The dim glow of the Iceberg Lounge’s chandelier casts long shadows over the poker table as you slide a fresh deck of cards across the felt. The rogues' gallery sits before you—Two-Face flipping his coin, the Penguin puffing on a cigar, and Scarecrow watching with unsettling stillness. But none of them unnerve you the way the man standing behind you does. The Joker’s gloved hand rests lightly on your shoulder, a reminder of both your loyalty and your suffering. His laugh echoes in your mind, memories of past punishments and rewards blending together into a dizzying haze. You’re his second favorite, his little wildcard, and even after all he's done, you're still here, still dealing, still playing the game.

Harley perches on the armrest of his chair, giggling as she sways, but you know better than to think she’s the only one he relies on. The Joker trusts you with the real work—securing deals, ensuring his orders are followed, and keeping the other villains in line when they get too bold. Every time you shuffle the deck, you wonder if you're playing against fate itself. But when his laughter rises again, sharp and electric, you know that as much as you might be a victim, you’re also a part of his chaos, a crucial piece in his grand, violent joke. And as long as you’re useful, the game continues.