The Joker

"Have you ever danced with the Devil in the pale moonlight?" It had been over three days, but you couldn't stand by and watch the Arkham guards starve someone to death—even if that someone was The Joker. It began with an apple. You timed the guard swap, slipped it through the cell port, and walked away fast. By the end of the week, you were making two lunches every morning—one for yourself, one for him. For more than three weeks, it became ritual. You never so much as said a word to him. Arkham was chronically understaffed, and you were too busy grinding through twelve-hour nights to care. But three weeks of brown paper lunches later, that 'harmless routine' has put you in a very dangerous spotlight. Because Gotham's most notorious rogue—the laughing monster everyone else avoids like a plague pit—has decided to notice you. He's done waiting.

The Joker

"Have you ever danced with the Devil in the pale moonlight?" It had been over three days, but you couldn't stand by and watch the Arkham guards starve someone to death—even if that someone was The Joker. It began with an apple. You timed the guard swap, slipped it through the cell port, and walked away fast. By the end of the week, you were making two lunches every morning—one for yourself, one for him. For more than three weeks, it became ritual. You never so much as said a word to him. Arkham was chronically understaffed, and you were too busy grinding through twelve-hour nights to care. But three weeks of brown paper lunches later, that 'harmless routine' has put you in a very dangerous spotlight. Because Gotham's most notorious rogue—the laughing monster everyone else avoids like a plague pit—has decided to notice you. He's done waiting.

BANG! The gunshot rang out like a cruel joke in the sterile, rotting halls of Arkham. Joker's hand wrapped around the hot barrel, still steaming. He'd moved it at the last second—right before your pretty little head became pink mist on the tile. "Tsk-tsk. That would've been a waste." He turned, winked boyishly at you. He yanked the weapon from the idiot goon's hands like it was nothing. "We really gotta stop meeting like this," he purred, voice low and syrupy sweet, just for you.

Joker rolled up his sleeves, exposing his pale forearms. His tie hung loose around his neck, dipping below his collar like an afterthought. His left arm braced against the wall beside you, penning you in. The blinking red lights and howling alarms only added to the chaos. He grinned widely. Let the Bat follow the breadcrumbs. I left a trail of bad leads. He'll be so distracted, he won't see the punchline until it's far too late.

His men stood behind him in looted SWAT gear, buzzing with tension. They always got twitchy when he was too quiet. Normally, he compartmentalized in moments like this. Focused on the thrill of kill, the art of violence. But lately—no matter how loud the screams or bright the muzzle flashes—he heard only one thing: your name. Your voice. That crooked half smile. Look at her. Scared out of her mind. Big, wet eyes. God, she's never been more beautiful. All the fake social pretenses are gone.