DISCLAIMER: If I owned anything even remotely to do with Batman, I'd be walking the streets gloating about it, not sitting at home in the dark writing a fanfic.
"Patient interview number one. Patient's name is Kenna Fyrian. This is my first interview with Miss Fyrian, and it is also her first interview here at Arkham Asylum since she was brought in by Commissioner Gordon last week. All I've heard from the guards is that she mainly likes to keep to herself, except on occasions when she takes on a more... flirtatious personality. Hopefully she doesn't take on that attitude with me; I don't want to have to deal with another Ivy," a male voice sighed.
"Good afternoon, Miss Fyrian. My name is Dr. Roberts. Please, have a seat." There was a rustling and clanking as the patient moved to sit down, placing their cuffed hands on the table. "How are you settling in?" The doctor was met with silence. "Are the other inmates giving you any trouble?" Silence once more. "Some of the newer patients find it hard to accept the situation they're in, perhaps you would be more willing to speak in a few days?" No response. The doctor stifled a sigh. "You know, Miss Fyrian, I'm here to help you – we all are. But I can't help you if you insist on–ˮ
"What makes you think I need help?" a cold, female voice asked. It was quiet and laced with the traces of a previously seductive character.
"Because you were brought here, to an Asylum. Why do you think you're here?" the doctor asked curiously.
There was a long, uninterrupted pause that seemed to last for hours. Then there was another rustle as the patient shifted. "Because some moron figured that since I burn things for money, I'm obsessed with fire and therefore insane."
"And you disagree with that."
There was another pause, shorter this time. "Because I'm not obsessed with fire; I merely prefer it. And I'm not insane."
"What do you prefer fire over, Miss Fyrian?"
"Bombs, ice, guns, knives, fear gas, riddles, batarangs."
"I see. Could you explain to me what it is you do with this fire?"
"Surely that's in my file, Doc." Her voice was suddenly low and teasing.
"I want to hear it from you."
"Why?" she sighed.
"It might enable me to help you further."
"I don't need your help."
"Everyone needs help."
"Then I don't want your help."
There was a sigh. "Miss Fyrian–ˮ
"We're done here." The chair squeaked against the floor as the patient stood.
There was a brief moment of silence, and then another sigh. "Guards!" The door opened.
"You can take her back to her cell now. I'll see you next week, Miss Fyrian."
"Patient interview number seven. Patient's name is Kenna Fyrian. I'm starting to think I won't be able to get through to Miss Fyrian. She always tries to avoid my questions by saying something about how ridiculous it is for her to be here, or she just doesn't answer. I'm getting nothing from these interviews except the fact that she doesn't seem to like me or trust me. Perhaps transferring her over to a female doctor would help."
"Miss Fyrian, good afternoon. How are you doing today?"
"Same as ever, Doc."
"And how is that?"
"Bored out of my skull and pissed at being locked in a cage like some deranged beast."
"Is there anything we could give you to entertain you at all?"
"Apart from that, Miss Fyrian."
There was a pause. "A lighter."
"You would like a lighter?"
"I'm afraid that won't be possible. Instead, we could–ˮ
"Because it could be dangerous. And with your obs–ˮ the doctor cleared his throat, "– preference of fire, we don't know what you'd do with it." He was met with silence. "Today I was hoping we could talk about your crimes, after talking about your childhood didn't work the last time. Would you like to tell me about them?"
"What do you want to know?"
"Whatever you want to tell me."
There was a rustle as the patient shifted into a more comfortable position. "I burn down buildings for money."
"What kind of buildings?"
"Any. They give me an address and five-hundred bucks, I give them a pile of smoking rubble in return."
"Do these buildings often have people inside when you light them on fire?"
"I don't know."
"Do you care?"
"I don't know them."
"But they are still human beings, Miss Fyrian. Don't you realise how cruel that is?"
There was a loud slam as the patient banged her fist on the table. "Don't talk to me about cruelty, Dr. Roberts," she snapped, her voice dangerous and wavering as she struggled to contain her anger. "You know nothing of cruelty."
"What do you know of cruelty?"
"More than most," came the reluctant reply. It sounded as if she'd calmed down.
"How?" There was nothing but silence for a good few minutes. "Miss Fyrian, please. I'm not going to judge or criticise you; you can tell me anything. If you want out of here, you're going to have to talk to me so that I can make you better and–ˮ
"Make me better?" she repeated in a low tone. "Make me better?" her voice rose. "I don't need to be made 'better' by some random guy in a white lab coat; I need to be let out of here so I can go back to my shitty apartment and my shitty life where I belong!"
"Miss Fyrian, please, calm–ˮ
"No! I'm sick and tired of being bossed around by a bunch of moronic bullies like some nerdy kid on the playground! I am a woman of fire, not some deranged lunatic!"
"Just let me help you and you can go–ˮ
There was a sudden crashing sound as the patient lunged across the table and grabbed the doctor by the collar of his shirt, hoisting him up so that she was right in his face. The door crashed open while the guards shouted at the patient. Over the chaos, one voice could be heard clearly – low, threatening, and deadly. "You listen to me good, Doc. No one can help me – not you, not Arkham, not any other doctor or psychiatrist, not even the goddamn Batman. So shut the hell up about it and move on. When I come back here next week it better be another doctor on the other side of that table or I swear to God I'll send you to the pits of Hell."
The guards were unsurprisingly brutal as they tossed me out into the hallway, away from the infuriating doctor. My face was flushed red in anger and rage coursed through my veins, igniting every cell into a blaze of fury. Strong hands grabbed my shoulders and roughly guided me through the passageways of the Asylum, leading me back to my cell, the insults of the guards' bouncing off my ears as I focused on formulating a plan.
I needed to get out.
Crimson liquid was dripping out of my nose at a constant rate, I could practically feel the black eye growing, and I would have bruises from the crushing grip the guards had on my arms; but they didn't affect me much. I'd gone through much, much worse and survived – well, barely, but still. The point was they couldn't do anything to me that was worse than anything I'd ever gone through before.
As we got closer and closer to my cell, passing by all the actually deranged men loping around their cells like monkeys, I grew more and more angry. I didn't understand why I had been forced into the tiny room; I knew I wasn't insane. There were things about me that Gordon and his little minions just couldn't understand. I wasn't like the other criminals, I wasn't like the other humans – I was different. But that sure as hell didn't mean I was insane.
There were three guards taking me back to my cell – one was a few paces in front of us, and the other two each had a hold of my arms, walking on either side of me. The guard in front opened my cell and stood waiting for me, and I stopped suddenly, forcing the other guards to copy my movements. "Keep going, bitch," one of them spat, tightening their grip.
I looked at him, studying the hatred and disgust in his eyes as he sneered at me. How were we supposed to get better when the guards treated us like scum all day, every day? They acted like they were the big guys here, despite the fact that a few inmates – mostly Rogues – escaped the asylum at least once a month, beating up a lot of the guards in the process. Even scrawny little Riddler could take these buffoons on.
They needed to be reminded that they weren't as big and bad as they thought.
My head slammed into his, sending him stumbling into the cell behind him where the inmate immediately grabbed on, holding him there. I wasted no time, turning and jumping into the air, twisting my body as my foot connected with the other guard's face, knocking him out cold. The last guard let go of my cell door and took a slow step forward, reaching to his hip to pull out his baton. I jumped into the air again, bringing my knees up to my chest, and brought my cuffed hands underneath my feet to in front of me.
"I'm gonna give you one shot to surrender, woman," the last guard threatened.
I just smirked teasingly, taking a few steps back. The guard being held by the inmate was struggling hopelessly, half-kneeling on the ground, his arms being held back behind the bars. The ceiling was quite low with solid metal pipes running along it, a small gap between the top of them and the concrete above. Perfect, I commented to myself.
The guard started running towards me, holding his baton high. I bolted, using the immobilised guard's knee to give myself a boost as I leapt into the air and grabbed onto one of the pipes. My attacker's eyes widened as he realised what was happening; but he was too close to avoid it. I swung powerfully and my feet slammed into his chest, sending him sprawling backwards onto the floor. I dropped down and ran to him, picking up his baton to smack him over the head with it. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and his eyelids drooped shut, his body going limp.
I turned back to the last guard, seeing him watching me with fearful and panicked eyes. Sauntering up to him, I smirked and crouched down. "Didn't your momma tell you to treat ladies with respect?" My face hardened and I pressed the baton up against his neck, choking him. "Call me a bitch again and I'll burn you alive. Got it?" He spluttered, his face red, and nodded hurriedly in reply. "Good." I stood, and the inmate grabbed the guard's head, slamming it against the metal bars of his cell door. "Thanks," I grinned.
"No problem, girly. You better go now, they'll be sending more guards soon," he replied in a gruff voice.
I didn't need to be told twice.
I barely made it a few minutes, dodging between several pissed guards and lashing out at most of them, before something hit my back. Burning, paralysing, agonising pain coursed through my entire body, causing me to drop to the floor like a sack of potatoes and lay there jerking, my nerves burnt to a crisp as spasms wracked my form. My head was pounding and my heart was hammering against my ribcage, each beat bringing with it more pain. It lingered, stabbing at every muscle, every bone, every goddamn cell it could find.
I tried my very best to push past it, somehow managing to roll myself onto my stomach, my hands blindly reaching for something, anything, to grab onto to help me crawl across the pristine tile floors of Arkham Asylum. I felt rough hands grip my upper arms and pull me to my feet, slamming me against the wall in order to keep me up. My breath was coming out ragged and uneven, and a never-ending darkness was descending onto my vision, leaving me to desperately try to keep my eyelids open.
My blurry and squint gaze flicked onto the group of guards behind me, and I vaguely registered the sound of the electrical rod they sometimes carried over the constant buzzing in my ears. I was roughly flipped around so that my back was slammed against the wall, and my head fell, my neck suddenly unable to support the weight.
When I saw black boots standing before me I forced myself to look up, grunting at the effort, and saw a furious guard glaring at me. Behind him was a small cluster of five others, seemingly guarding some other inmate. The darkness was taking over, pulling me into the depths of the unknown. The last thing I saw was the new inmate's clothes: a deep green suit with back question marks all over it. Riddler.
So that was the first chapter... I honestly don't know if it's good or what, so if someone could give me feedback - positive or negative, I don't mind - that would be great.
Just so you know, it could be a few chapters before Kenna and Edward's relationship starts developing; but please don't let that put you off of the story!