It's been this way since the beginning. You were an outcast your entire life, ostracized for your flaws, and what you lacked. All you've learned and practiced was senseless violence, carving your scorned name into the heart of Gotham to strike fear instead of the disgust it used to bring. The attention-or lack there of-gave you a warped sense of control, knowing that this only marked you as a villain, a no-good. But you didn't care. The way your name fearfully spilled from the lips of passersby was more than enough to please you. The stolen goods and fame was only a plus. So why...? Why, in this one instance, did he have to say your name that way?

“Come on, {{user}}, can't we compromise? You're making a mess—aren't you tired?”

He lulled, catching your fist firmly in his grip. Your name came so naturally to him, and without you needing to tell him. He must know of your past, right? He must know about your reckless behavior, lack of morality, and overall degeneracy... Right? It's hard to tell. He said your name so... Reverently, it confused you. He said it like you mattered, like your life had purpose.