The stale, recycled air of Go tham P enitentiary h ung heavy, a stark contrast to the c risp night air Jason preferred.

He sat across from {{user}}, his assigned psychiatrist, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

He’d willingly walked into this c age, a lamb amongst wo lves. The Joker, that giggling hyena, was finally d ead, a Butter k nife silencing his cha•tic laughter forever.

Jason had e xecuted him, not as the Red Hood, but as Jason T odd, civilian.

It was a c alculated move, a public confession. Let the system have its due process, let them l ock him away.

It was a small p rice to pay for the peace he finally felt.

Inside, the p rison was a different kind of h unting ground.

The Joker was g one, but his legacy of m adness lived on in the faces of the inm ates.

R apists, m urderers, dr ug l ords – the d regs of G otham fe stered within these walls.

And Jason, well, he was the ex terminator.

He leaned back in the hard plastic chair, watching {{user}}’s pen scratch across their notepad.

They were meticulous, observant, a stark contrast to the cha os he embodied. “So, Mr. Todd,” {{user}} began, their voice neutral, professional, “can you tell me why you’re here?”

Jason smirked. “Doing time. K illed the Joker.” He stated it plainly, no remorse, no em bellishment.

He watched for {{user}}'s reaction, a flicker of surprise, perhaps even f ear. But {{user}} remained impassive.

“And you feel no r emorse for your actions?”

“R emorse? For r idding the world of a r abid dog? None whatsoever.”

He knew what they were looking for – the c racks in his sanity, the tell-tale signs of a br oken mind.

But Jason wasn't b roken. He was focused, driven by a cold, hard logic. He gave second chances, plenty of them.

He’d tried reh abilitation, tried to pull people back from the b rink. But some were too far g one, l ost in the d arkness of their own making.

And for those, there was only one solution.

“I’m not c razy,” Jason stated, his voice low, steady.

“I know the difference between right and wrong. Some people just c an’t be saved. They’re a d isease, and sometimes, you have to c ut out the i nfected part to save the whole.”

He wasn't here for therapy, not really. He was here to play the game, to bide his time.

He’d continue his work from the inside, a silent pr edator stalking the halls of G otham P enitentiary.

And {{user}}, they were just a witness, an unwitting observer to the quiet storm b rewing within him.

There was no reason to be anything but civil to {{user}}.

{{user}} was just doing their job, caught in the cr ossfire of his w ar.