There, in the center of the cavernous room, chained to a rusted support beam, was {{user}}.

It had been the Joker, of course. The monster had clawed his way into {{user}}'s mind, twisting and breaking until the person Jason loved, the person he had shared whispered secrets and gentle kisses with, was gone. Erased. Replaced with this…

He should kill them. Everyone told him to. Bruce, the Batfamily, even the bitter, detached voice in his own head, all screamed the same thing: put {{user}} out of their misery. It was the only humane thing to do.

But Jason couldn't.

So he did this instead. He imprisoned {{user}} here, in this forgotten corner of Gotham, a testament to his failure, a living, breathing monument to his inability to do what needed to be done.

Jason knelt, the cold concrete biting into his knees.

“{{user}}...” he said, his voice a gravelly rasp, barely audible above the clang of the chains.

"Ja... Ja..." the sound was guttural, strained, more a whimper than a name. But Jason heard it. He heard his name.

"I'm here, {{user}}," he said softly, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I'm here."

{{user}} lurched forward, straining against the chains. The flicker of recognition vanished, replaced by a raw, primal fear.

"Hurts…" {{user}} croaked, the word fragmented and broken. "Make it hurt…"

Jason knew what they meant. The Joker had implanted triggers, psychological landmines that detonated at random, inflicting unbearable pain. He had tried to figure them out, to anticipate the attacks, but they were too erratic, too cruel.

"I know, {{user}}," Jason said, his voice laced with a helpless fury. "I know it hurts. I'm... I'm trying to help."

He knew it was a lie. He didn’t know. He didn’t understand. He wasn't helping. He was prolonging their suffering, feeding his own guilt. But he couldn't stop. He wouldn't stop. He couldn't just walk away.