King of the Asylum. (Narrative)
It wasn't the first time that Jack had taken over Arkham. Likely, knowing this city and the goddamned heroes that inhabited it, it wouldn't be the last. They'd keep putting people in here, and he'd have to keep killing them or releasing them onto the streets.
The inmates had all gone. One way or another. Only those who had been stolen by the City were released at first. Then Jack started to sneak others out. When he got bored with the sneaking, he just left the doors open. When there were still some left over from that, he started to shove them out. Some of them off of the roof. Some of them into the water. As long as they were gone, he didn't really care if they were alive or dead. Or roaming the city doing horrible things. Or babbling at unsuspecting citizens. He just wanted his asylum back.
The staff, that had been the more difficult part. They'd all been reluctant to go. He gave them an ultimatum. A rather strange one. They could leave, they could die, or they could work for him. He'd been surprised at how many of them had picked the last choice. Really, the first option had so little takers he hadn't known what to do with himself. But that middle pick, that one was the one with the most bodies to account for. The ones who had opted to do his dirty work had been clearing out the ones who wouldn't leave. He didn't want the bodies to pile in the courtyard again, even though that'd been fun. Burning another stack of corpses was just sort of begging for the kind of attention he wasn't ready for.
Not that killing a whole bunch of people was staying under the radar.
With no plans as of yet, Jack's goons were set to cleaning the place up. Mopping. Dusting. Getting rid of every trace of the people who had occupied the rooms. He even made them wash the walls. Just for good measure.
He would stay here, quiet, for a little while. Then go out and see about some havoc. See what he might destroy. Who he might rile up. For now, though, just having the Asylum all to himself was enough.