Rising out of the rolling fog and through the low-lying clouds stood the ancient fortress known as Arkham Asylum. Though its name had recently been changed to Arkham Psychiatric Hospital to reflect the times, this place was forever stuck in an era long since passed. With its sharp spires jutting out behind the main structure, and soaring towers, it was fit more for a family living in Victorian England than patients residing in a modern-day mental hospital.

If there was ever a building that captured the doom and gloom of the city, it was this one. Against a backdrop of looming storm clouds and a forest of dead trees, Arkham screamed the definition of the word sinister. All it needed were some flashes of lightning strikes and a couple of wolves howling in the distance, and it would be complete.

Goosebumps crept across her skin at the sight of the approaching building. This was really happening. She was really being taken to Arkham. The whole ride over, a part of Barbara believed her dad wouldn't actually do it. At some point, she thought he would turn around and they would return home. Worst-case scenario, he would veer off into the side of the road and give her a stern lecture before driving back home. Always home, no matter what the scenario.

But when she caught the first glimpse of the towering structure atop the hill, she realized they weren't going home.

Neither of them had spoken to each other since getting into the car. What was there to say that hadn't been said already? She had begged and pleaded until her voice had grown hoarse, cried, and screamed until her eyes were red and swollen. If her dad hadn't listened to her then, he wouldn't listen to her now. Not when they had come all this way.

As they drove up the winding road that led to the hospital, Barbara almost expected the sound of a pipe organ to greet them as they passed through the weathered gate. Glancing up at the jagged sign above, she wondered how many people had once seen the words "Arkham Asylum" carved into it, not knowing what horrors awaited them on the other side.

Watching the dead trees pass to the side of her, Barbara swore they were reaching out to her like the long, withered fingers of an old hag. She blinked, and the illusion was gone. They were just normal trees, swaying in the wind.

With an involuntary shudder, Barbara glanced at her reflection in the side mirror and choked back a gasp. That couldn't be her. No, it had to be some trick of the light. She didn't have bruised lips from chewing on them through the entire drive. Nor was her hair disheveled and her glasses askew from the earlier struggle. And where did those tear-streaked cheeks under her puffy eyes come from? No, this wasn't her.

Not wanting to see the thing that stared back at her a second longer, Barbara turned her attention towards the beams of light cast above the towers. They flickered from side-to-side as if they were searching for something behind the swirling clouds and darkening sky. Or perhaps they were warding something off. Either way, if these spotlights were meant to make someone feel safe and secure, they did the complete opposite for Barbara. Just what kind of place were they running here? A prison?

Before she knew it, the car slowed to a halt as it curved around the entrance. For a moment, James hesitated before switching off the ignition. With a low grunt, he yanked out the keys and opened the door with so much force, it nearly flew off its hinges.

From the side of her, the door swung open, and a pair of the largest and meanest men Barbara had ever seen glared down at her. Where they had come from, she had no idea. Only that they weren't there a few seconds ago. Dressed all in white and standing at least six feet tall, she figured they would be pretty hard to miss.

As if on autopilot, one of the men unfastened her seatbelt while the other silently unfolded her wheelchair. Barbara cringed as the man put his beefy hands on her, imagining him snapping her broken spine like a toothpick. But to her surprise, he was gentle. Not as gentle as Richard-or as aromatic-but at least her spine wasn't any more damaged than it already was.

Keeping his eyes fixed ahead the whole time, the man seated her in the wheelchair and buckled her in. "If you would follow me," he said, still refusing to meet Barbara's gaze.

James nodded and started for the wheelchair, prepared to push it before the other man stepped in. Grabbing a hold of the handles, he glanced over his shoulder at James and gave a wordless nod. Whatever had passed between them, James must've understood since he backed off and let the man take the reins.

Without another word, the man turned on his heel and headed for the door. James followed, staggering ahead with a glassy look in his eye. If Barbara didn't know better, she would've thought he was drunk.

The wheelchair jerked forward and Barbara was forced to clutch her armrests as she was rolled inside. A roar of thunder like that of a lion echoed overhead, shaking the walls of Arkham to its very foundation. Wincing at the sound, Barbara could only hope it wasn't a sign of things to come.

Taking in the sight in front of her, Barbara found Arkham wasn't at all what she was expecting. It was much worse. Instead of the polished wooden floorboards she had imagined, linoleum tiles that smelled of day-old bleach lined the halls in its place. The dim lighting she had come to associate with the city was, in fact, bright and almost blinding.

But none of that compared to what she heard.

Distant screams filled with the utmost terror. Wails that only someone in the deepest pain could utter. And moans brimming with sheer hopelessness.

She had never heard what misery sounded like before. Not until this moment. Even James looked like he was having second thoughts about being here. But before he could-or would-say anything, a tall, gangly man strode through the pair of doors in the corner.

"Commissioner Gordon," he greeted in a refined British accent. "We have been expecting you. I am glad to see you made it just before the storm rolled in."

"Ah, yeah." James ran his fingers through his hair. "So I'm guessing Pamela already told you about what happened, Mr...."

"Crane, Dr. Jonathan Crane." Though he had a smile plastered on his face, it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yes, your wife told me about Barbara and I do agree she is a danger. Not only to others, but to herself as well. However," he sighed. "I'm afraid we cannot accept her without the proper authorization. Either from a court or her doctor."

Barbara straightened up in her chair at the news. Checkmate, Pamela. Suppressing a loud cheer, she shot her dad a wide smirk, only to drop it as quickly as it came. She didn't like that look on his face. It was the look of a desperate and stubborn man, a man who had reached the end of his rope. Nope, she didn't like it one bit.

"You don't understand. She needs to be here!" James exclaimed through clenched teeth. "My daughter needs help."

"I understand, but I'm afraid involuntarily committing someone requires-"

"I know how this works, dammit!" James's fist shot up in the air as he took a daring step forward. "And as police commissioner, I am demanding an emergency psychiatric hold!"

"Dad, you wouldn't!" Barbara cried, but she knew he would. He always meant what he said. Unlike Pamela, her father did not play games.

"I'm sorry, Barbara. But it's for your own good. For-For your own protection." His voice cracked, sounding as if he were trying to convince himself instead of his daughter. "Don't worry. You'll be safe here."

Dr. Crane cleared his throat, reminding them of his presence. "Well, since you do have the authority to initiate a short-term commitment, we can hold her here for seventy-two hours."

Unable to stomach the sight of her father's face any longer, Barbara shut her eyes. "And then what?"

"If we find you are not a risk to yourself or others during that assessment period, you are free to leave," Dr. Crane answered.

Barbara's eyes fluttered open, and she found her dad was no longer facing her, having suddenly become interested in the mud on his shoes.

"Well, Barbara?" Dr. Crane glanced down at her.

From the corner of her eye, Barbara saw one of the hulking men start to approach. Well, it looked like she didn't have much of a choice in the first place. The expectant gleam in the doctor's eye told her as much.

"Okay," she uttered weakly. At least here, she wouldn't be facing the possibility of a life sentence. It was just seventy-two hours. She could get through that. She had gotten through much worse, hadn't she?

"Splendid!" Dr. Crane clapped his hands together. "And I assure you, Barbara will be well taken care of here."

James gave a faint nod, almost as if he hadn't heard the man. "I'll come back in three days." Whether he had said that to Barbara or to the doctor, she didn't know. And she figured she never would.

With his hands buried deep in his pockets, James lowered his head and shuffled out of the hospital. Barbara watched as his form grew smaller and smaller, silently begging for him to turn around. To come back for her.

He never did.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Barbara shifted her bleary eyes towards the grinning doctor, already regretting this decision.

"I prefer to know my patients a bit more before I start assessing them." The leer on his face made her wonder just how exactly he preferred to know them. A part of her didn't want to know. "Shall we go to my office?"

Barbara frowned at the sickening implication, about to protest when she was suddenly pushed forward from behind. Maybe she should've risked jail time.

"Your mother told me you tried to stab her," Dr. Crane said as he walked alongside her through the nauseating yellow halls.

"She's not my mother," Barbara muttered.

His eyes widened a fraction behind his square-rimmed glasses. "Oh, that's right. I completely forgot your father is getting remarried."

Something told her he didn't forget.

"She said you tried to stab her with a wooden stake," he continued. "How interesting."

If her lip wasn't so sore, she would be biting it right now. So instead, she bit her tongue to keep from answering. She knew how psychiatrists worked. She wasn't stupid. The moment you took their bait was the moment they started screwing with your brain. And before you knew it, you were there blubbering to them about why mommy didn't love you and why you were still single at twenty-two.

"Where could you have gotten such an object?" His eyes glinted down at her with something that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. "Did you make it?"

Barbara shook her head, turning her gaze away from his uncomfortable stare. Didn't he know where she got it from? Or did Pamela somehow leave out that important detail? Unlikely.

"I see you don't wish to tell me then." Pressing his glasses back up his nose, Dr. Crane fixed his eyes up ahead as they rounded a sharp corner. His heels squeaked against the tile floor as he came to an abrupt stop in front of the elevator, nearly knocking Barbara into him.

"Are you protecting someone? A lover, perhaps?" He pressed a long, bony finger against the button.

"What? No!" Barbara shot up in her chair, so revolted by the question that she revealed more than she intended. "Bruce Wayne gave it to me. And no, we're not together," she emphasized.

The metallic door slid open with a muted ding. But Dr. Crane remained rooted in place, looking as if he didn't want to get in. And to be honest, Barbara didn't blame him. Seeing the flickering light above and cramped, graffitied walls, she wasn't sure she wanted to either.

As the hand printed-covered door started to shut, Dr. Crane stuck his foot out at the last second and it jerked open once again. "You can leave us." He tilted his chin at the two orderlies.

After pushing Barbara inside, the pair of orderlies walked away, still as silent and robotic as ever. Now alone with the doctor, the knot in Barbara's stomach returned. Although she tried ignoring how close he was standing, she was reminded each time his arm brushed against the side of her.

"Ah, Mr. Wayne. Why does that not surprise me?" He tapped his fingers together as a wistful smile played on his lips.

Her fingers curled into fists as she dug her nails into her palms. She prayed this elevator would go faster, but it seemed fate would not grant this small act of mercy. The elevator crawled up at a snail's pace, stopping at every empty floor.

"Yes. He is one... interesting man." Dr. Crane rubbed his pointed jaw.

Barbara narrowed her eyes at the man. Interesting was putting it mildly, to say the least.

"Barbara, do you know the history of Arkham?"

She snapped her head up to look at him. The question was so random, so out of left field, she honestly thought she had misheard him at first. "What?"

"Since it is quite old, you can imagine what kind of stories exist." He gave a soft chuckle. "But its history really is fascinating. Would you like to hear about it? You too might find it fascinating."

The elevator shuddered to a rough halt and Barbara breathed a deep sigh of relief, thinking she had been spared the history lesson. However, Dr. Crane seemed to think otherwise when he grabbed her wheelchair and pushed her out.

"From the beginning, Arkham has had a violent history. Its founder, Amadeus Arkham, became a psychiatrist after watching his mentally ill mother struggle with hallucinations. Unable to help her, he killed her and transformed their estate into an asylum," he explained as they glided down the narrow hall. "Eventually, he started to see the same hallucinations and was driven to insanity just like his mother. In a tragic case of irony, he became an inmate in his own asylum."

"Wow, that was, um... really fascinating..." Barbara trailed off. What in the actual hell? Sure, that story might be interesting if you were a literal psycho. But to Barbara, hearing it only made her resent her decision even more.

"I am not finished yet, my dear." He leaned down beside her, his warm breath tickling her ear. "These hallucinations were of a giant bat and he claimed they haunted the estate. He was so tortured by them he designed the floor plan to resemble a cross. He believed it would keep the bat away, so much so that he carved crosses into his cell wall. It is why the spotlights are always shining, even during the day."

Barbara blinked, suddenly realizing something she hadn't before. It was deathly quiet in this part of the hospital. No screams, no wails, nothing. Only the sound of her elevated heartbeat drumming against her chest.

"And you know the strangest thing of all?" Dr. Crane paused, removing his hands from the wheelchair.

She was almost afraid to ask. Whatever it was, she knew it wasn't good. Nothing in Gotham was ever good.

Fixing her gaze straight ahead, her eyes landed on the gleaming door in front of her. As if a noose had found its way around her neck, her throat started to tighten as she read the words scribed onto its metal surface.

"When Amadeus's body was discovered in his cell, the nurses found he had killed himself the same way he had killed his mother."

From behind, Barbara heard the rustle of fabric as Dr. Crane reached into his lab coat, wincing at the sound of his jagged nail flicking against the tip of whatever he pulled out.

Unable to tear her eyes from the door, Barbara's fingers sank deeper into her armrests as her lungs struggled for air. She had to leave. She had to get out of here.

So then why wasn't she moving?

Compelled by some unknown force to stay and hear the story out until its gruesome end, Barbara waited for what she could already guess was coming. "How?" she wheezed.

"With a stake driven through her heart."

A sudden prick of pain in her neck made her vision go fuzzy almost instantly. Black spots floated around her and the last thing she saw before her body slumped into darkness were the words: Contained Cell 66.