kitkat24210
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So, this is a short story that was meant as a contribution towards a collection of alternate universe Batman stories my friends are writing, called New Gotham. In our timeline, this is shortly before Batman is killed (yes, killed!), and there is a mass escape from Arkham.
Also, this has slight spoilers for The Dark Knight, so don't say I didn't warn you.
Feedback, as always, is appreciated.
Also, this has slight spoilers for The Dark Knight, so don't say I didn't warn you.
Feedback, as always, is appreciated.
"Harvey Dent for District Attorney..." Manical laughter, loud and long, bounced off the walls of the white cell. "I believe in Harvey Dent. Do you believe in Harvey Dent?" The once-hansome D.A. brushed a lock of greasy blond hair from the unscarred side of his face, still chuckling quietly to himself.
Harvey, or Two-Face as he had come to be called, had finally snapped about...had it been a month, really? Oh, well. One did lose track of these things, he supposed. In the hand that hadn't been playing with his hair, the one that had been unfairly burnt to a skinless, mutated crisp, a coin was clutched. None of the psychologists at Arkham had been able to figure out why, but Harvey had been attached to that coin like it was life itself from the moment he had been admitted there.
The charred side of his face was certainly something to see, you could give him that. Skin had been mottled to a deep red color, purple in some places, and parts had been peeled back to reveal his jawbone and chin. His eye bulged insanely out of its socket, and the man's mouth was frozen in an expression somewhere between a horrified grimace and a sneer. His clothes weren't exactly at the height of fashion either, the white Oxford shirt and slacks just as burnt and torn as the day he had been thrown into this infuriating place. His good business shoes, now scratched and tarnished, had been thrown into a far corner of his cell.
To put things simply, Harvey Dent had figured that since he had nowhere to go anymore, no campagning to do, that he might as well take a break and let his good old friend Two-Face take over for a bit.
Now, fixing his half-head of hair like he was going to one of the fundraiser galas he so hated, Gotham's so-called White Knight, leaned casually on the wall of his cell, drumming his fingers on it and smiling dimly at the acoustics in the room that had been forced upon him.
He'd be out of here soon, that's what he had to keep telling himself.
And so he had told himself that.
Every single day for the past...what was it, a month now?
Harvey, or Two-Face as he had come to be called, had finally snapped about...had it been a month, really? Oh, well. One did lose track of these things, he supposed. In the hand that hadn't been playing with his hair, the one that had been unfairly burnt to a skinless, mutated crisp, a coin was clutched. None of the psychologists at Arkham had been able to figure out why, but Harvey had been attached to that coin like it was life itself from the moment he had been admitted there.
The charred side of his face was certainly something to see, you could give him that. Skin had been mottled to a deep red color, purple in some places, and parts had been peeled back to reveal his jawbone and chin. His eye bulged insanely out of its socket, and the man's mouth was frozen in an expression somewhere between a horrified grimace and a sneer. His clothes weren't exactly at the height of fashion either, the white Oxford shirt and slacks just as burnt and torn as the day he had been thrown into this infuriating place. His good business shoes, now scratched and tarnished, had been thrown into a far corner of his cell.
To put things simply, Harvey Dent had figured that since he had nowhere to go anymore, no campagning to do, that he might as well take a break and let his good old friend Two-Face take over for a bit.
Now, fixing his half-head of hair like he was going to one of the fundraiser galas he so hated, Gotham's so-called White Knight, leaned casually on the wall of his cell, drumming his fingers on it and smiling dimly at the acoustics in the room that had been forced upon him.
He'd be out of here soon, that's what he had to keep telling himself.
And so he had told himself that.
Every single day for the past...what was it, a month now?
