Nolan entered the familiar room in Arkham's psychiatric wing, the muted hum of the overhead lights buzzing softly above him. The air slled of stale paper and distant antiseptic. The usual notebook sat on the desk. The usual mug cold this ti rested beside it. But the chair, the one that typically housed Dr. Erik Halvorsen, was turned away.
Nolan frowned slightly, "Hello," he said, voice asured as always.
No reply.
Only the faint squeak of old leather and polished shoes as the chair slowly began to turn.
The woman who faced him now wore a mismatched pair of shoes one ballet slipper and one scuffed combat boot. Her red hair shimred in chaotic strands of curl and frizz, so locks braided with safety pins and string. Her eyes didn't quite match one was a swirling green, the other a deep, shimring blue and they didn't seem to focus on him so much as through him, like she was peering into several realities at once and finding each of them vaguely amusing.
She wore a coat too large for her, striped in a garish ss of patterns: houndstooth, floral, plaid. Beneath it, a dress with stars that looked like they shifted when she moved. Her fingers were stained with ink and candy-colored chalk.
"Hello," she said brightly, tilting her head too far to the side like she was trying to keep it from sliding off. Her voice was musical, like a xylophone being played by soone unsure if this was therapy or a circus.
Nolan blinked. Once, twice, three tis.
'Is this Harley Quinn?' He thought in confusion
"I… was expecting Dr. Halvorsen."
She grinned as if she'd heard a joke only she understood, "He had to go dream about sothing else," she said, folding her legs beneath her in the chair. "I'm your substitute today. Don't worry, I'm very qualified. I've read so many minds."
Nolan slowly took a seat on the couch.
'What the hell is this?' Quentin whispered in his head.
'That's not a state-appointed shrink,' Vey growled, voice low with warning.
'Maybe this is a new tactic' Kieran added. 'We'll find out which soon.'
"Alright," Nolan murmured, watching her closely. "So. What are we talking about today?"
The woman smiled again, this ti more softly, "Oh, I thought you'd tell ."
She pulled a small notebook from her coat pocket, the pages already scribbled with doodles and notes written upside down. A crayon fell from between the sheets and bounced off the floor with a soft plop.
"Let's begin."
The woman if that was truly what she was—smiled as she flipped open her notebook. A small purple star was drawn in the corner of every page. She twirled the pen in her fingers like a baton before finally scribbling sothing down and speaking with a tone that sohow balanced playfulness with professionalism.
"So, Kieran. Or Nolan. Or whoever's steering the ship today. Let's talk about your comfort levels. On a scale from 'snug in a blanket' to 'screaming into the void,' where would you say you are emotionally this week?"
Nolan narrowed his eyes slightly. "I'm fine."
"Mhmm." She nodded, still scribbling sothing that didn't resemble words. "And how's the voice in your head that thinks it's better than everyone else? Let's see—Vey, right?"
Nolan went still.
Completely still.
As if soone had yanked the temperature out of the room.
A silence followed, thick and strange.
Then a small, quiet voice in his head whispered:
'She didn't just say that…'
'What the fuck?' Vey snapped. 'How does she—?'
The woman didn't look up. She just continued writing.
"And how's Quentin? Still anxious about everything? He was very chatty during your last al."
Nolan's breath stalled in his lungs. His hands twitched slightly on his lap, the only outward giveaway.
She finally glanced up, her mismatched eyes locking with his like pinpoints of otherworldly clarity in the chaos of her expression. Her voice dropped to a soft, eerie murmur.
"And Kieran, darling, you don't have to keep pretending I'm not aware. I hear all of you. I'm not a bug in your cell. I'm not a cara. I'm just… tuned in."
She smiled warmly.
"Isn't it nice to be listened to for once?"
'That's impossible,' Kieran muttered. 'No one should be able to hear us. Not like this.'
'She's a freak,' Vey growled. 'I don't trust her. We should end this session. Now.'
But Nolan stayed frozen, eyes scanning her face. She wasn't mocking him. She wasn't smiling like soone with power. She was smiling like soone who belonged in Arkham like she found the whole thing funny and tragic and fascinating all at once.
"What… are you?" Nolan asked softly.
She set down the pen and leaned forward on the desk, clasping her hands together.
"I'm your psychiatrist today," she said cheerfully. "And we still have twenty-seven minutes. So shall we unpack your childhood or your unresolved guilt first?"
The walls seed to lt into paint as Nolan's world spun. It was as if her voice was echoing in his mind over and over.
Soon his mind turned blank and he knew no more.
***
A van.
Cold tal against his wrists.
A cough. Not his.
Flashing red lights through the slit of a transport door.
Then nothing.
Darkness that wasn't sleep.
Steps. Concrete. A hallway.
Voices he couldn't place.
The familiar scent of the courtroom the mix of cologne, mildew, and sothing deeply sterile.
And then, all at once—
Nolan blinked into consciousness.
He was already seated.
His legs were bent under him, hands folded neatly in his lap, and his heart was thundering. He hadn't sat down. He didn't rember walking through the doors, didn't recall the guards unshackling him, didn't even know what day it was.
He turned slowly toward his lawyer beside him.
The man gave him a reassuring nod, eyes locked on the judge's bench as if nothing was wrong.
Nolan sat back shakily, trying not to show the fear curling in his gut. His fingers twitched slightly against the fabric of his slacks. His mouth was dry. Too dry.
Inside his mind, the voices were silent.
Too silent.
That was what terrified him the most.
The courtroom buzzed faintly with movent as a new group of prospective jurors was led inside.
Nolan, still shaken from the black-out gaps in his mory, forced himself to sit upright. His lawyer leaned over with a quiet whisper.
"This is the second round. First group had too many ties to law enforcent."
Nolan gave a stiff nod. The previous group had been a wash one man had outright said he believed anyone accused of a cri was probably guilty. That hadn't exactly inspired confidence.
The judge a middle-aged man with steel-gray hair and an expression that hadn't changed since Nolan had first laid eyes on him called the room to order.
"Let's proceed with voir dire."
One by one, the potential jurors were questioned.
The prosecution started first, their lead attorney a sharp-eyed woman with a clean ponytail and a colder tone asking each candidate pointed questions.
"Do you believe soone from a disadvantaged background is more likely to commit a cri?"
"Are you familiar with the defendant's business, The Continental?"
"Would dia coverage influence your view of the accused?"
The defense took a more asured tone. Nolan's lawyer stood, unbuttoning his jacket with slow confidence as he paced a little in front of the jury box.
"If soone is accused of a serious cri but runs a successful business and has no public history of violence, do you assu guilt?"
"Do you believe it's possible for soone to be frad by a powerful rival?"
"Do you believe that the holess in this city are victims of circumstance or responsible for their own fate?"
Nolan's eyes flicked toward the jury box with every answer. He tried to read them, tried to gauge what kind of people they were. One man looked at him too long. Another never looked at him at all. A woman in a maroon blouse wrote constantly in her lap, her lips pressed into a hard line.
Inside his mind, Quentin whispered, 'That guy with the slicked hair? Corporate type. Probably leans hard on "law and order."'
Kieran replied, coolly, 'Might still be useful. He respects structure. If we appear like victims of a sar campaign—'
'You're both wrong,' Vey growled. 'We don't want anyone smart enough to connect dots. We want quiet. Dumb. Complacent they are easy to blackmail.'
Nolan blinked, 'Holy shit you guys are back?! What happened are you okay?'
Kieran scoffed, 'I have no idea what happened who the fuck was that weird chick'
'Yeah it's weird it was like I didn't want to ntion it before you said sothing Nolan.' Quentin added, 'She is scary I'll tell you that much.'
The judge tapped his gavel once.
"We'll reconvene after recess to begin narrowing the panel. Both parties will have peremptory strikes and challenges for cause. Dismissed."
As the courtroom began to empty for the midday break, Nolan leaned toward his lawyer.
"Any luck?" he murmured.
The man replied without looking at him, "There are two we can probably work with. But the prosecution's clearly digging. We'll have to move carefully. And if your people on the outside are still trying to dig up dirt on any of the final picks, now's the ti."
Nolan nodded slowly, gaze distant.
"Let's hope they're working fast."
Outside, a light rain tapped against the high courthouse windows. Inside, the trial moved forward like a glacier: slow, silent, and impossible to stop.
—
A/N: obviously we know who that was but he doesn't. Rember he wasn't as tapped into DC as most of us. I'm going for an insane angle here hopefully it pays off what is risk without madness I suppose.
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