"Nah, mom. Don't worry. I'm not authorized to be anywhere near the level five patients. My clearance level barely allows me to roam level one. Beyond that I have to literally shadow one of the resident psychologists and, if I'm lucky, a psychiatrist." Benjamin Achgrove signed heavily.
"Mom.....MOM..we already discussed this, and I am too busy to go through it all over again. Arkham offers one of the best psychology internships that the nation has to offer. ...No....I'm not reading from the brochure again. This place literally has a corner on Schizophrenia, megalomania,...and just about any dissociative disorder you could possibly think of....maybe even multiple personality (DID). The point is I am very grateful to even get passed the doors on a field trip, let allow become one of their interns. .....There is no where else that could give me this level of experience. Safety protocols? Of course I know them. They wouldn't let me in here unless I understood them..by..the..letter!"
Achgrove took a sip of his coffee as he pretended to listen to his mother's rants. On the computer screen in front of him was the profile of patient number 50892666. He learned quickly on his first day that the first number always represented the security level in which the patient was placed, one being the lowest risk and five being the highest. The three numbers that followed were a series of scores to the evaluation of the patient. The first showed on a scale from 0-9 the progress a patient has made in their rehabilitative process (9 being the most progress). The next score indicated the patient's absolute grip on reality; this does not necessarily mean our reality. The last number in the sequence represented the effect of the patient's level of mental disorder on the world around him (in short, this is to greater emphasize the danger). The final sequence of numbers represented the patient's randomized identification number; this number is merely a sick coincidence, in this case. Punching the tap key a few times, he located the patients name:

Real Name:Unknown Alias: "The Joker"

Interns are denied both physical and technical access to patients beyond level one. Achgrove glanced over both shoulders, adjusted his glasses, and grinned slightly in the darkness.

"Mom...MOM...I gotta run. They want me to sit in on a patient eval. ...Some guy that thinks his fingers talk to him..good stuff. Yeah.....yeah...k...I'm hanging up now.....k...k...bye.." *Click* Achgrove hung up the phone, cutting his mother's words mid-sentence and quickly glanced back at his computer screen.

"Why must artists suffer for their work? Whether it be self-punishment or the persecution of others, why must they be in pain when there is so much that can be taught by their hands?!" Achgrove calmed himself as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve...sweat that fell from great anticipation.

"No....no," he sighed. "It's not near time, my friend. Soon though..soon you shall paint again..so sharpen your paintbrush." Achgrove stood to his feet and slightly touched the monitor...touched the picture of his favorite artist, and then he punched a series of algorithms into the computer and left the room.

"Two more hours." The aging guard said while sipping on his coffee. "Two more hours and I'm done for life. No more badges, no more bed checks, no more crazies." A snicker came from the other side of the guard station. "Dream on Frank! You may leave this building, but after being here for 30 years even retiring won't erase the things you've seen. I wouldn't be surprised if you still slept with your gun." It's true, Frank Jameson had seen many things since he joined the ranks of Arkham's finest, but it was time to put all that behind him. He and his wife were going to pack up tomorrow and leave for Jamaica and nothing the other boys could say would stop him. "Just keep flapping your gums Percy. Nobody is going to forget this place as quickly as I will." The younger man smiled briefly before extending his hand. "Well, it's been amazing getting to know you. I hope you won't forget me when you get to paradise." Frank clasped his hand in a hearty handshake. "Alright Percy, it's been a ball, but it's not like this is a funeral. Come on, you still get to talk to the nuts." Percy rolled his eyes, "Great, next thing you'll say is 'Percy, you get to have dinner with the psych ward.' Whoopty freaking doo." Jameson laughed heavily and looked up at the clock. "Hell, I've overstayed my break. I guess that until I finish this shift I am property of the state." Jameson grabbed his club and cap and opened the door to the hallway. "Here I go again."

"Dr. Carter......Dr. CARTER..."
"Oh, Ben...there you are," the old man said in surprise as his eyes fell upon who was shouting his name. "You're a tad late for your next shift.....family troubles?"
"I'm really sorry, sir. You know how it is...mothers...can't ever seem to cut those apron strings," Achgrove replied. The two men shared a laugh at the expense of the younger man's mother.
"Aye, I may not look it, but I too had a mother, hehe. Well, now to business. Did you check on those files I asked you about in the tech lab?"
"Yes sir, Dr. Carter. I brought a hard copy as well; I hope you don't mind." Achgrove retrieved a few pieces of paper from the folder his folder. "This is merely so that I may see how everything is applied and taken into account. As soon as we're done I will take them to personnel and have them shredded immediately."

"Patient confidentiality first..always," Carter said with a wink. Indeed, the old doctor had grown quite fond of Achgrove. The kid had an incredible head on his shoulders-bright...top of his class in fact with an inquisitive personality, light sense of humor, and punctuality that demanded notice, which led Carter to find it strange for Achgrove to be late today; he never had been in the past.

"Today is your day, Ben," Carter announced as he slid his id badge into the seriously outdated cardslot.
"My day?" Ben asked, slightly unsure as the door opened before them.
"Yeah. Level 4, Ben...Level 4. It'll only be brief. I have to stop there shortly, and then we will proceed immediately back to our rounds on 2. Ben, you'll be the first intern to go down there. Normally, that's unheard of, mostly for your own safety and ours. You understand right? Anyways, well, Ben, you are the best intern I've ever had and that deserves rewarding, however brief it may be."

Achgrove smiled widely acting a bit embarrassed by the doctors compliments....acting. He knew better, old fool. Quinzel was down on Level 4. One thing the ol' doc failed to notice was that Achgrove was extremely observant and had reading people down to an art form. Like clock work every night, Dr. Carter would go down to Level 4, room 8 and look in on Miss Quinzel, only briefly as to not arouse anything beyond professional interest. Then, he would proceed to the faculty men's room on Level 2 for a few brief minutes...you know..a little "self-indulgence" before actually doing some work. Hey, he had to keep up appearances, right? What would people say, if they found out? I mean, seriously, who's crazier...the people in here...or the doctor claiming to be treating patients while oogling Harley Quinn?

Soon they reached the doors before Level 4 and Carter buzzed the guard. "Wait here at the guard station," he said as he flashed his badge began walking down the corridor.
"Right, Dr. Carter. ....take...your...time....I'll...be here......" Achgrove trailed off. He put his hands in his lab coat and propped himself against the wall with one leg, looking out at the "freaks." "Pretenders," he thought to himself. "Quinn's the only enlightened one among you." As always, Achgrove surveyed his surroundings, attempting to look like nothing more than the eager intern exploring what could one day be his domain. Really, though, he was committing the level to memory...every door...every cell....every camera. Level 4 was quite different than what was shown in the blue prints he had managed to pull up on the computer; so many renovations. They had to be done. In the past it was learned the hard way that cleaning chemicals and psychotic do not mix well, especially when the Joker is involved. Still, only so much can be done with Arkham's budget. The rooms were as Achgrove expected them to be. Still it would take more than just a spike in the power grid to bring about the desired effect, and he had little time-tonight was his best chance and he knew this...the policemen's ball. Every criminal...every piece of scum in Gotham knew that on this night less police were out on the streets; this included guards in Arkham. Tonight, there would be a skeleton shift. Tonight, freedom would become merely an illusion to the people of Gotham and the Painter would create his next masterpiece.

A grin, almost evil, crossed Achgrove's face as he caught a glimpse of Dr. Carter approaching, out of the corner of his eye. He moved to stiffen himself upright, and as he did the side of a tiny jar lifted just slightly out of his pocket and then sank back again. The label read Daggett Industries, but no one saw it.

Franklin Hargrove looked up shaking his head as Dr. Carter made his way past Quinn’s cell. Did no one else notice it? Granted he understood that Dr. Carter was a brilliant doctor but, he always had a problem with corruption. It was why his old job ended the way it did, with a pat on the back, a disability check and, is name on an endless list of Gotham PD officers who had been grievously injured in the line of duty.
Granted the check and helped him make ends meet till he made his way through nursing school and landed his job here at Arkham but, the whole mess and left him with no friends, no wife and, little other reason to be happy. It was probably the reason he had been elected for the high security job to start with. He had all the knowledge, compassion and, legitimate want to help of any medical professional but, he was and ex-cop, on who had been put out of commission by one of these freaks, and as such he was more than willing to apply that little bit of extra edge that needed to be put in place sometimes with higher level patients.
Checking over the last few med orders, and upping a few of them that he knew where just attempts a budget cuts he signed off on the tray for the orderly to take about the wing and distribute before putting his feet back up on his desk and returning to his game of tossing a pencil into the ceiling. Dr. Carter was coming back by again and, like he did every night, he considered writing up an I-60 to administration to let them know. But, as much as he hated himself for it, that bitch personally killed six people he had left the academy with. Carter could open the food slot and do his business on her instead of going to the restroom for all he cared.
Two more hours and he was off duty for the weekend and he would get to go see his kids. Franklin Hargrove hated almost everything about his life. His job, his pension, his cheating wife and the way he had been given the shove at the PD but, his children where what kept him running. Looking at the picture of the two children on his desk he took a deep breath and nodded his head. “Yeah I know, I can’t stop just yet.” He said before standing up and walking out of his shared office to make another set of bed checks.

Listening to the steady clip clop of his shoes on the linoleum floor, Jameson went over the roll sheet on his clipboard. As he made note of the activities of each of the patients he came to a stop in front of a meticulously clean cell. "How ya doing today Mr. Fugate?" "You're 3 minutes late, Sergent." Replied Fugate in his blunt and straightforward tone. "Nothing sneaks by you, eh Mr. Fugate? How have the meds been treating you? I hope the are up to the once mighty Clock King's standards." Frank stiffled a chuckle as he check Fugate's name off of the roster. "Your attempt at mocking me is to no avail, I assure you. You, as much as I, are slaves to the clocks that run this world." "Some of us more than others, Mr. Fugate. I'll see you on my way back, now don't go anywhere." Jameson quirked a grin up at the tightly wound spindle of a man before proceeding with his rounds. "I have enough to worry about on a regular basis without bending to the time clock of a madman." His footfalls found themselves falling upon a lone man in a white coat staring almost transfixed by his subject. "Excuse me Doctor, but this isn't a petting zoo. I'm sorry, but if you don't have clearance to be here then you will need to go back to the northern guard station." At this moment Frank realized who he was speaking to. "Oh....Dr.Carter. What the hell are you doing in my neck of the woods?" A coy smile showed from behind his childlike eyes. "What the hell? How apropos . I was just observing one of my patients in her natural environment." Jameson furrowed his graying brow and looked into the cell. "Quinzel....didn't know she was one of yours. I heard she used to be a Doctor round these parts herself." "That is correct. She was one of the best. She really understood what the psychotic mind was capable of and new how to unlock its secrets." Frank frowned and looked around her cell at the bare white walls. Her hair was frayed and she sat quietly on a stool staring back out at them. "Now she's one of them. Weird how the world works. I guess its a hazard of the job. Especially when you're tagging around with that lunatic Joker downstairs." At Jameson's words Quinn stood up in the cell and grabbed the stool hurling it at the glass. The plastic stool bounced off of the glasses and knocked her back to the ground screaming. "You watch your mouth about MY PUDDIN' ! He's more man than any of you stiffs put together!" Frank watched closely as Dr. Carter walked up to the glass and tapped on it with his pen. "And now, he's in maximum security lockup and you are here alone and the only way you'll ever breath fresh air again is if you play nice and cooperate with me. Understand?" Harley stood and reassumed her position on the stool watching, not us anymore....just him, the Doctor. Some days I think the Psych Doctors are just as nuts as the patients. "Well, Dr. Carter....I still need to see papers or I'm going to have to escort you back to the elevator." The Doctor issued me a harsh glare before turning back towards the way he came from. "What a last night?" Frank said under his breath. He turned back and looked at Harley who had pulled her feet onto the top of the stool and began humming a little song to herself. Jameson just shook his head and checked her off the list. "Going to need to see who authorized a stool in there. Plastic or not, it still don't seem safe."

Reaching the rather kurt conversation between the two men in front of Quinn’s cell Hargrove shook his head as the doctor walked off. He always liked Jameson and, it wasn’t just for his excellent taste in first names. The man was old school law enforcement through and through, something you didn’t find on the Psych end of the staff. “Carter ordered the stool about three weeks ago.” He said shaking his head. “He couldn’t stand to see his girlfriend have to sit on the far side of the room on the edge of her bed.” Hargrove commented as he checked over Quinn’s med log before looking into her cell. The curl of his top lip was almost undeniable as he signed off that all of her meds where current and accounted for. “We had to send in a team last week when she refused to take meds and one of us almost got a broken helmet visor from that thing. She’s stronger than she looks.” Hargrove was one of the only members of the Psych staff that would actually suit up and go in when trouble hit the fan and despite the fact that Gotham PD didn’t want him anymore the security guys on fourth level had painted a M.A.S.H. logo on the back of one the riot helmets for a reason.
“So I heard your leaving up after tonight? Congratulations.”

What's troubles you, Dr. Carter?" Achgrove asked, expressing deep concern as the two men made their way to the elevator.
"Inter-office malarkey, Ben," Carter answered, seemingly dismissing the whole ordeal. "Nothing to worry about, but prepare yourself for it. Comes with the territory of making more money than your coworkers."
"I'm sure it does. So, Level Two, now? I am anxious to proceed with our rounds."
"In due time. I'm glad to see that you still have your passion for the work; when you get old, though, the toilet becomes a dear friend that you can't neglect," Carter laughed aloud at his own joke attempting to keep the conversation light.
"Especially when you can't perform at home," Achgrove thought to himself with a smile.
As the elevator doors opened on Level 2, Carter motioned for Achgrove to follow him. After a few routine "badge flashes," they stood before the nurse station. Carter spoke briefly with one of the LVNs in a low voice.....as if he had something to hide. The geriatric actually believed that he was a regular Casanova. He failed to see the slight disgust in the young woman's eyes that she disguised with a giggle-the same unmistakable look that Achgrove had seen in the eyes of Carter's wife, Amy, only days before when she had visited the good doctor in his office; he took her for granted, and she was young, foolish, and incredibly beautiful. Amy was his possession, and she did nothing to refute the claim-even went as far as completely looking the other way when she discovered his “abnormalities” and periodic attempts at affairs. She was not a little angel herself. Surprising enough to his close friends, who already suspected of Amy’s infidelity, Carter did not exhibit any sort of anger or pain. Achgrove, though, knew the rest of the story-the “behind-the-scenes” of the marital bliss of two liars. To Carter, his wife’s sins were merely a projection of her lack of understanding of her true need for him…a need that must be realized…she would remember that he owns her.

Carter soon grew bored with the young girl began making his way towards the faculty men’s room. “Sick perv,” Achgrove thought to himself. “The man has a restroom in his office and yet does this in one of the faculty stalls. I guess the thought of someone walking heightens the experience.
“So, how are you enjoying the internship?” The LVN spoke up, catching him off guard as he watched Carter walk away. Achgrove’s face had started to itch and burn. He had little time.
“Heheh, fine…just great and…” Achgrove paused when he noticed a newspaper sitting on the nurse’s desk, glanced in the direction of Carter, and then back at the girl. “Bah, hold that thought. Dr. Carter needs the paper. Something about trying to sell his boat, and he wants to see how the article came out.”

The young nurse smiled and handed him a copy of today’s paper. Achgrove tucked it under his arm and walked hurriedly after his mentor. He pulled a small slip of paper by its edges out of his pocket and placed it inside the center of the newspaper.

“Dr. Carter.” He said trying carefully not to draw attention.
“Ben…what’s on your mind?” The old man asked.
“Oh, I thought, since we’re taking a break, that you would wish to see today’s paper. Aren’t you a member of the yacht club?”
“Vice president, actually. Thanks, I…. am shopping for a new yacht.” Carter placed the paper under his arm, unlocked the men’s room with his key, and proceeded inside. “I won’t be long. Why don’t you grab yourself a snack.”
Achgrove nodded. He turned to leave, but as the door was closing he grabbed the handle, keeping the knob turned as he pulled it closed. He waited a few moments with his back to the door, surveying the area. Once satisfied he quickly pulled a pair of latex gloves onto his hand and quietly entered the bathroom.
Achgrove could hear Carter in the farthest stall. The second to the last stall was open, so he entered it. His face began to burn worse, yet no sound escaped his lips. Upon removing his coat and top shirt, he retrieved two shoelaces from his right pants’ pocket and waited on top of the toilet seat for his opportunity.
The ability to improvise is the mark of highly capable killer. To be effective, one must assess the situation and adapt accordingly. Achgrove was a master of it without thinking. He could react as if this was all a story, and each moment revealed a piece of it to him.

The sound of ruffling papers could be heard. Achgrove fell into position…and the state of mind. It was almost as if he unhinged something in his personality…released any sort of constraint or inhibition he held. He hung his head low as his complexion changed. His eyes appeared to dilate as he wrapped the shoelaces tighter around his gloved hands. His breathing slowed and so did his heartbeat.

The small piece of paper, a photograph, fell to the floor of Carter’s stall.
“Hey…what’ve we got here…?” There was a short pause as the old doctor picked up the photo and realized its story.
“What the…?” He gasped. “Amy…. oh God…Amy no…no…oh...baby…no…no what have I done…” There was a long pause, as Carter seemed to be putting things together in his mind, formulating a probable theory.
“Achgrove!” He hissed through his teeth. “It’s has to be HIM!”
Suddenly, Carter was on his feet and sliding the lock open on his stall door. Achgrove dropped from the toilet into a crouch and moved under the divider that separated him from Carter. The older man was barely a foot out of the stall before he felt his neck wrench back.
“Haaccgro!” Carter attempted to scream the only thing that came to mind while he struggled. He was too weak and too old. Achgrove slammed Carter’s head hard into one divider of the stall and then the opposite. The old man continued to struggle in vain, but he was clearly overpowered and quickly losing strength. All he was left with was to ask “why…why…why” over and over again. Achgrove placed a hard kick to the side of Carter’s left knee; the break could be clearly heard. The doctor fell to his knees in agony as the perpetrator bent near his ear.
“There’s no Achgrove here, old man. I killed him, just as I killed your wife. You may refer to me as Elegy”
“You’re….sick,” Carter rasped, barely above a whisper.
“Sick is hiring someone to kidnap your wife and scare her. I gotta tell you, doc. She looked plenty scared before I cracked her skull in with one of your golf clubs. Don’t worry, the coastguard will find her body soon enough aboard your yacht.”
“Gaack…wh…why are you d…doing th…this?”
“You haven’t figured that out yet? Good! It is no concern of yours. You’re nothing special, merely part of the means to an end.”
Elegy’s voice grew lower. “This is usually the part where you bargain…beg…offer me the world…No? Ok, give your wife my love. ”
“Aaaaaaaa…nooooooo!” Carter attempted to scream, but he was cut short, as Elegy snapped is neck.
“Sorry…. that’s no longer your choice.”
The next few minutes went by mechanically for Elegy. He took the doctor’s keys and cardkey and flushed his gloves and the shoelaces down the toilet. Next, he dragged the body over to the janitorial closet that stood in front of the last stall. Trying every key, he finally unlocked the door and moved the body inside, locked the door back, and then broke the key off in the keyhole with a hard kick. Elegy then made himself presentable once again, getting dressed and adding the proper touches with the cream from the jar in his pocket. Within moments he would be Ben Achgrove again and for now that would be enough.

Jameson kinda chuckled as he marked Quinn off his list. "That's funny. We work in a place filled with the city's most psychopathic and murderous villians and my retirement is the most interesting thing anyone seems to be able to talk about." He sighs a little as he scratches his scalp with his pen. "I should feel lucky nobody is fighting over my job yet." He raised a brow. "We really should sedate Quinn so that we can get that thing out of there. I don't need anymore men going to the infirmary than we have already. I could give a damn what the good Doctor has to say on the matter." Frank put the clipboard up to his face to shield his face from Harley's cell. "Confidentially I always thought the man needed to come out of the closet. Never expected him to be interested in any woman, let alone the mixed nuts in this circus." Jameson walked past the orderly and on down the corridor. "Nothing changes in this place. It just keeps getting crazier."

Walking back towards the guard station Frank turned in his clipboard and grabbed a cup of coffee. "Halfway done Frank. Now comes the nasty part." He crossed the room and opened the weapons locker with the key from his belt. "Level 5....triple max sentences don't get to see the sun, let alone the outside of their cells." He takes the gun belt from the locker and straps it on. Locks in his Glock 17 and grabs an extra clip. One of the new guards was sitting at the table and watched him suit up. "Sir, if I may ask, why are you so afraid of the Level 5 block?" Not even physically moved he continued to dress for the journey. "To ask a question like that you must not have lived in Gotham very long." The guard shook his head. "Three weeks sir, why?" Jameson turned back and held the two clips he had on him up to the man, one was red and the other blue. "Blue is for dropping, red is for stopping. One clip of powerful tranqs and the other is live rounds just in case. The scum down there is more dangerous than you common thugs. Not everything in the prison is big and bad looking. Sometimes they look kind of sweet and innocent, those are the ones that don't need weapons." The guard watched as Jameson made his way to the door. "Those are the ones that'll say a few words and you'll be carving your own face off with a butter knife. If you're not ready for that you need to transfer back to wherever you came from now." "It can't be all that bad, can it?" Jameson smirked and lifted his left hand up to the light. It was plainly missing the bottom two fingers. "You never bothered to ask why Arkham always has openings for guard transfers? This is why." The guard gasped and looked away. "Go home kid, you may disappoint your folks, but you'll disappoint them alive." Jameson left the room and headed for the elevator downstairs.

Though the old doc was an important cog in the works that made up the asylum, Achgrove seriously doubted that anyone would miss his presence…at least for a few minutes. Carter was scheduled at this time to go through Level 2, but he was always late. This gave Achgrove some time to devise a legitimate sounding story that would raise little if any suspicion. He made his way back to the nurse’s station to check in.

“Welcome back,” the LVN smiled widely at him.
“Thanks…Tammy,” he smiled back. “How’re you this evening?”
“Just fine. It’s been really quiet tonight, thank God.”
“I hear you there. Dr. Carter’s taken a bit ill, though, I think. I checked up on him a few minutes ago, and he told me to go ahead and take a lunch break. Didn’t say much after that. He sounded upset, I think.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it. He gets terribly moody at times. Hey, if you’re going up to the kitchen, how about I join ya?”
“Ahh that’d be great, but I actually have to make a phone call or two while I’m on lunch. Family stuff…you know how it is.”
“Yeah….” Tammy looked down.
“Rain check?”
“Oh…sure that’d be great!”
“Excellent!” I’ll see you tomorrow night, then!”

“Yeah right, you desperate slut,” Achgrove thought to himself as he smiled and walked towards the elevators. Upon entering the first one, he pressed the button for the first floor and winked at Tammy just as the doors closed. Achgrove barely gave the doors a chance to completely open; without hesitation he quickly moved towards Carter’s office, avoiding any conversation and virtually noticed by no one. Dr. Carter’s office was a straight shot down the forward hall from the elevators. Carter had liked it that way; being the last office on the hall he could easily see out at anyone approaching. Achgrove quickly flipped through the keys to the one that unlocked the door and made his way in, closing and locking the door behind him.

“Wonder if they actually gave this fool access to the system,” he said to himself as he jiggled the computer mouse to Carter’s desktop computer. The screen flashed alive with the words “Username and Password” outlined in a white box.
”Wow…I half expected him to leave himself logged in. I wonder how long it’ll take me to crack….” Achgrove paused. “Well…that was too easy. The least he could have done was try to make it challenging…. his wife’s name and age…. wow I guess he assumed that would be the last thing anyone would think of as his password.”

Carter’s computer was not impressive to say the least. It did not seem as if he spent much time in front of it at all; in fact it appeared that the good doctor was quite computer illiterate. Files with specific detail to their contents covered the desktop, no encryption…. no hidden files.
“Hmmm, Arkham has definitely been seeing more and more upgrades in technology to supposedly prevent the opportunity for escape attempts,” Achgrove whispered to himself. “Ahh we have a backup system…. very nice. Well Gothamites I guess you’ll be seeing increased taxes when I’m finished here…. heehee.”
Achgrove opened the middle desk drawer and pulled out his cell phone that he had given to Carter to hold till his shift was finished. It was unimpressive and resembled a cheap, prepaid Nokia phone. With a firm tug, the antenna pulled out along with a square-shape portion of the phone-a usb plug. He inserted it into the computer and grinned as the contents of the phone were quickly accessed.

This terminal could connect to nearly every restricted file available in Arkham. Achgrove wondered if it had been an oversight, shrugged, and then continued with his work. “Load completed” flashed up on the monitor followed by a countdown beginning with fifteen minutes. In order to do what needed to be done, Arkham’s backup systems would have to be neutralized and the staff distracted. Introduce an unstable element into a regimented routine and you will get utter chaos.
Within moments of completing the download, the phone buzzed with the arrival of a text message; it read: “Confirm the first task completed.”

“You know…. Chaos is a beautiful thing, and it needs room to grow like a storm. Tut tut…. it looks like rain,” Achgrove replied.

John Leave yawned as the elevator door slid open at Level 1. He took a short sip of his coffee before he stepped through. He was supposed to see Doctor Carter about a security check on his patient’s cells. John walked straight down the hall towards Carter's office. The lights were off, but there was a slight glow from the computer monitor inside. He knocked on the door. Nothing happened. He waited a moment and knocked again. There was still no sound from inside. John tried the door, but it was locked.
"All well," he thought, "I am a few minutes late, I guess he's already checking on Level 2."
John walked back down the hall towards the elevator. He adjusted his billy club and his Glock 34 on his utility belt while he waited for the elevator.
At the LVN desk, Tammy was sitting in her chair staring at her screen with a somewhat depressed look on her face.
"Hey, lighten up some girl. You need to smile or you'll go insane." John said with a slight cocky smile.
"Oh, hey, how are you this evening John?" She said with a now bubbly smile turned towards him.
"I'm good, I've been better, and I need a vacation." he chuckled. "Say, have you seen the good doctor Carter lately? I was supposed to meet with him about some stuff, and he wasn't in his office."
"No, I haven't seen him around here lately." She paused as if thinking for a moment. "Although I did see his intern come through here not long ago, and he said that Doctor Carter wasn't feeling well or something. So I think he went to get some lunch and to make some phone calls while the doctor rested for a while."
"Alright, whatever. It's not THAT important I guess. But if you see him, tell him I’m here for my shift and that I was looking for him. Tell him that if he still needs to talk to me I will be at the Level 5 guard post; he can call me there."
"Ok." Tammy smiled as John walked back to the elevator.
The door slid open at Level 5. John sighed as he walked towards the guard station. The "new guy" was sitting there at the desk reading over the sports column and fondling a cup of coffee in his left hand.
"Hey kiddo." John said. "Where's Frank at? I was going to take over his shift early for him seeing as it's his last day."
"Oh," the young guard looked up, "He went for his check up rounds through the super crazy people."
"Alrighty," John said with a sigh, "I'll catch up with him"
He checked his Glock, and started towards where he figured Frank would be at by now.

Daniel Thorne sat in the changing room, counting the rows of staff lockers and taking note of how few actually where secured by locks. I guess they expected more people to want to watch the zoo, he thought to himself as he tucked his shirt into his black slacks. It didn't surprise him, though. This place had an uncanny was of working its way into your head. He always knew that when clocking in, it was best to leave your empathy and compassion at the door. There was no place for those here. If an inmate was in trouble, you called the doctor. If they were the trouble....well, there are very few conflicts that a high velocity round can't fix. He gripped his red and blue cartridges, shaking his head to himself at the tranquilizer darts that he felt were wasting space that hollow-points should be taking up.

"Fucking Regulations" he muttered to himself.

These monsters where here because the real world had to place for them. They were a threat and and a disease. Diseases are meant to be elimated, not pushed into a corner of the body nobody thinks about. It was his respect and need of this job that kept that clip of tranqs at his side. However, if things went to far out of hand, he would knew he would not hestitate to replace an inmates innards with lead.

He secured the latch of his locker with a keyed padlock after holstering his .45 caliber and club. As he walked out into the hallway he heard the sound of the elevator cycling through the floors. He watched at the lights indicated it acent to the offices. Whitecoats need to stay up there, anyways, he thought to himself. I'll watch the rats in the basement.

Taking the last sip from his coffee, Frank tossed it into the trashcan beside the elevator as the doors glided open. He placed his key card in the slot and looked back down the hall. His mind seemed to wander as he looked blankly ahead. "I'll be home soon honey. Just have to lock up." He remembered himself saying the first night he went down to the maximum security ward. That was about 20 years ago now. "How silly and stupid I was back then."

○○20 Years Ago○○

"Ok, kid. This is your big break. If you can live through this shift for a week you're tougher than any of the new guys we've hired in the past year." The tall old doctor gruffly said, spitting on the ground in front of him. "I'm no pansy, Doctor Price. I've dealt with guys tougher than hell and no loony bin jail breakers are going to get out on me." Doctor Price had seen his share of hell since this place was built. Psychos from every walk of life, but nothing like the ones they kept where they were going. "These, my boy, are the demons the bible talks about. The things we keep in here aren't men. They are monsters." Frank was young and tough, a bit of granite away from a statue. In his mind he was invincible. He had seen his share of fights from before he joined the Penal System and nothing they could show him would make him flinch. "Today is a special day, Mr. Jameson. Today we bring in a very special patient. His name is Waylon Jones and he is a special case, that requires special treatment. We need to transfer him from the level 4 wing above us to the new level 5 area." As he spoke the doors to the elevator opened. The new wing was big and dimly lit at best, but much more secure looking than the fish bowls they had been keeping patients in before. A door at the beginning of the hall was wide open. "This will be his new home, Mr. Jameson. Do you think that you and the other guards will be able to move him without aggravating him?" Frank laughed. "Aggravating him? What is this Club Med? He's a psycho isn't he?" The doctor shot a look at Frank that made his blood run cold. "No guns, no clubs, and especially no bright lights. Those things tend to anger him." Frank smirked. "Wouldn't want to do that would we?" The old doctor stopped in his tracks. "If you think this is so funny Mr. Jameson than maybe you and your unit should take the night off and we bring in some officers with a more professional aspect." Frank stood up straight. "No, sir. We can handle this job." The doctor sighed and put a hand on Frank's shoulder. "You had better be right. Waylon Jones is nobody to laugh about. He has killed a lot of men on the outside. The papers call him the Killer Croc. Take that into account when you joke about him." The doors close after Frank steps off and he is left to wait.

Moments pass and the doors open once more. This time a tall man with gray-green skin is in shackles with guards on all sides holding the chains. "Wuz goin' on?" Croc said as he looked around. "They said I was going to meet someone about getting outta here." Frank sucked himself up and walked up to the man. "Waylon Jones? Patient number 4876172?" The man seemed like a giant to Frank as he lloked down on him. "Yah, whud about it?" Frank stepped back and waved to the cell. "This is going to be your new quarters during your stay here." Croc looked at the cell and looked at the guards around him. "Where is ever' one else?" Frank lowered his arm. "You get to be the first transferred into this facility, now take your place." Croc shook his head. "Nope, don' like it. Take me back." Frank got impatient. "Look here! You don't get a choice. This isn't a resort! Now get in that cell or I'll make you get in!" Frank did his best to sound tough as he looked hard into the behemoths beady eyes. Croc laughed loud and raspy, the sound of it bounced everywhere in the empty ward. "You and what army little man?" Frank looked to the guards around Croc and nodded. The guards turned on their tazers and zapped Croc in the back of his legs. Croc roared. "You wanna play little man? I'll tear you apart!" Croc turned sharp and grabbed a guard by the arm. The guard franticly pulled his gun and fired into Croc's chest. Reeling back Croc threw the guard at the light over head breaking it. Now the whole hall was dark and the sounds of frantic firing and screaming filled Frank's ears. He reached for his gun and found it was missing. "Damn it!" He thought. "That damned doctor must have swiped it from me." He pulled his baton and flashlight and looked around. As the flashlight crossed where the guards had been a figure moved through the darkness avoiding the light, but the damage had already been done. All the guards lay dead, organs and blood covered the floor and Frank, for the first time in years, felt fear inching up on him. "Shoulda played nice, boss. Shame I had to kill yer guys for sumthin you did, but don't worry. You'll join em soon." Croc laughed again, that raspy hideous laugh that shook Frank to his bones. "Where the hell is the bat when you need him?" Frank thought as he moved forward cautiously. His boots squeaked as he stepped through the blood that covered the hall. "Come on out Croc. You have nowhere to hide. Your underground in a place that was built to hold guys tougher than you. Just give up and I won't have to hurt you." Unknown to Frank a pair of yellow eyes gleamed in the dark behind him and grew closer with each passing step Frank made towards the elevator. " Lookin' fer me?" Croc said as he lunged at Frank. A set of yellow teeth bid down hard onto Frank's hand as he tried to block his face. Frank stumbled backwards and hit the elevator open button and light poured into the darkened hallway. Croc screamed as his eyes met the light. As he did Frank jammed his flashlight into Croc's open mouth jamming it open. "You messed with the wrong guy!" Frank flicked his tazer on and jammed it into Croc's throat. The flashlight in his mouth was just the added boost Frank needed as it worked like a capacitor discharging energy right to Croc's tiny brain. The huge man fell over not moving. Frank walked haggeredly to him and drug him into the cell by force and shut the door once Croc was secure. Standing ankle deep in the bodies of his fallen comrades Frank walked back to the elevator. "You'd better be dead, because if you aren't I'm going to make the rest of your life hell." The doors closed and he went up covered in a mixture of his blood and the blood of the other guards.

The doors opened and Doctor Price was standing by the guard station waiting for and update with one of the nurses. The nurse fainted and Doctor Price's jaw dropped as Frank walked off the elevator. "Your monster is in it's cage, Doc. Safe and sound." Doctor Price ran to Frank and stopped about a foot in front of him. "What happened is he alright? You didn't kill him did you?" Frank locked eyes with the doctor and grabbed him by the collar with both hands. "Where is my gun!?" Frank yelled at him lifting him off the floor. The doctor shook he was so frightened dropping the gun from his pocket. "Th...there.....don't hurt me!" Frank dropped him to the ground and grabbed at the gun with his left hand. The gun kept spinning and wouldn't grip right and Frank took a moment to look at his hand. From his ring finger down the finger were mangled and the tips were missing. His eyes shot back to the doctor. "Run." Doctor Price shook his head flabbergasted. "RUN!" Frank yelled at him. "Run or so help me God I will kill you right now with my bare hands!"A couple of other guards came over and they carried the doctor off. Frank knelt on the ground and hung his head low. Another doctor came over to check Frank's injuries, but he had lost far too much blood to stay conscious much longer after his threat. He passed out there in the hallway and didn't wake up for two days. When he awoke his left hand itched like crazy and that was when he noticed his fingers were completely gone. "Frank....Frank...."

○○Present Day○○

"...Frank...Wake up Frank." Another guard was standing in front of him. His eyes were blurry and he shook his head to refocus them. "I guess...I spaced out there for a minute. Just kind of, remembering the old days."

The doorknob rattled a few times, yet Achgrove did not look up from the desk. With everything falling so perfectly into place, it took a lot to distract him. “Like clock work,” he thought to himself with a grin. “Time to throw in the wrench and…. what do we have here…?” As he pulled the center drawer out farther a small 38 special came into view along with a case of spare rounds. “It would seem that the doc was not all about rehabilitation….hehehe …something we agree on. Rehabilitation is for those who can’t accept reality and all of its beauty.”

Achgrove paused as his countdown minimized on the computer screen, and a set of blueprints was accessed. “Two minutes,” he scowled as he clicked accept on the phone, saving the blueprints of Arkham’s power grid. He then unplugged the flash drive and reassembled the phone. “Cutting it closer than I anticipated; I’ll streamline it later…. and what a shame…. I’ll have to kill the merchant. I so hate misrepresentations.” He pocketed the gun and rounds and then slid a letter opener behind his left sock in his instep. “How convenient, the power room is located on level 2 behind a single door in the laundry room-away from level 1 to avoid any outside ‘interference’ and away from the more dangerous residents.” Achgrove checked the time-eleven minutes all the time in the world.

He moved towards the door, unlocked it, and slowly peered out. The hall was clear. He walked fast to the elevators and pressed the down button. Another two minutes passed…still, plenty of time. Tammy smiled at him as he caught her attention when the elevator doors opened. “Forget something, hun?” She smiled like a young, virgin high school, chick, twirling her hair innocently. His hand gripped tightly around the handle of the 38; he wanted to shove it down her throat and pull the trigger, but that was not the plan. Nothing interferes with the task at hand…maybe later.
“That I did,” he winked and walked over. “I was thinking…why wait until tomorrow night? How about I give you a call after our shifts are over, and maybe we could grab a bite or catch a flick.”
Tammy’s eyes lit up. “Sounds like a great idea. Here.” She quickly jotted down her number on a slip of paper and handed it over to him. “You really are a desperate whore, aren’t you,” Achgrove thought to himself as he smiled.
“Expect a call after work,” he said. “Anyways, I have to jet. Going to check up on the doc. I think he needed me to do something before taking my break…heh you can get pretty absent-minded in this place.” Achgrove continued on towards the restrooms and past them without a second glance.

Upon entering the door of the laundry room, he glanced again at his phone. Four minutes had passed. He was lagging behind. No matter, he had full control over the situation; the countdown was merely a fail safe. Over the hums of the dryers and loud whirls of the washers in spin cycle, he could hear faint voices in the background-ecstasy…apparently it was time to play for some. Achgrove contemplated ignoring the urge, but these two were not being missed. In fact they were often overlooked…. a janitor and food server…two lovers caught up in the trials and tribulations of their own lust. It was as if every movement made beckoned him…drew him out. So, why fight it? His breathing became short as a darkness crept into his eyes. With a few quick motions, the countdown on his phone froze at two minutes. Elegy moved silently along the shadows of the dimly lit room and positioned himself three feet behind the two lovers. It had all become routine…second nature…. no thinking…just reacting. His consciousness had reached the stage understanding the fullness of death years ago before he had even hit puberty; his prostitute mother died of a heroine overdose. When he was fifteen he realized his control over mortality with death serving as his utility when his mother’s pimp finally caught up with him at their old, rundown apartment. He stabbed the man seventeen times with a butcher knife and then slit his throat. It was on that night Elegy was born.

He became a jack-of-trades immersing himself in his studies, taking advantage of his foster parents’ compassion, and graduating high school with honors. It was in college that his “training” began. You ever heard of lifetime students-people with little direction, and yet they continue to fork out the cash, wasting their time searching for themselves? To some, he would appear as such, constantly moving from one subject to the next, with little obvious goals in his life. Elegy had absolute direction-a final goal represented in the variety of his studies. He never majored in anything, but gained vast amounts of knowledge in criminal justice, psychology, technology, anatomy, and chemistry. Basically, he reached his set plateau in a subject and then continued to his next step. He was training himself to be a perfect killer…cold, calculating, effective, elusive, relentless…in control and full of purpose…as he interpreted death; it would follow him as if he were its herald.

And here he stood on what long ago ceased to be a precipice. Elegy lashed out on impulse, snatching the man up by the back of his neck. He curled an arm around the man’s throat and pulled him close.
“Ack! Wha….wha do ya w….want…..gack,” the janitor squeaked out in surprise and fear.
“You should have let her on top, my friend. Would have lived longer,” whispered Elegy coarsely into the man’s right ear. With the swift motion, he snapped the janitor’s neck and let the body fall limply next to the woman. She had finally realized what had taken place and began pushing herself backwards, her cries mix with growing tears that choked her words.
“N..n.n.no,” whimpered the food server as the flesh on her back reached the cold wall.
“Don’t believe anyone’s hearing you there, Michelle is it?” Elegy grinned. “A place perfect for sex…is perfect for death. Don’t worry…. this will go quick.”

As Michelle attempted to dart passed Elegy, he grabbed her swiftly by the throat and slammed her hard against the cinderblock wall. Retrieving the letter opener from his left sock, he plunged it into her neck, withdrew it, and then thrust again, severing her trachea. Movement from her ceased almost immediately as she slowly slumped behind a set of washers. Elegy whipped down the handle of the murder weapon with the shirt of the woman and then dropped it beside her. He glanced quickly around the laundry room…no audience. The door to the power room stood across from him. He continued on with his previous mindset as if this event had been nothing more than stray thought.
“Time to shine a little darkness,” he chuckled as he opened the door.