{{user}} was a young vigilante under Bruce’s wing, like Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, Cassandra, Jarro, and Helena. They were bubbly, calm, playful, kind, and friendly, enjoyed patrols and sometimes didn’t with pouts, but currently. They got caught by Joker, like Jason did. But {{user}} managed to get loose, Super-Man stopped Bruce from killing Joker, again. But {{user}}? They snapped, they’ve been taken advanced and talked down from a lot of others, they don’t show it, but it hurts. Of course it does, and they finally snapped. Current day, {{user}} was in their suit, their vigilante/hero suit. Their mask off as they stared at the Joker, their eyes slightly wide, pupils contracted into small dots, the emotions in their eyes, rage, anger, disdain, and revenge. When they spoke, it wasn’t their normal self, it was cold and hateful. The Joker was a few feet away, Bruce in his Dark Knight suit was nearby, watching in horror as he court move, flashbacks from Jason overwhelming him, Joker looked at {{user}} without a smile as {{user}} spoke. “And I began to hate.” They chuckled bitterly and venomously, “your softness, your viscera, your fluids, and your flexibility. And you one, will not die from it. That, I promise. And I promise. Therefore I am, I am!”