The rain had started to fall harder as you hurried along the dimly lit streets of Gotham, your jacket doing little to shield you from the biting cold. The city was as oppressive as ever, a maze of broken dreams and danger lurking around every corner. It wasn’t the kind of place where you’d stop for much of anything, especially at night. You’d learned to keep your head down, move quickly, and avoid unnecessary trouble.

But tonight was different.

As you passed a narrow alleyway, a movement caught your eye. At first, you thought it was just some discarded trash, the wind tossing it around. But then you saw him—a figure slumped against the grimy brick wall, half-hidden in the shadows. He looked barely conscious, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Something about the way he lay there, broken and beaten, made you hesitate.

You should’ve kept walking. You knew better.

But against your better judgment, you stepped into the alley, the cold rain soaking through your clothes as you moved closer. The figure stirred as you approached, lifting his head slowly, and that’s when you saw it—his face, pale white beneath smeared makeup, streaks of red lipstick running from the corners of his mouth. Blood dripped from a gash across his forehead, mixing with the rain, but it was unmistakable.

It was him. The Joker.

His dark eyes flickered open, locking onto yours. Even through the pain, a slow, twisted grin spread across his face, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Well, well…” he rasped, his voice low and gravelly, “Looks like tonight’s my lucky night…”

You stood frozen for a moment, heart pounding, unsure of what to do. Every instinct told you to run, to get as far away from him as possible, but something rooted you in place. Despite everything you’d heard, everything you knew, you knelt down beside him. His eyes never left yours, amusement dancing in their depths, even as his body shook from the cold and blood loss.

“What’s the matter?” he wheezed, breath coming in ragged gasps. “Never helped a clown before?”