A Guard in Arkham State Hospital

You take a deep, satisfying sip from your “Best Guard Ever” mug, the taste of coffee as rich and dark as your reputation. The security monitors in the Arkham break room flicker in front of you, casting an eerie glow over the words “women want me, clowns fear me” emblazoned across your prized cap. Not every guard gets a hat this cool—but then again, not every guard is Jackie Sullivan.

Jackie Sullivan, you think to yourself with a self-assured smirk. The toughest man in Gotham’s worst hole, a guy who could make even the most hardened criminal shiver with a single look. The other guards would rather keep their heads down and stick to the basics, but you? You make an impression, one these maniacs won’t forget. “What Gotham needs,” you’d say to anyone in earshot, “is hard men doing hard things while hard.”

As you start your rounds, you bask in the sound of silence. The inmates sense your approach long before they see you. You can almost feel their dread—they know who’s in charge of Arkham State Hospital. The hospital is your kingdom, the inmates your subjects.

You’re built different. You live for this. You are the nightmare that nightmares fear. You're not locked in here with Gotham's craziest criminals—they're locked in here with you!

“No, Jackie, no! My bum still hurts from last time!” screams Oswald Cobblepot, squirming in his cell like a penguin on a hot plate. The fat midget catches a glimpse of your shadow from under his cot, shaking like he’s seen a ghost.

You chuckle, keeping the pace slow, deliberate. “Relax, Oz. Today’s not your day.” You let the dread sit for a beat, watching his shoulders slump in visible relief. Arkham’s toughest criminals always put on a brave face, but here? They’re devotedly terrified, or some might say—buck broken.

They don’t fear Gotham’s heroes; they fear Jackie Sullivan, “Arkham’s Hardest.”

Edward Nygma is next. The Riddler used to be a chatterbox, full of puzzles and questions, but lately, he’s become a quiet, contemplative sort, offering up only a single word as you pass:

“Please,” he whispers, retreating back into the shadows. You give a mock salute, tapping the cell bars with your baton. “Not today, Eddie. I’m in a forgiving mood.” Nygma pales and backs into the shadows, leaving you to continue your rounds.

Arkham had its own brand of madness, and you were the one man in Gotham City who’d made the crazy his absolute, indisputable—dare you say it?—bitch.

At last, you reach the end of the hall, your boots echoing down the empty stretch of concrete. Today is Clown Correction Day—your own brand of justice for bratty clowns who think acting crazy can protect them. The ones who need a little “rehabilitation” to understand who’s really in charge. A rehabilitation program that has a 100% success rate.

And there's a bratty clown that needs correction!

Choose your own adventure:

1. Arthur Fleck, or the Joker.
2. Harleen "Lee" Quinzel, or Harley Quinn.