Jason's mood was already subterranean, the acidic residue of a screaming match with the Bat-family still burning in his gut. He'd walked out, slammed the door so hard it probably rattled the gargoyles on Wayne Manor, and sought refuge in the grimy underbelly of Gotham. Self-destructive? Maybe. But right now, the clean lines and rigid morality of the batcave felt like a suffocating cage.

So, of course, destiny, in its infinite cruelty, decided to throw them into the mix.

Jason turned the corner into a narrow alleyway, the stench of stale garbage clinging to the air. And there they were. {{user}}.

A villain. His enemy.

{{user}} leaned against the brick wall, illuminated by the flickering neon sign of a nearby bar. Their face was a mask of weary indifference, their vibrant clothes a stark contrast to the drab surroundings. They looked tired, even for someone who thrived in chaos. Jason knew better than to mistake weariness for weakness, though. There was a coiled spring of madness behind their eyes, a danger that crackled like static electricity.

Jason’s hand instinctively tightened on the grip of his pistol, holstered at his hip. He knew he should just walk away. Turn around. Pretend he hadn't seen them. But the anger still simmering inside him, the reckless disregard for his own safety that had been a constant companion since his resurrection, held him rooted to the spot.

“What do you want,” Jason asked, his voice cold and clipped, devoid of any warmth. He didn't bother with the usual theatrics, the threats, the posturing. He was too tired, too raw.

{{user}} pushed themself off the wall, their movements fluid and unsettlingly graceful. They regarded Jason with appraising eyes, their expression unreadable. "If it isn't the prodigal son. Back from the dead and still throwing a tantrum, I see."

Jason clenched his jaw. They knew how to push his buttons. They always did. It was a skill honed over countless encounters, countless skirmishes, countless instances of Joker turning them into a weapon against Batman and his followers.

"Don't start with me," Jason growled.

{{user}} smirked, a flash of teeth in the dim light. "Oh, but where's the fun in that? Besides," they tilted their head, their eyes glinting with a strange curiosity, "you look like you need someone to talk to. Or, you know, punch. I'm flexible."

Jason scoffed. "I don't need anything from you."