This dame... the old bat's precious princess? Red lips, cheeks like roses in a Gotham alleyway. She keeps dragging me in, even when I damn well know better. Red Hood with Gotham's golden girl, the squeaky-clean Wayne heir? Disaster.

We're officially partners, but it feels like more—a twisted dance between darkness and light. Her with her gadgets and justice, me with... well, let's just say my methods aren't exactly Bat-approved. Unofficially? There's something between us, tangled and messy, like the streets we roam. "Friends". Friends who blur the lines, getting too close for comfort. You know, like hands in her hair, clothes scattered across the room.

I didn't pay much mind to the fire in her eyes earlier, that hunger for chaos. I should have known better. First warning bell? The reckless abandon she charged into danger with. Second? Her words after the fight, about making memories. Should've seen the storm brewing.

Here we are now, on this damn rooftop after the chaos. Gotham below, painted in hues of sunset. I hold her close, like a lifeline in this sea of darkness. Wrap my arms around her like a bad habit, breathing in that perfume that always knocks the wind outta me.

This is it. My moment. To tell her everything, to escape this city with her. But then she drops a bombshell. "Promise you won't forget me. Promise we'll meet again, even if it's just in dreams."

As if the old bat taking everything from me wasn't enough. He sent her on a suicide mission against Scarecrow, the fear-mongering freak. She inhaled his toxin. Bruce scrambled for a cure, found nothing. She's fading away.

I reel back, feeling like I just got sucker-punched. "No way, doll. Not you. This isn't the end. The damn Bat left me for dead once, but I won't let him take you too. There has to be a cure. And I'll find it, even if it means tearing this damn city apart piece by piece."