GUYS THIS IS THE REVISED CHAPTER .
"Oh Harleen," I was greeted by my new, and extremely enthusiastic boss, Dr. Arkham. Being completely honest I wasn't sure what to expect walking in here. In fact I've been quite nauseous just thinking about this moment for days now. It was an honor finally meeting the man whom this place was named after.
I had heard many things about the doctor, varying opinions from he's one of the most brilliant minds Gotham has ever seen, to he is absolutely mad. But really, what is the difference?
He wasn't what I expected, to say the least. I had a whole idea generated in my head of an older man with grey hair and a cynical face. How could someone work in an establishment like this for any period of time without having their outlook on life distorted in some way?
But here he was, a tall chubby man meeting my smile with one of his own, he raked a few fingers through his shaggy dark hair and fixed his shirt. He wasn't at all what I imagined?
Well Harleen, that's what you get for letting your imagination control your rational thoughts.
"I wasn't expecting you so early," the doctors words brought me back to reality.
Instantly I backed from his office door, a flush creeping onto my cheeks.
"My apologies sir. My mother always told me if you cannot be on time then be early."
A small friendly smile took to his face and he leaned back into his large brown leather chair, his one hand gesturing for me to come in.
"Your mother must be a smart woman," he said with a chuckle.
I slowly entered his office, overtaken by the smell of smoke. Quickly the source of the stench was found, a lit cigar rested between his fingers. I held back a cough as I found the chair in front of his rather large desk.
"Yes indeed she was," I agree quickly.
I took note of Dr. Arkham's office the moment I gained a full view. Besides his desk and the chairs we occupied there wasn't much furniture. A few filing cabinets lined the walls, with droors hanging out and papers scattered messily inside. There was no order to anything. Organization was obviously not one of his strong suits.
"Well, Ms. Quinzel," he started, looking at a file on his desk carefully. His eyes squinted at the fine print before him, he then looked up at me.
"I thought with it being your first day and all that you should get a good scope of the place. I'll give you your official patient list later, but more importantly you should know where you're going. Don't ya think?"
He smiled and brought the cigar to his lips. Smoke gathered above him and collected near the ceiling fan, which I bet hasn't been used in years.
The file on his desk, the thin stack of papers, being the only neatly kept thing in this room, held my attention. My future here was all encased in that manila folder. My eyes only looked from it when the wooden door creaked open behind me.
Based on the expression of the man seated in front of me, someone familiar joined us.
"There he is! Johnathon, this is Dr. Quinzel."
It sounded weird, hearing my name following the word doctor, but I guess my PhD made me deserving of the title.
Dr. Crane? As in the extremely famous Dr. Crane? The man responsible for miraculously healing nearly one third of Arkham Asylums most feared patients?
I spun in my seat and was face to face with just the man.
He stood in the doorway, half leaning on the wood, with his hands in the pockets of his crisp white lab coat.
