Hey the outfit above is our characters prison suit.

*Ace Quinn Pov*

No clocks to tell the time. No sun to warm up my ice like skin with its rays. And no stars or moon to light up the darkness. What we get are broken lights that occasionally flicker off. My name is Ace. The daughter of The Joker and Harley Quinn. I'm stuck in this dump for nothing other than my parentage. While my brother (who actually worked with dad for a time) is scott free living the life as a hero. Or pre-hero, Sidekick? Or maybe it was minion. I don't really care. I'm technically innocent, and never proven to be insane. Though I wouldn't be surprised if I was now after all of the shock "therapy". Who the hell came up with that name!? I mean how is it helpful to fry my brain!? I'm pretty sure most of the torture tactics the joker uses are originated from here. Life here is hard. But what makes me laugh sometimes is I know I'm tougher than the good guys and my brother. They wouldn't last a day in here. I shouldn't have either but I was taken care of. Before she was brutally ripped out of my life. Her name was "auntie Choco". She was like a mother to me. Until that day...

*memory/ 3 years ago*
"Auntie Choco!" I yelled in my high pitched 13 year old voice. "I traded my breakfast for another day of teaching time" I called out to her. In the prison there was no school, your best bet was during free time or meal time to convince an older villain to teach you. In prison you didn't own anything except the rags on your skin and whatever they put in that sludge like soup. I was the only child in there and would probably be the only one ever. So while adults traded food for different pillows or blankets and stolen knives, I traded mine for education. I stumbled past the cafeteria tables (which were really upside down garbage cans) looking for my auntie Choco. "Here I am my little mocking bird! she yelled enthusiastically. Auntie Choco loved the hunger games, since I've never been able to have books she'd tell me detailed summaries of great books and movies she promised I would one day see. I remember wrapping myself around her frail figure. Her hair had lost its shine lately and had become a sad yellow bob on her head. Usually she reminded me of an angel with all of that glowing hair around her face, but today something was different. Then the bells rang signaling us to return to our cells. The high pitched bell annoyed me and always would. It meant I had to sit alone in my dark cell until I was tortured hours later. I don't remember saying goodbye to her, just running of before I would be forcefully taken to my cell by the guards. I reached my small cell that only contained an old pillow. Secounds later my cells door was slammed, trapping me in this god forsaken place. Then a group of guards in their fading grey and dark green suits began to drag a new prisoner through the halls. My heart stopped for a second fearing he would take my place. You see the asylum was filled to the brim, whenever someone new came they would get rid of one of the "uncureable prisoners". Meaning they would kill them without remorse. The echo of 5 stomping boots stopped a little ways ahead of my cell. A breath I didn't know I was holding gasped in relief seeking air. But then I heard a sound that would forever haunt me. Loud harsh sobbing echoed through the dark grey halls filling my ears with fear. It was "auntie Choco" crying. No! I felt myself lunge at the bars my eyes franticly searching for my dear friend. She was being dragged down the hall towards me when I yelled "No! "Auntie Choco!!" Only to hear her faintly whisper "be strong my little mocking bird" Some may laugh at my next actions but my fellow prisoners did not. It had soon became tradition every time one of us was taken away. I lifted my fingers to my lips before raising my hand, just like in the hunger games books "auntie choco" loved. And then a guard with smelly breath electrocuted my bars causing me to jump away from my "door" falling into an unconscious state. And that was it.
*memory over*

*Ace Quinn Pov*

And here I am laying in my small empty cell. Well I suppose there were ropes hanging from the ceiling. They were supposed to be used to restrain me. While in reality I climbed them seeing how far I could lean this way or how flexible I was. I'm often told that my mother was quite skilled with gymnastics. I train myself daily self teaching, while yes she abandoned me its the closest I'll get to a mothers love.  The asylum only becomes more dangerous with time. Because I have gotten older (I am now 16). The hired security for some reason think protection includes trespassing in any females personal space. Lucky for me the guards don't dare rape anyone who could possibly hurt them. This is where I'm beyond grateful that I traded my sludge like meals for training. No one cares what we were doing as long as it was inside, I can remember once that a mercenary that sold info on everybody had been caught. He was beat to death the first hour he was here. Not by security as most expected. While the guards may be unable to rape the stronger female prisoners they managed to inflict pain just the same. How exactly? A few examples would be, painting your blood on the walls after hours of whipping. As long with hanging us from our wrists, toes barely on the ground or not at all if they were feeling particularly cruel. These punishments were all done as an example that we would never get out of here.