JLA Watchtower (Archive)

She woke up to the sounds of screaming, only to realize seconds later it was hers.
She clamped her mouth shut. And shivered. not this place not this place please please please… She rocked back and forth, working against the white canvas that strapped her arms down to her sides.
“Shut up, BITCH!” A voice soaked in whiskey and burned by cigarettes shouted at her.
The voice made her jump. There were others here? That wasn’t like last time..
“It seems we have been forwarded Miss Pygian’s psych profile,” a voice, clear, male, educated, said. “What do you have her on currently?”
“1400 milligrams of Seroquel, 125 milligrams of Metoprolol, 2500 milligrams of Lithium, 400 milligrams of Topamax.”
“Ok, most of those make sense to me, but what’s the Metoprolol for?”
“So her heart doesn’t explode.”
“Really?” The doctor sounded surprise. “She can’t even be thirty yet.”
“She has.. a condition, sir.” The orderly, a younger man than the doctor, said.
The doctor chuckled. “Don’t they all?”
“This one is different, sir.” The orderly explained. She heard them clearly now, and figured them to be right outside the door. Which she was perfectly positioned not to see.
"The Seroquel gives her tachycardia, to begin with."
“What else, Michael?” A name, a name, what’s in a name?
“Look at her file. CIA security clearance. She’s a spook.”
“Ah. You’re right, that’s new.” A pause as the doctor thinks about his next move. “Well, shall we meet our newest inmate?”
There are several clicks, ranging from heavy to light. Murderdoll tries to remember the order she hears it in.
“Hello, young lady,” the doctor’s voice drifts into the small, white-walled room. “Are you receiving company?”
Murderdoll thinks about it. It’ll just last longer if I say no, she thinks drearily. “Sure doc, come on in.”
“You sound a bit like a lady who comes here. Perhaps you’ve heard of her. Harleen Quinzel.”
Relief washed through Murderdoll. She’d bet anything that was Harley he was talking about. Which meant she most definitely wasn’t back there.
“My name is Dr. Carrol, and I will be working your case during your stay. Do you know where you are?”
“Not a clue, doc,” she answered with the cheer she could muster. She tried to turn and look at him, but the angle was wrong. “I’m sure it’s good to meetcha.”
“Now, now, you don’t have to put on a show for me,” Dr. Carrol said, stepping in to the room. “You have to be honest with yourself if we’re going to get you well.”
Murderdoll laughed, a wild sound. “But you don’t have to be honest, because your job says you don’t have to be.”
“I haven’t been dishonest with you.” Dr. Carrol says, voice gentle as if she were a wild animal. “I’ve only introduced myself.”
“You have my file, Dr. Carrol,” she says, twisting her head to look at him. “I already know this conversation is pointless.”
“You know nothing of the sort,” Dr. Carrol objects. “Do you have any idea where you are?”
“I already told you, I don’t!” She snarled, frustrated.
“You’re in Arkham Asylum, miss Pygian. We’ve seen much more extreme cases than yours.”
“And I’ve been in much more extreme places than yours.” She said. “And don’t call me that. My name is Murderdoll.”
“Your name is Kali Phygian, birthdate February fifteenth, nineteen eighty two. You were inducted into the CIA after a serious accident that caused them to have to rebuild your body. You are from Vanity City, and left there three weeks ago. Since that time you’ve pulled a diamond heist with Harley Quinn and were involved in some scheme of Eddie Nygma’s. You’re a small time hack with delusions of competency, and we’re going to make certain that when you leave, you are an upstanding, law abiding citizen. Are we clear, young lady?”
Murderdoll turned back to the wall, and started to sing. “Oh, the shark has pretty teeth dear / And he shows em, pearly white / Just a jack knife has MacHeath dear / And he keeps it way out of sight.”
“We’ll start sessions tomorrow then, shall we?” Dr. Carrol gathered up his files, and left.
Murderdoll kept singing.