I'm not crazy. I'm not. (Joker Fan-Fiction)

Chapter 8

*Chapter 8 is finally here! Thank you for everyone who has voted and left comments. They are seriously the motivation I needed to continue this story!*

I jolted from my slumber with a start, a cold sweat breaking out across my forehead. Shuddering, I sat up, placing my head in my hands as I leaned over the side of the bed. The sounds of explosions still rung in my ears as I stood, straightening out my asylum attire. I’d never remove the memories of that mission from my mind...It was as if I could still hear him screaming...

Shaking my head, I turned towards the entrance of cell, the white sheet still hanging as a reminder to what had occurred only days before. It was like they were begging me to escape! I pulled the two plastic knives and pass codes from under my bed, tucking them into the waist band of my pants, thanking Mr.Arkham for investing in elastic bottoms. I pulled my hair up in a bun, making sure no loose strands would fall into my eyes. I couldn’t afford the distraction. The quiet of a darkened hallway greeted me as I slipped from my small prison, darting towards the camera that sat near the exit. Before it had time to turn in my direction, I scaled the wall and removed the battery pack in one fluent movement. I felt the stares of my fellow inmates bore into me as I hurriedly disabled the second one. 

I hit the floor with a muted thump, rushing over to the cell closest to me. I typed in the passcode, already having it memorized, effectively releasing The Scarecrow. Then Harley, Ivy, Selina, Bane and Nigma, purposely saving the clown for last. 

“Thought you were...uh...leaving without me, cupcake,” Joker chuckled, flashing me a menacing smile. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it...muffin,” I smirked, already jogging towards the exit, signaling the others to do the same. 

“Follow me and do not stray. I will not come back for you,” I stated, making eye contact with everyone to let them know I meant business. With one smooth kick I managed to rip the lock from the door, pushing it right from its hinges. I caught it before it crashed into the opposite wall, depositing it gently onto the floor. 

“This way,” I whispered, slipping silently down another hallway, almost cringing when I heard the uncoordinated steps of some members of my group. I was accustomed to stealth, this being anything but that. 

Suddenly, a flashlight beam pierced the darkness up ahead, coming from another hallway that branched off of ours. I closed my eyes for a moment, able to hear the guards heart beat, ragged breaths and thundering steps. In a burst of speed I lunged forward clocking the guard just as he rounded the corner. He was out cold as soon as my fist met his temple. Without pausing I continued on, now noticing the multiple other cameras that lined this asylum. 

As if on cue a piercing alarm ripped through the quiet halls, startling the inmates who slept soundly in their cells. 

“Run!” I shouted, now beyond the point of caring if anyone heard. I knew I’d still be able to get out - having been strong enough to take down twenty of my own kind - but I wasn’t sure if the guards would pose a challenge for the rest of them. 

We only had to make it through the psychiatrists wing to get to the cafeteria. Then from there, to the kitchen. The heavy steps of a hoard of guards could be heard, coming from up ahead. From here I could hear their keys jingling and their shoe laces hitting the toes of their boots. There was maybe...ten of them, judging by the erratic beating of their hearts. 

“Bane!” I called, pausing just before turning and entering the doctors wing. He was immediately before me, not having made a sound. “You up for some hand to gun combat?”

The mans eyes crinkled at the sides, his mask blocking what I’m sure would have been a smile. 

“It would be my honor,” he said, walking beside me as we rounded the bend, taking the guards by surprise. I leapt, a blur to dull, human senses, taking two pot bellied men to the floor with me. I rolled up as their heads cracked against the linoleum, already slamming the shaking intern into a lacquered door, sending him into the office.