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Building up or breaking down of Harleen Quinzel	By : Risen86 Category: DC Verse Comics > Suicide Squad Views: 6735 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Suicide Squad, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Stepping out of my black Honda I close the door, set the alarm and stroll along out of the parking lot and towards the front entrance of the Asylum. When I first applied at Arkham, I knew this was no ordinary asylum. That was one of the main reasons I had chosen to make the move from Brooklyn to Gotham. Not only did they house the meanest and most deranged criminals in Gotham, many of these criminals also happened to be metahumans. Eight months later I know, professionally at least, I made the right decision. There is no better facility to get respect and experience as quickly as I can get it here amongst the worst of the worst. On a personal level, however, I feel… adrift. I’ve no connections left and, no matter how many extracurricular activities I join, I feel apart. I miss Dylan, but there is no going back for me, not ever.   I pick up the pace hoping to be able to drown out my thoughts relatively soon with somebody else’s problems. At the main doors I fumble with my bag pulling out my keycard to buzz myself in.
As soon as I enter the building I immediately come down with a sense that there is something wrong. Looking around at the drab walls I notice that the reception area is void of people. “Hello?” No response. My footsteps slightly more tentative now I continue past the security checkpoint, which was also deserted, into the main office, through the lunchroom and into my office. There was nobody anywhere.
“Ok then…”
Curious, but still mildly apprehensive, I follow the same path back to security. However, when I get there, instead of continuing past the check point to the right and back outside I turn left and I make my way further into the facility. When I reach the double swinging doors that lead into the patients’ sleeping quarters, I push them open. I walk into a long sterile looking hallway with about 10 rooms on either side of the doors. There is always at least one or two employees bustling around here, but today there is no one. Following instinct, I turn to the left and move down the hall noting how loudly my shoes clacked off the shiny floor and bounced off the pale green walls. “The zombies are coming…” I joke to myself. When I reach about half way down the hall I can hear the low hum of voices. I follow the sound and turn right towards the solitary confinement chamber; there is where I see the crowd. A good majority of the scheduled staff is standing around the doorway, stuttering in hushed conversation.
“What on earth?” I ask myself, I inch closer and start picking up on little pockets of conversation.
…Shit, he’s back. How many times is it now?
Not sure, but look at his face! The Bat has done a number on him this time, I wish he’d just….
…Oh my God! I can’t believe it’s actually him! You can practically see the crazy oozing out his pores…
… You realize they’re going to have to schedule more security now
Yea, there’s going to be about twice the security, because that has stopped him in the past…
… Fuck this! I quit! …
Unable to contain my curiosity I push my way through the small crowd and into the room. The solitary confinement chamber looks like the inside of a large silver box. It’s a perfect rectangle with no windows, one metal door, a toilet and a cot. The first thing I notice is in the back of a rather large man, easily over six foot, dressed in what looked like a rubberized black suit, it had a mask with two pointy protrusions on either side of his head and a cape. A cape!
Jesus! That’s Batman!
He is speaking very gravely to Dr. Jerome Schumer, I can’t quite make out what they are saying but it doesn’t matter because my eyes are quickly drawn to the stillness on the right of me. A plastic seat was brought into the room and on it there is a man slouching motionless, his legs are splayed out in front of him, his arms sagging limply on either side of the armrests and his head has flopped backwards. He’s dead – is my first thought. His clothes look like they used to be expensive, but they aren’t anymore. The right sleeve of what was a white dress shirt has been ripped off exposing a smiling mouth tattoo on the side of his forearm and; the rest of his shirt is torn to shreds with thick red blood matted down the front over the buttons. His black dress pants haven’t fared any better, they are hanging low on his hips, the bottoms are burnt off and the man’s feet are bare and black with soot. I see the first sign of life as his body twitches and his head falls forward, that’s when I notice the shocking green of his hair and gruesome bloody mess of his face.
“Oh my God” I hear myself whisper. His face is a disaster; his jaw is hanging slack quite clearly broken or dislocated, his few remaining front teeth shattered to pieces and covered with blood. The blood from his mouth has gushed down his shin and neck onto his shirt. His nose is broken as well, the gush from that dribbling down to meet his split lips. His eyes are swollen almost completely shut and the parts of his face that aren’t red with blood are black with bruising.
Suddenly, his whole body lurches forward, his hands lash out to grab my wrists and he yanks me towards him. His ravaged face is now inches from me, my nostrils are filled with the smell his blood, and my stomach heaves warningly. ““Boo!” he whispered, I impulsively yelp and try to pull back. I hear someone yell ‘Dr. Quinzel’ before he falls into hysterical laughter. Batman yanks me out of his grip and pushes him violently farther back into his seat.
“Oh come on now Bats, don’t be like that.” He says to Batman ”I’m just having some harmless fun.” His speech is slurred but I still understand him quite well. Batman doesn’t respond, instead he looks directly at Dr. Schumer “He is your patient Schumer, your responsibility. No other doctors and no more breakouts.” The Batman looks back at me grimly “What is wrong with you? Keep your distance.”
“She’s obviously not from around here.” my attacker comments. “Don’t worry I’ll have you broken in – or just broken – in no time darlin’.” I stare at him horrified and still morbidly impressed that he is both so vocal, and now so lively, despite his injuries.
I begin to respond to Batman “I- I just figured that he was, you know, unconscious… I mean he’s so badly damaged-”
            That sends the man into another fit of hysterics; he attempts to say something but can’t get the words out and instead leans forward gripping his stomach. I watch as blood splashes on the floor, my extremities tingling, my heart pounding. Finally he manages to stop long enough to force out ‘Yea, look what you’ve done Bats. You damaged me! One second more and I would have won!” I felt the blood drain from my face and my head snap to the patient. Batman did this?!
Shaken, I turn to look at Batman only to find that he is gone.
“Guards, take him to solitary.” I hear Jerome order.
“What?!” the patient protests as the guards move him bodily towards the door “I just got here! I haven’t killed anyone yet!” the crowd parts for them. “Wait! Wait! Can I have Dr. Quinzel? I promise I’ll be reeeaalll nice!” he shouts. The laughter that follows echoes down the hallway and leaves an eerie thrill in my stomach.
            The guards informed me they would be taking me to the clinic shortly so the doctors can tend to my injuries; I know its bullshit. The doctors don’t want me in their clinic, or around their drugs or their medical instruments; they tend to avoid me all together actually. It may have something to do with them always ending up at the wrong end of a scalpel. They’ll have to show up eventually though and I’ll likely be strapped up before they will tend to me. All I can do until then is lie here, with my hands behind my head and just wait… I hate waiting; it’s so boring.
Boredom, now that is the true punishment of getting caught. I hardly ever get to mingle with the general population anymore, to revel in all the breathtaking chaos of insanity. I usually get slammed into solitary confinement then, when I am finally let out, people wonder why there are casualties. When I am allowed out, though, Arkham is a wonderful place to chill. Flimsy moralities & tenuous civility so easily fall on their heads here, frequently without me having to lift a single finger in the way of help. I can just sit back and watch as these upstanding, humane people unwind into savagery. You want to see the true nature of man? Come spend a week at Arkham where the criminally insane cower in fear of the civilized and morally entrapped people pledged to help them. Come watch psychologists prescribe shock therapy as punishment or, shit, just for fun. Come watch orderlies taunt, beat or – hey, ya even fuck patients when they think nobody is looking. And you know what? If cunt isn’t given freely, that’s fine, just take it by force. Come watch the stolen pill popping madness and general chaos that churns within these bolted doors. Come one, come all, come see the truth Man tries to hide. I can feel the amusement crawling up inside me and allow myself to snicker a little. I do so love Arkham.
Oh, and speaking of people fucking the patients, how about that Dr. Quinzel?
“Rooooaaaw” I mutter I wouldn’t mind playin’ around with that sweet thaaaang.
Wanting to smile I place my hand gently on my face so my smile tattoo is in clear view for the audience behind the security camera on the ceiling. ‘Damaged’ she had said; she is utterly and completely right, and I have Bats to thank for it. I almost feel bad that my face will eventually heal and he can deny that he was ever so close to proving my point. Then I realize, my face will heal, but that doesn’t mean I can’t remind him of the damage he’s done. I feel an electric shiver run through me and it leaves the sweet bloody taste of victory in my mouth. Gathering up my strength I push myself off the cot and clap at the conclusion of my series of thoughts. I then look up at the surveillance camera in the center of the room and flare my arms widely apart “I require an audience!” I declare, “I have demands!”.
The statement is a sort of code to whoever is on my payroll in Arkham. I usually have at least one individual in Arkham on the take, and if I don’t currently have one I know Frost will buy one soon enough. It’s how I usually organize my escapes and I will eventually breakout; all that crime won’t commit itself you know? Right now, however, I really don’t want to leave. First I need to get my Damaged face taken care of and then I would like to get to know my sweet little Dr. Toots. If I play my cards right things could end up quite interesting here, even for Arkham standards.
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Building up or breaking down of Harleen Quinzel