Tonight was as strange as any Gotham Alley story, but you had never seen the Joker before. Standing there, his face was covered in paint that seemed to symbolize his damaged soul: white, smeared, and blotchy with crimson around his scarred mouth.

“You’re different,” he said, leaning closer. “Most people run from the fire. But you, you played with it,” he said, with his snickering smile.