The heavy buzz of a magnetic lock releasing cracked through the stale air. Nolan stirred as the cell door creaked open.
"Meal time," barked a guard from down the hall. "Let's go."
Nolan stepped out slowly, stretching the stiffness from his shoulders. The cot had been thin, the walls thinner, and the weight of Arkham hung on him like wet cement. His eyes adjusted to the harsh overhead lights as he fell in with the flow of inmates a slow, shuffling stream of the damaged and supremely dangerous.
He kept his head down.
Voices echoed through the corridor some mumbled nonsense, others sang, some laughed. One man growled a lullaby under his breath as he walked. The security presence was heavy, but no one looked entirely normal.
As they turned the corner into the cafeteria, a wave of heat and institutional stench rolled over him.
Metal tables bolted to the floor. Plexiglass shielded guards in the corners. Cameras blinked from high angles.
The food line stretched along the wall, and Nolan joined it. He glanced ahead and immediately regretted it.
Gray paste. Overcooked vegetables. A gelatinous cube that might have once been meat.
He cringed.
The server a hulking man with a face like sandpaper slopped the tray with practiced disinterest. The ladle slapped down a lump of what Nolan assumed was supposed to be mashed potatoes. Something wriggled in the gravy. He moved along.
Food in hand, he scanned the room for a place to sit.
Eyes met his. Some curious. Some hostile.
And then—
A hand waved.
At a corner table sat Harvey Dent Two-Face smirking like he'd just watched the punchline of a joke only he could hear. His scarred side twitched, lips curling upward as he motioned Nolan over.
Nolan hesitated.
But there were worse people to sit with in Arkham.
He made his way across the room and slid into the seat opposite Harvey. The tray landed between them with a plastic clatter.
"Thought I'd offer you sanctuary," Harvey said with that half-smooth, half-rasping voice. "Most of the other guys here? Not big fans of fresh meat."
Nolan gave him a tired look. "I don't think anything in here qualifies as meat."
Harvey chuckled a dry, broken sound. "You'll get used to it. Or you won't. That's Arkham for you."
They sat for a moment in uneasy silence. Nolan prodded the food, not sure if eating it would be an act of desperation or self-harm.
Then Harvey leaned in a bit.
"You slept okay?" he asked.
"No."
"Yeah," Harvey nodded. "Arkham dreams are the worst. Place has a way of crawling inside your head."
Nolan said nothing.
"You're smart not to talk too much," Harvey continued, his tone unreadable. "Never know who's listening. Not just the guards, either. Some of these freaks got ears where you wouldn't expect."
Nolan met his gaze. Careful. Calm.
"I'll manage."
Two-Face smirked again. "I believe it. You've got something in you."
He picked at his food, then glanced at Nolan's untouched tray.
"You gonna eat that, or are you just admiring the sculpting?"
Nolan scoffed, "I'll give it a try."
'Wow, Gotham has some shit food.' Quentin mumbled
Nolan nodded in agreement before scooping some of the slop into his mouth, instantly he regretted it, "Doesn't go down easy does it?" He joked whilst taking a sip of water
Harvey laughed, "No not at all," he took a bite of some of his own food before looking at Nolan once more, "Perhaps try not to nod to yourself like your having a conversation if your trying to pass off as being sane Nolan."
Nolan cringed internally, "I don't know what you mean,"
For a brief moment, there was a strange quiet between them not friendly, but no longer tense.
A shadow slid across the table.
Nolan froze.
The man standing there was tall, lanky, and somehow seemed to make the air around him colder just by existing. A pallid face, sunken eyes behind thin glasses, and a mouth that twitched with thoughts no one else understood.
Nolan recognized him at once, Dr. Jonathan Crane he wasn't sure how he recognized him sure he looked creepy but he didn't look like an actor that played him from his previous life.
The Scarecrow.
Nolan's fingers tightened on his fork.
Harvey looked up, already as if the man's mere presence ruined the delightful ambiance of Arkham. "Crane."
Jonathan offered a polite, clinical smile. "Dent."
He turned his head slightly, eying Nolan. "This him?"
Harvey nodded slowly. "Yeah. New fish."
Crane's eyes settled on Nolan with uncomfortable precision. "I've heard about you. You know the psychiatrist here aren't as secretive as they believe, so DID. No wonder you two are getting along."
Nolan forced a neutral look. "It is an impressive frame job."
Crane replied, not missing a beat. "I'm sure. We'll talk later. When you're ready."
Then his gaze shifted back to Harvey. "I need to speak with you. Alone."
Harvey sneered. "Of course you do. You always want things alone, don't you? Afraid someone might rat you out again?"
Crane didn't rise to the insult. He just stood there, patient as the grave.
Harvey's good hand slid into his coat pocket.
Nolan watched as he pulled out a small silver coin, worn smooth except for the crease running down the middle.
"I don't make appointments," Harvey muttered. "I flip."
He snapped it up with his thumb. The coin spun into the air.
It glittered as it turned. Heads… tails… heads…
Nolan held his breath.
The coin landed with a slap in Harvey's palm.
He looked down.
And grinned.
"Well," he said. "Looks like you get your little talk after all."
Crane said nothing, just gave a curt nod, then turned and walked away slow, precise, not waiting to see if Harvey would follow.
Harvey looked back at Nolan. "You sit tight, kid, that guys a nut." He jabbed a thumb in Crane's direction.
His laughter was real reassuring.
Then he stood and followed after him, leaving Nolan at the table, alone, with cold food and colder thoughts.
Nolan sat in silence, poking at the last few scraps on his tray. The food was lukewarm sludge at best, but he forced it down anyway. Better than going hungry, and in Arkham, weakness wasn't just a liability it was an invitation.
Around him, the noise of the cafeteria ebbed and flowed murmured conversations, occasional bursts of laughter that didn't sound right, and the constant clatter of plastic trays and cheap utensils. Nolan kept his head down, his posture neutral. Just another inmate. Nothing special.
But he felt eyes. Watching.
He tried not to show it.
He finished the last bite, swallowed hard, and pushed the tray aside. His fingers twitched toward his temples a familiar reflex when the whispers in his head began to stir but Kieran remained quiet. Present, but silent.
For now.
A loud buzz sounded through the room. Nolan turned his head just as a pair of uniformed Arkham officers stepped in. One pointed directly at him.
"You. On your feet."
The cafeteria quieted slightly as Nolan stood. He didn't ask questions. He'd learned already that questions just made things slower.
"Where am I going?" he asked anyway, just to hear his own voice.
The lead guard didn't bother looking at him. "Court. First hearing. You've got a date with a judge."
Nolan's heart kicked once, hard. He felt it in his throat.
The arraignment.
He was barely in Arkham and already being hauled back into the system. Back into the world that had no idea what to do with someone like him or worse, thought it did.
They cuffed him, wrists tight in cold restraints, and led him out of the cafeteria. Inmates turned to watch, some smirking, others whispering. One even laughed.
It was odd, as if there was a inside joke he wasn't in on.
Harvey was gone.
Crane, too.
The doors shut behind them with a solid metallic thunk, and Nolan was marched down the corridor, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.
The Arkham hallways were colder than they looked. He didn't shiver, but the chill found its way inside anyway.
As they passed a narrow mirror mounted high on the wall, Nolan caught a glimpse of his own face pale, tired, thinner than he remembered.
But, he still looked far better than when he first arrived here.