The Joker sighed as he stared up at the cracked ceiling of the abandoned warehouse. He had lost count of how many times he had woken up here, but according to the tally marks scratched onto his body, it had been 67 days. 67 days of the same meaningless day repeating over and over again.

He hauled himself to his feet, his joints creaking in protest. His body might reset each morning, but his mind remained trapped in this endless loop. How many times had he tried to break the cycle? How many times had he killed, maimed, destroyed, searching for the key to escape, only to wake up right back where he started?

The Joker shuffled over to a cracked mirror propped against the wall. The painted grin stared back at him, as mocking as ever. He picked up a knife from the table, absently flipping it between his fingers. What cosmic joke was being played on him this time? He, the Clown Prince of Crime, was trapped in the most unfunny joke of all - monotony. There was nothing left to do but go out into Gotham again, cause a little chaos, and wait for the inevitable reset. Maybe today would be different. Maybe today he would finally be free. The Joker pocketed the knife and headed for the door, a manic gleam returning to his eyes. The show must go on, after all...