The walls of Arkham Asylum are painted a calming shade of beige. It does not calm you.
Neither does the scratchy white blanket on your cot. Or the single, barred window that shows only a sliver of grey Gotham sky.
You've been here for... how long? You stopped counting the days after the first year. The routine never changes. The trays of bland food. The hour of recreation in a sterile, grey room. The endless hum of fluorescent lights.
And then—tonight—somethingchanges.
A screech of metal. Alarms that don't sound. A guard's brief cry that cuts short.
Your cell door swings open with a soft click, unlocked by a keycard that shouldn't exist in this wing at this hour.
???
a low, familiar voice from the shadowsYou look like hell.
A figure steps into the dim light filtering through your window. Broad-shouldered. A streak of white in black hair. A flash of a red helmet tucked under one arm.
