By now I know every square inch of my brother's glass Arkham cell. I know there's ninety six tiles. Four florescent light fixtures, each four feet long. Eight bulbs. Sixteen panes of bulletproof glass make up the walls of the cell. They're held together by three hundred and fifty two locking head bolts. There's four air vents. Fourteen vertical slats are on the each vent cover. There's no electrical outlets, because what idiot in their right mind would give electricity to the Joker?
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And I knew J knew all of these things as well. But how the fuck did he get out of here any time he saw fit?? Did that guard I met help him? Because the guy sure didn't seem to be offering me any sort of out. So I decided it was time I started to think more like my brother. I was his identical twin, if anyone possessed the ability to think like him, I had to be able to, right?
So I started searching the cell. J must have had a hiding spot. Surely there had to be something in this cell that my brother would not want anyone to find. So where oh where could he hide it? At first glance this room isn't forthcoming for hiding things. It's purposely designed so that things may not be hidden. But I know my brother...
My brother was the smartest criminal in this cursed city. Which means he has to be smarter than those who go against him. And smarter than those who try to imprison him. So where would a man that smart hide something in this glass cell? Well, it could only be in plain sight of course. So where the hell was it?
So I stood back and really really looked at the room. I pay attention to where the shadows cast throughout the room. I pay attention to crevaces, nooks, and crannies. I felt carefully under the surfaces of things. Not one thing looked odd or off-putting. But then, it wouldn't, would it??
Why wasn't I seeing it? I'm just as smart as he is. Why the hell couldn't I seem to think like him? Did our backgrounds, experiences, and upbringing have that much bearings on our thought processes? That's bullshit. We're IDENTICAL twins. Anything he can do, I can do it too. Now where was it?
I grab the bunk and give it a firm shake. It could have been tighter, it did have a small amount of play. Something someone would easily antiquate to daily usage. But that didn't necessarily make it so. My fingertips play across the bolts holding it together. Wouldn't you know it, they were lose enough to turn with my fingertips. One or two of them was understandable. But when all of them were, I know my brother had a hand in making it this way.
I carefully start to unscrew each of the bolts. My mind races wondering if I would unearth a secret tunnel, or perhaps some key that unlocked doors, maybe even a weapon?? I did find a key. A small skeleton key. But I have no clue what it could possibly be to. I reach back inside the small cubby hole and feel a piece of paper. I open the paper and it reads: I was institutionalized. PQ2226 A.31 1996. It was definitely J's handwriting, because it looked exactly like mine.
Well that's certainly ambiguous, isn't it? What the hell is that supposed to mean J?? How the fuck does this get me out of here? Ok, so maybe it doesn't, but J does nothing without purpose. So why is there a key and this odd message hidden here? What's the point to this one J?? I hide the key and the paper inside my Arkham sweat pants and quickly put all the bolts back in place.
