His vision began to clear, and along with it, his head.

There was a small window above him, it was small, and the glass looked thick. There was mesh, heavy mesh, as well. His eyes scanned the wall below it. White. And.... padded.

"Oh for fuck sake."

Finally, Jack looked down at himself. It wasn't paralization that was keeping him from moving. It was the damndable straight jacket he was in. And the bed he was strapped down to. What did they think he was? Dangerous or something? These were mighty extreme measures.

There was only one place that this could be.
Only one.

Arkham.

Max was putting effort into being around more now, she really was. A little less time in the computer lab at school, a few less nights at Jesse's, and just less of an attempt to avoid the manor in the first place. It really wasn't that bad, it hadn't been since she'd been hurt (ironically) she just hadn't been around much.

But she was here this evening! And that was what counted. It was all about the effort. She'd placed herself in the library, sitting crosslegged on the floor with all of her books spread out around her, doing the weekend's homework. Max was stalling just a bit, for in reality the work wouldn't have taken her this long (she'd been there an hour already) but there was nothing else to do really, and plus this was the optimal place to be if she wanted to see anybody. With the grandfather clock right in front of her, she'd see anyone going down to or coming up from the cave. The manor had been so quiet lately, it was no surprise that she was searching people out.

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He was healed. He had Peter to thank for helping with that. And maybe the City too. Who knew. But there weren't any bruises left, and whatever had been broken was whole now. He was able to wander around and do things without a struggle, and the boys were no longer sniffing around him like he was possible food.

That had been more than mildly unnerving.

Plus there had been all those wonderful explosions, and that had lifted his spirits even more. It was amazing what a good ruckus could do for a guy when he was feeling blue.

Now there was just the question of where the hell Harley had gone off to. He felt like he deserved a good tormenting of her, after so much time, and her abandoning him when he was right in the middle of building the Body Part Monument to the Giant Naked Statue. The girl needed a good beating, and he was ripe to give it to her.

Even that couldn't spoil his good mood, though. And Jack wandered the city with a spring in his step and a whistle on his lips.

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The first thought Kyle had when he felt the earth shake was, 'Damn. There aren't any signs up about how to handle earthquakes. We never had earthquake drills'. Then he looked at his light board which had fallen off of his desk smashed to the floor, and thought, 'Fuck.'

Then he saw the smoke.

That was when he finally thought to stand up and look away from his desk. How were his coworkers handling the impromptu earthquake. Or whatever it was. They weren't handling it very well at all, actually. For all he could see, they were running through the resulting smoke like chickens with their heads cut off. Kyle couldn't really blame them; they probably weren't used to stuff like this. Hell, he wasn't even completely used to stuff like this.

The art department for The City's newspaper was on one of the lower floors, so when Kyle finally got his wits together and started yelling and ushering people out of the doors, he could at least have some comfort in knowing they all had a good chance of getting out safely. No one seemed to notice when he backed away from the stairwell and ran back into the main area of the floor where all the artists had their desks set up.

He moved slowly through the smoke, making sure no one else was trapped in the room and once he was relatively sure, he raised his hand. A green gas mask covered his face, and Kyle took a deep breath, hoping that he hadn't already inhaled too much smoke. Next he created a lantern, which shined brightly through the smoke, allowing him to move quickly to the large windows.

Where was the smoke coming from? Kyle wasn't immediately sure, but he was definitely leaning more towards an explosion now. He just didn't know from where. Looking out of the windows, he could see smoke pouring from some of the lowers floors as well, and a slightly grey tinge in the air above make him think that something had to going on on the higher floors as well. Across the street people were pouring out of another office building and onto the street, pointing up at both buildings. Grey smoke was pouring from their windows as well.

The building shook again, and this time Kyle could hear an explosion coming from upstairs. It was time to get out.

Kyle backed away from the window, back into the smoke where he was sure no one would be able to see him as a green glow engulfed his body. When it died down, he was suited up completely, mask included. He had to help somehow.

Though, as he started breaking through the window so that he could fly out, Kyle couldn't help but hope that some of the other heroes in this place had heard the explosions. Because he was pretty damn sure that alone he wasn't going to be much good.

OOC: Just a note, as stated before, everyone can participate in this, whether your character wants to be a bystander or wants to try to rescue people or even wants to try and make the situation worse. Any of those options is cool! NPCs may even come and interact with your characters.

Don't worry. Something will come of this. So yes. Post!

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Everything hurt.

How long had he been laying here?

Forever, maybe.

He hadn't been able to move. There was definitely something broken. Something... but what? Ribs? An arm? A leg? His face? His face was certainly broken.

Jack hadn't recieved a beating like that in a long time. Well, ever.

Usually people didn't beat him up. They just carted him off to Arkham. They threw him in a cell. Sure, there was some rough treatment, but nothing like this. Part of him was warned away from the Maxine girl. Never to touch her again. Never even look at her wrong again. But the rest of him wanted revenge. He was angry that a stupid girl could get him bloodied.

Fuck her.

He'd find a way.

Maybe he couldn't get back at that man directly. There was no way he could fight him. And with his funky word power, it would take a miracle to shoot him. Or do anything else. There was a little hope. Maybe he could be sneaky. Sly. Catch the man off guard. Jesse. Jesse. He could ... something.

At the very least, he could find Maxine again.
The pink haired girl.

Of course, right now, he had to try to pick himself up out of this pool of his own drying blood and get fixed up.

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Max had been being very good, in her eyes at least. Since she'd started back to school, she hadn't skipped, hadn't even ditched one class. She was going through the motions just like every other kid in the place. The motions were simple really, as was being proved by her A average. There wasn't a lot of effort being put in at all on her part, she was almost thinking about switching classes again.

When the last bell rang, Max even found herself walking by the dean of students' door. Except it seemed like other kids had the same idea to fix their schedules as well. Max quickly decided that it wasn't that important and she could do it tomorrow if she really cared that much. Besides, her purse started beeping, meaning she had a message. She pulled out her computer quickly after getting to her locker and read the message from Jesse.

Alfred was waiting in the car outside as was usual and she requested a ride over to the hotel today, promising to take a cab home later.

Max left her backpack in the car when they reached the hotel and was quickly out of the car and running into the hotel lobby. The people who worked the front desk had long ago stopped looking at her oddly when she came dashing and and went running towards the back rooms. She stopped in front of the last door, Jesse's, and knocked.

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