Nolan sat in a stiff, metal-framed chair across from Dr. Erik Halvorsen, the psychiatrist assigned to assess his mental state. The room was pale and bare no sharp edges, no clutter. Just two chairs, a table, and a small audio recorder blinking quietly between them.
Dr. Halvorsen folded his hands over a leather-bound notebook. "Let's talk about your childhood, Kieran."
Nolan didn't flinch at the name. He'd been wearing it long enough now. He leaned back slightly, the loose fabric of his Arkham-issued shirt brushing against the chair's plastic.
"What about it?" he asked casually.
The psychiatrist gave a patient smile. "Tell me where you grew up."
"Around."
"City? Suburb?"
Nolan's jaw tensed. "Places. I moved around a lot."
Dr. Halvorsen tilted his head slightly, scribbling something. "Military family?"
"No," Nolan replied. "Just liked moving."
There was a pause.
The psychiatrist glanced at the recorder, then back at him. "Any siblings?"
"No."
"Parents?"
Nolan looked away, toward the barred window high on the wall. "Don't remember much."
Dr. Halvorsen noted something else. "You've given vague responses to most personal questions across our last two sessions, Mr. Everleigh. Is there a reason for that?"
Nolan returned his gaze to the man. "You're here to decide if I'm insane enough to be locked away. Not to be my friend."
A small smile tugged at the corner of Halvorsen's lips. "I'm here to determine if you're fit to stand trial. There's a difference."
"Right," Nolan said, his voice edged. "Well, I can stand. I'm plenty fit."
Halvorsen didn't bite. "You've been accused of forming a criminal organization. A very organized one. People have died. Do you feel responsible for that?"
"I feel a lot of things," Nolan said carefully. "Responsibility isn't the loudest I'm not sure what organization I'm even accused of building."
"Do the voices in your head help you avoid it?"
Nolan's fingers twitched slightly in his lap. Inside, Quentin hissed, 'Don't react. Kieran followed, cold and sharp: He's probing.'
'Yeah no shit!' Kieran yelled, 'Let me in there I'll get this guy to tell us his past.'
"I don't hear voices," Nolan said calmly. "That'd be crazy."
Halvorsen let the silence stretch. "You're very good at dodging questions, Kieran."
"I get a lot of practice."
Another note scribbled. The clock ticked on.
"Let's pick this up again tomorrow," Halvorsen said at last, closing his notebook. "You're not giving me much, but the cracks are starting to show."
Nolan stood as the guards entered the room again, their boots echoing in perfect rhythm on the linoleum floor.
He gave the psychiatrist a faint smile before turning to leave.
"I've got all the time in the world," Nolan said.
Halvorsen watched him go, pen still tapping the edge of his notebook.
**
The tray clattered down in front of him, a shallow bowl of grayish gruel sloshing at the edges. Nolan stared at it, nose twitching. It looked and smelled like something scraped from the underside of a rusted pipe.
He'd missed his usual mealtime thanks to the session with Dr. Halvorsen, so they'd shuffled him into another wing's rotation. New guards. New faces. New dangers.
The cafeteria was quieter here, but not by much. Clinks of utensils, occasional low muttering, and the ever-present shuffling of feet on tile echoed off the walls. The guards watched from behind their plexiglass posts, eyes half-lidded with routine indifference.
Nolan slid into an empty seat near the edge of the room, resting his tray down with a sigh. He stirred the gruel with his spoon, then took a bite slow, reluctant, and immediately regretted.
It tasted like chalk-dusted glue.
He chewed anyway.
The chair across from him scraped sharply as someone pulled it back.
"You're at my table."
Nolan's spoon froze midair. He glanced up, blinking once.
A woman stood there, vibrant and utterly at odds with the bleak palette of Arkham. Her red hair was tied back, but still wild like vines half-tamed. Her skin, unnaturally smooth, carried a faint undertone of green. Eyes like freshly bloomed poison locked onto him.
Nolan's lips parted faintly. "…Poison Ivy."
She didn't smile. She simply sat.
"I don't repeat myself," she said coolly, folding her arms across her chest.
Nolan stared a moment longer before slowly setting his spoon down. "Didn't realize seating was assigned."
"It's not," she replied. "But respect still exists, even in this…" she deliberated her words, "This slice of hell."
"I'm new to this block," Nolan said. "Just needed somewhere quiet."
Ivy's eyes narrowed. "You're Everleigh."
He hesitated. "Kieran. Yeah."
"I've heard of you," she said, voice flat. "The one playing king of the strays."
Nolan tensed. "I don't know what your talking about."
She arched a brow, amused. "I'm sure. Forming a gang of homeless people to die in your war, so very typical of Gotham."
"It's not a war," Nolan muttered.
"No?" she said. "Then what would you call it?"
He didn't answer.
She studied him. There was something sharp and knowing behind her gaze, like she'd already cracked him open and was just browsing the pieces.
"You look tired," Ivy murmured.
He said nothing.
"You should watch yourself in here," she continued. "The roots in Arkham run deep. You're not the first man to think he could fix a broken system."
"I don't want to fix it," Nolan said, jaw tightening. "I want to get out of here and run my hotel." He looked at her like she was crazy
The fuck did she mean fix the system? He was just trying to be a honest business man!
That earned the faintest smile. "Careful, Kieran. If you continue down this path you will make you friends in all the wrong places."
She rose smoothly, leaving her untouched tray behind.
"Enjoy the gruel," she said, walking away.
Nolan sat back, heart steady but skin crawling. The food had never tasted colder. He was so confused, what was she even talking about!?
The last few spoonfuls of gruel slid down like wet cement. Nolan didn't taste it anymore. He wasn't eating for flavor just to keep his stomach from eating itself.
He glanced once toward the corner where Poison Ivy had vanished, her words still hanging like thorns in his head. Then he rose, tray in hand, and joined the slow trickle of inmates being herded back to their cells.
The walk back felt longer than usual.
Each step seemed to press deeper into the floor, like gravity had doubled. His shoulders slumped. His arms ached. His thoughts moved like molasses, dragging through everything Harvey's half-sneers, the shrinks, the courtroom, Ivy's warning.
He barely registered the guard grunting behind him.
"Keep moving, Everleigh."
Yeah. Everleigh.
He didn't say a word.
By the time they reached his hallway, the dim flicker of the overhead lights felt like a lullaby. His door creaked open, and he stepped through without resistance. The cot in the corner may as well have been a luxury mattress.
He didnt climb in with any sense of grace.
He collapsed.
The mattress groaned under his weight, and Nolan let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His limbs felt like they didn't belong to him anymore his bones buzzing with exhaustion, his skin too tight.
He turned his face to the wall.
And before he could think another thought…
Darkness took him.