Chapter 17

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The Killer Croc stared at the captured sharp claw before him. With ease, he could tear the child apart, and a careless move might even pierce his palm.

After withdrawing his hand, he slipped the coin back into Megan’s pocket. Upon picking it up, he recognized it as Two-Face’s coin and naturally concluded that the ‘good’ side had been tossed, which explained why Two-Face hadn’t laid a hand on her.

The monstrous figure, grotesque and fearsome, had faced rejection and loathing since exhibiting atavistic traits in childhood. He later became a wrestler, but that didn’t mean he lacked intelligence; on the contrary, he was rational and clear-headed. Now, his gaze fixed on Megan, he saw the child’s problem plainly.

Her soul was parched and nearly depleted, barely flickering with a trace of life, so ignorant and unawakened, not fully present yet.

Killer Croc had seen Megan when she first arrived at Arkham. She looked the same then as now, but mentally she was in a completely different state. The Joker found amusement in her and was currently ‘training’ her; no one knew how long the Joker’s interest would last. Perhaps, when he deemed her uninteresting, he would simply ‘dispose’ of her.

The Joker was an enigma—moody, twisted, and chaotic in his mind. He delighted in bloodshed and death. Sometimes he wore a mask of reason, but in truth, he possessed intelligence far beyond ordinary men. Even in this vast prison of Arkham, most of the deranged criminals feared him.

Megan was improving because the Joker had adjusted her, awakening her to continue with new ‘fun.’ Everyone knew the Joker loved novelty, and bringing Megan into Arkham—

That was certainly novel.

The madman laughed heartily at this and dragged all the high-risk inmates into his amusement. He shared his ‘fun,’ letting anyone willing approach her. Did the others know?

They knew all too well! He was raising a child, and others were expected to join in? Madness. But the truth was, from the moment the Joker brought Megan into Arkham and before them, regardless of her future and fate, they all became unwilling accomplices to the Joker.

For this reason, no one wanted to engage with her. Less insane inmates pitied the innocent child, those indifferent to the Joker felt no interest in his ‘fun,’ and those who resented the Joker dared not harm Megan.

Killer Croc understood why Two-Face sought contact with Megan. Irritated, he flicked his tail, but suddenly saw the child come behind him, crouch down, and start touching the scales on his tail.

He raised the tip of his tail, which then struck the ground, likely brushing against the child’s hand. Turning sideways, he pulled her closer, his slit pupils fixed on her for a long moment before resting on her hand. There was only a red mark, no signs of fracture. His nearly fully bestial face revealed no emotion, and finally, he carefully let her sit on his palm.

Killer Croc knew she disliked looking up or making eye contact, but now, calmly holding her up so their eyes met, Megan neither avoided his gaze nor showed fear; instead, she seemed curious.

Megan’s perception was dull, yet her subconscious made choices. She touched the edges of the scales beneath her, curious about him, slowly reaching out—

Because she knew no fear, opening her arms wide, it became an unreserved embrace.

...

After dinner, when Megan returned to the Joker’s cell, her pocket contained not only the coin but also a deep green scale.

Habitually, she pressed close to the Joker’s leg upon arrival, as if seeking comfort. The Joker was uninterested in her day. She had spent over a week nursing injuries in his cell, which had annoyed him greatly. Only after kicking her out today did he feel some relief.

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The clumsy child pressed near him, and the Joker found it bothersome. However, since she was quiet and obedient, he didn’t get angry, merely placing his hand on her shoulder to push her away slightly.

In a brief pause, the Joker glanced down at her eyes, suddenly intrigued. He set aside what he was holding, smiled, and stroked her hair gently, his tone coaxing, “Who did you play with today? Megan, have you made new friends?”

There was an inexplicable meaning in his eyes, but it was far from kind. Yet Megan was his perfect match—a foolish child. Or perhaps she wasn’t foolish at all?

She was simply chasing death and happened to be picked up by the Joker, who gradually adjusted her scant remaining consciousness. The Joker created the illusion for her to associate him directly with death, so she obeyed and nestled close to him. That was her original state—

But not anymore. She had awakened slightly and begun observing her environment. The once-closed world expanded, and she sensed more things.

The Joker’s smile grew wider, a mix of seriousness and curiosity crossing his face. He crouched down, cupping Megan’s face gently as if kindly asking, “Mind showing me what you’ve found?”

Megan showed him the coin and scale, and the Joker laughed, patting her shoulder.

“All right, I get it. You’re popular; you have new friends.”

As he stood, the purple trench coat hanging low was jerked up again. The hem was dusted with dirt and debris, but the Joker didn’t care, saying casually, “Don’t litter with the junk you pick up. Take it back to your dark room.” He didn’t want to see those things in his cell.

Megan lingered by his leg a while longer, then obediently returned to her dark room. Her desk had a broken leg, smashed by her before; now a larger desk, which the Joker had dragged in from somewhere, replaced it. Besides that, she had a metal bed opposite a tall storage shelf against the wall, cluttered with the Joker’s collections and contraband from Arkham. The shelf was of better quality.

She stood before the shelf, staring blankly for a long time before nodding thoughtfully. She sought a place to store her belongings, finally crouching to pull open a narrow compartment where she put the coin and scale.

Then she idled with nothing to do. Not sleepy yet, she lifted her hand high under the light, watching the shadow cast—a simple pleasure.

As for washing and hygiene, there was a dedicated washroom beside the Joker’s cell, where she took care of washing her face and brushing her teeth by herself.

When bedtime came, the Joker would enter to haul her onto the bed and turn off the light. Though mentally troubled, her sleep was consistently sound, unlike the Joker, who always suffered anxiety and insomnia over his games and ‘new ideas.’ Thus, his mood soured every night.

Tonight was no different. But as soon as he entered the dark room, he saw the child had fallen hard on her bottom, raising an eyebrow. He went over and helped her up, “I remember telling you not to climb high.”

Megan looked up at him. On the floor before her lay a wooden box—she had been standing on it to reach something. The Joker glanced at the shelf, where he had placed many items, some almost forgotten. Bored, he said to Megan, “Can you stop giving me so much trouble?” He was too lazy even to get angry.

Megan obediently took off her shoes and went to bed, the blanket covering her body, revealing only her pale, innocent face.

The Joker watched her eyes narrow slightly in the light, then closed the dark room door, turning off the light behind him. He casually said, “Good night, Megan. Sweet dreams.”

The door closed, and silence enveloped the room, broken only by Megan’s breathing. Her eyes remained open for a while, perhaps thinking nothing, before sleep gradually claimed her and her eyelids drooped heavily.

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Megan had Killer Croc’s protection in Arkham, but treatment before and after remained largely unchanged. Most inmates ignored this child who didn’t belong in Arkham. They neither provoked nor courted the Joker, thus refusing to approach her.

Only Scarecrow persistently provoked her, but usually no one paid him any mind. Killer Croc’s mere presence was enough to deter him. As for the previously agitated Mad Hatter, he had been taken back to solitary confinement by the guards and hadn’t emerged.

This situation shifted when Poison Ivy willingly returned to Arkham. Given her abilities and methods, she lived there comfortably, as if at home.

On her first day back, she found a little mouse—a child… Actually, her regard for children wasn’t so bad. Even though some were born bad, noisy, and destructive to plants, many were ignorant and innocent, and some were quite endearing. This one was clearly the latter.

Seeing Killer Croc walking with the child down the corridor, she approached and scooped the child into her arms. Her eyes sparkled, and her smile grew more sincere. She saw the emptiness in the child’s gaze and kissed her cheek tenderly.

“Dear Waller, you don’t mind telling me about her, do you?”

The red-haired woman spoke coquettishly. She was well-known as the deadly beauty of Arkham. This time, having returned voluntarily, she enjoyed much better treatment than those forcibly brought back. No one knew how much poison she carried or if her mere presence was enough to inspire fear.

There was little conflict between Killer Croc and Poison Ivy. She loved plants—her passion verging on obsession—but that did not extend to underground moss. She preferred plants thriving in sunlight on the surface.

Detecting her lack of hostility toward Megan, he replied, “The Joker brought her in.”

He paused, then added, “Megan. That’s her name.”

From his tone came an unfamiliar nuance. Poison Ivy glanced at the crocodile monster in surprise, then looked more warmly and tenderly at Megan, kissing her temple and whispering, “Good child.”

As for her belonging to the Joker? She was free to roam Arkham, which meant the Joker consented. And Poison Ivy didn’t hesitate—

Because she liked the child.

Poison Ivy’s appearance was enchanting and glamorous, yet her nature and the power within her body were quite different. She was confident and strong-willed. Since she favored the child, she immediately took her away to her greenhouse. A frequent visitor to Arkham, the authorities—both high-ranking officials and even Batman—had made concessions to keep her content.

Thus, besides her rarely used cell, she had a greenhouse that was almost like a botanical garden.