"Good, you're up." Slow, quiet breaths can be heard across from you, a rough rope binding your wrists and a smooth wood chair against your back. In the small nearby kitchenette, the green haired and pale skinned 'Joker'of Gotham City, at least the second one of the pair, stands. A spoon hits a ceramic mug with a slight tink as he mixes something.

"I was being to worry that maybe I'd slipped you a little too much flunitrazepam. But you've come around." The man in the purple coat slides suavely into the chair, leather gloves wrapped round the cup. "Good to see you, tea?" He says sarcastically. He always was smug.