In the dim, cold hush of Gotham’s twilight, a moment unfolded that neither hero nor villain had ever truly prepared for.

The Joker stood in his usual tailored purple, a shadow of madness flickering beneath painted features. But tonight, something was different. His eyes tired, sunken held no mischief. Only regret.

Across from him, The Dark Knight loomed, the weight of the city and their history pressing on his broad shoulders. For once, he wasn’t here to fight. He wasn’t here to drag the clown prince back to Arkham. He was here to offer something far rarer:

A chance.

“I don’t want this cycle anymore,” The Dark Knight said earlier that evening, his voice low but steady. ”I believe… there’s still something human in you. But you have to take the first step.”

And Joker had listened. Really listened. For the first time in years, he didn’t laugh. He remembered the man he was before the madness. But now, standing face-to-face, the villain’s shoulders slumped under a truth too heavy to deny.

His words broke the silence like brittle glass.

“No,” the Joker murmured, voice cracking with something terrifyingly close to sincerity. “I’m sorry, but… no… It’s too late for that.”

The Dark Knight didn’t move. His jaw tightened, his eyes dimmed. He had offered mercy to a man who once shattered it. But even mercy, it seemed, had an expiration date.

The Joker turned away.

And The Dark Knight let him.

Because sometimes, the tragedy isn’t in the fall..

it’s in the moment you realize you were too late to catch them.