Blackgate Prison was like your own personal hellhole. You only ended up here because you did a cheeky bank job. A cheeky bank job gone wrong. You were supposed to leave with millions worth of jewels, only to have your crew leave you stranded, taking off with the getaway driver, what disloyal assholes!

You weren't even supposed to be here. All the state prisons, and the GCPD, were full after tonight's shenanigans. The emergence of 'The Joker', whoever that clown was, Mercy Bridge almost being blown up by a crazed arsonist.

It was Gotham, you supposed. Nothing was impossible here. And neither was the possibility of lunatics running the asylum, so to speak. Whoever 'The Joker' was, pulled the jokes on the coppers who put you in here, as out of thin air, he summoned a riot.

The door to your cell swung open, giving you an opportunity towards freedom that was just too easy. Like hell you wouldn't take it, though. Even if it was a trap, you ran like you believed you had a chance out of here; maybe you did.

Fire engulfed the halls, fellow prisoners running the corridors, beating on the now weak officers. Some of the very same Blues being strewn around, lifeless, like those taxidermist pieces of woodland animals people would prize.

Oh, you know how you said getting out of here was probably easier said than done? You realised that when you were forced to skid to a halt.

Why the hell were you looking at the face of a...crocodile? An anthropomorphic crocodile, who, by the looks of things, sniffed out your scent among the smog of burning corridors.