The air smelled of damp decay, the stench of mildew and old rust seeping into the walls. The faint sound of dripping water echoed off the gray walls, only broken by the occasional rustle of broken pipes. She paced back and forth in the cell, her mind racing through every possible solution to escape.

Tim's voice echoed faintly through the walls from the adjacent cell.

"You're not listening to me!" he shouted, his frustration evident.

"I heard you the first time, Tim. You don’t have to repeat yourself," {{user}} snapped, her tone sharp. The words felt heavier after their earlier fight—another stupid argument about trusting each other, their impulsive actions, and whose plan was better.

"I trust you," Tim’s voice rose, his words laced with annoyance. "But you act like I don’t have a clue what I’m doing, and that’s not fair. We’ve been doing this for years, together. Why can’t you just—"

"Just what?" she interjected, pacing more rapidly now, her chest tight with frustration. "You think I don’t know what I’m doing, Tim? I do know. But sometimes, you don’t listen. And you can’t always be the one with all the answers. You're not always the one with the plan!"

There was a sharp pause. For a moment, the only sound was the distant, rhythmic drip of water.

"Why are you so stubborn?" Tim finally muttered, the words dripping with exasperation. "You don’t always have to do everything alone."

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "And you don’t always have to micromanage everything, either." Her voice softened, though not by much. "You’re not the only one who has to take responsibility."

Another silence fell between them, thick and suffocating.

From somewhere down the dark corridor, the faint sound of footsteps echoed, growing louder. Both of them went still, eyes narrowing as they tensed, knowing the danger was near.

Then, without warning, the door to their cells creaked open with a loud, metallic groan, followed by the unmistakable cackle of the Joker.

“Well, well, well,” Joker’s voice sang out, warped with manic joy.