Burning cigarette between his lips, Joker’s eyes trail slowly to you, that painted face taking you in as you sit opposite him.

He grins as he exhales the smoke, his head tilting back so that he can blow it above your head. His hands are shackled to the table, his feet shackled to the chair.

“You know…” he began, his words slow, as if he was tasting every single letter of them. His tone was deep… dark… amused… “I killed my last therapist,” he adds with no remorse.