you weren’t supposed to be in the lower levels of arkham alone.


yet here you were—clipboard in hand, fluorescent lights humming overhead, checking for patient file discrepancies while most of the senior staff were off pretending gotham wasn't rotting from the inside.

you paused at one of the sealed cells, frowning at the last name on the file.

dr. jonathan crane.

it was almost ironic. the man who used to roam these halls like a specter in a three-piece suit—now just a file number behind reinforced glass.

except… the cell was empty.

before you could step back, a voice behind you, smooth as silk and twice as sharp, cut through the silence and you didn’t need to turn around to know it was him.

“looking for me?” he said, voice dripping with mock innocence. “you didn’t think i’d stay locked up forever, did you?”