I'd like to state some stuff before this story begins! This fanfiction is a different take on the Batman comic books. Mostly based off of the Batman: Arkham video game series. (Batman: Arkham Asylum, Arkham City, Arkham Origins, and others to come.) Some, (actually, most) things are not the same. It's my own take on the whole deal and if you can't handle that, then maybe you shouldn't read it. I want to make that completely clear. Most characters aren't owned by me, except for a few OC's that I've included. Otherwise, the characters are owned by DC comics and the writers/creators of Batman. Thank you for your interest in my fanfiction, and let the story begin! (Rating/Reviews welcome! Let me know if I should keep writing this or not!)

"Doctor Harleen Quinzel, was it?" The mans rough voice cut sharply through the air like a blade entering the chest of yet another innocent soul. A blood red smirk danced across his face. "I like that name. It reminds me of-"

"The clown, I know." A sigh pushed its way out of the doctor's mouth involuntarily. Brief memories of her years growing up crept into her mind. The obnoxious little brats that would laugh their asses off at the similarity between her name and that wretched clown, the harlequin. "I've heard it before."

A chuckle let out from the clown, who was sitting opposite from Harleen. They were sitting at a hard, cold table with a single lamp hanging above them. The walls and door were made of steel. The blonde doctor knew that behind that door were multiple guards. She had sent them out to make the murderer that was sitting before her more comfortable, but didn't account for her own discomfort. She had to continually tell herself that she would be okay, but when she looked up at the criminal she saw a smile that was almost at an acute angle on his face, his green eyebrows lowered. This was an evil smile. She found no comfort.

"Doctor... May I call you Harley?" The villain spoke out in a casual tone. His smirk seemed forever embedded on his face, as if it were never going to fade.

"Sure, if you'll answer some questions of mine." Doctor Quinzel answered, leaning forward over the table. Something in the back of her mind made her slightly amused by the whole interaction between the two. She had begged and begged her supervisors for an opportunity to interview the Joker. He was fascinating. He had gotten away with so much, yet no one knew who he was. What caused the insanity that was no doubt going through his mind at this very moment? She wanted to know. Even if she had only just started as a doctor, she needed to know.

"Oh, it would be a pleasure, Harley." Joker said, throwing his head back in laughter. She tried to ignore this gesture. She wasn't being taken seriously.

"Would you be willing to tell me who you are? What your life was like growing up?" Harley asked. It was a bland and obvious question, she knew, but beating around the bush would get her no where. Especially while talking to a man such as the Joker.

"Who am I? Who am I? I am the Joker. I am the King of the Clowns. The CEO of Madness and Murder Incorporated. I am Gotham's destiny," As his preaching escalated his voice lowered and his pitch grew dramatically darker. Joker laughed. "Oh, if only we had cameras on us. The public would eat that up."

"How do you feel about killing? What is it to you? A game? Why do you do it? To take Gotham?" Harley questioned, growing more and more enthusiastic by the second. She could barely keep herself from jumping from her lab coat and taking a scalpel to Joker's head, then crawling into his mind to see what really went on in there. If only it were that simple.

"How do I feel about murder?" Joker pondered. He seemed naturally confused by the question. "Have you ever watched a person die, Harley? Imagine a person who is completely new to you. Then imagine watching them in intense pain. So much pain that they choke, struggle. Watch them as they grasp onto the small bit of life they have left. Their bodies jerk as if electricity is moving through their bones. You can watch as their eyes widen with fear, they know what's coming now. Then..."

Joker stopped. Harley waited for him to finish, and when he didn't, she lowered her eyes.

"Then? Then what?" Quinzel asked.

"Then nothing. It's all gone," Joker's voice had a hint of amusement buried in it. "Their pupils expound and they take a final breath. The struggle for life slowly dissolves. Any light that was formerly in their eyes is gone. Now, Harley. Imagine it was at your hand. You were the one who held your very own hand stiffly at this persons neck. You took the life from them. Do you understand now?"

"No, I don't." Harley answered. Her chest felt strained.

"It's truly beautiful, Harley. Perhaps I'll show you one day. Usually I'd say I'll hold a mirror to your face as I take your life from you. Then you'd certainly see, right?" He cackled. "Yet, I feel a slight interest in you. I think I may keep you around."

"Flattering," Harley sighed. "I think we're done for the day. I'll be back to visit you tomorrow, Joker. I hope settling here won't be too hard."

"I'll see you tomorrow then, Harley."