The Princess of Arkham

I slammed the door to my car as I got out and headed into the entrance of Joker's hideout. After that interesting and informing session with Andromeda, I realized I need ed to speak with Joker/

As I walked in the door two of the Joker's goons stepped in front of me with AK-47's, but lowered when they saw it was only me.

"Sorry Doc. Come on in." The taller of the two said; Happy was his name.

"Where's Joker? I need to speak with him." I asked as I walked in.

They were holed up in a run down house near the Strip. It would be difficult for the police to find them here. The grass looked like it hadn't been cut in years. And the hedges looked like they could use a trim just as badly.

"He's in his office." Happy told me, pointing down a hallway to the right. I nodded and walked over to a door that had the Joker's insignia carved into it. And written all across the door was the word "HA" and the infamous Joker smile.

The door was closed, so I tentatively knocked.

"What?" Joker barked out, unhappy that someone interrupting whatever he was doing.

I opened the door and walked in. The office wasn't too shabby looking. An oak desk was stationed right in the middle of the room. A bureau stood in the far corner on the opposite side of the room. A warm fire was going in the fireplace. Joker had his feet propped up on the desk and was looking intently at a map.

"Ah, Dr. Crane. How's Arkham?" Joker asked sitting up straight, a smile had broken out over his painted face.

"Arkham's great. I actually wanted to talk to you about a patient I'm seeing." I told him, sitting in the leather bound chair across from him.

"And who is this, ah, patient of yours, hmmm?"

I slid Andromeda's file over to him and he picked it up.

"Her name's Andromeda Corvinus, and I think she'll prove to be somewhat of an asset to you."

He flicked through Andromeda's file nonchalantly, stopping every couple of pages to skim through the writing, but an interested gleam swam in his dark eyes as he read.

"She's schizophrenic?" He asked thoughtfully, his smile getting bigger.

"She's a sadomasochist paranoid schizophrenic. And on top of that, she has dissociative identity disorder." I explained to him, tapping the file in his hands.

"Why do you think she'll be, ah, an asset to me?" He asked me, anger coming into his voice, thinking that I was telling him that he needed someone to help him be destructive.

"She knows how to make bombs; she can shoot someone from 700 feet away and hit them perfectly in the middle of their forehead; and well, she adores you." I told him. His smile grew bigger and he leaned back in his seat and propped his feet back up on the desk, his hands clasped together in his lap.

He laughed. "Hehehahahahahoho! She adores me?"

I smiled in spite of myself. "Yeah."

He continued smiling and said, " I'll have my goons get her out later. Right now we have business to attend to."

I sat up straighter and nodded as we started going over the plan.