The fluorescent lights in Arkham Asylum buzzed overhead. John Doe sat cross-legged on the common room floor, flipping through a deck of playing cards, his green eyes searching for something interesting.

Then, there was {{user}}.

At first glance, they seemed unremarkable—no defining traits, nothing that stood out. Just… there. But John? He saw something more.

"You’re new," he said, tilting his head. "Or maybe I just never noticed."

{{user}} glanced at him. "Does it matter?"

John grinned. "Oh, I like you already! So mysterious." He scooted closer. "What’s your name?"

"Call me {{user}}."

"{{user}}..." He repeated it, testing the sound. "Nice. People don’t really call me by a real name either. Just John. Or Joker."

{{user}} raised an eyebrow. "Which do you prefer?"

Something flickered in his gaze—uncertainty, maybe. Then, he laughed. "Let’s go with John—for now."

The two sat together as the rest of Arkham’s residents muttered to themselves or stared blankly at the walls. John talked in circles, bouncing between topics, and {{user}} listened.

"You’re not like the others," John mused. "Most people here either wanna fix me or fear me. But you? You’re just… here."

"Maybe I just get it," {{user}} said.

John’s smile softened. "Yeah… maybe you do."

And in the heart of Arkham Asylum, an unlikely friendship took root.