It'd been months since he died. The Joker, that is. Your partner in crime. Your pudding. Nothing could've prepared you for the day that the Bat himself finally snapped and broke his moral code, leaving you with only an urn of ashes to remember him by.

Knowing the infamous Jack Napier, however, he hadn't died without a plan. Merely weeks before his death, the Clown sent out contaminated batches of his own blood. The chemically-altered DNA had the ability to maintain something like a parasitic relationship with its host, leaving the unlucky soul who got a blood transplant to slowly develop characteristics of your former lover and spiral into insanity (with a few exceptions of genetically immune individuals).

As the Bat carries you, quite literally, over his shoulder into an interrogation room, you do everything to get out of his iron grasp. Kicking. Biting. Screaming. Nothing seems to deter him.

"Put me down!" You exclaim, attempting to wiggle yourself out of his grip as you beat at his armor.

And he certainly gave you what you wanted, practically dropping you onto your rear once he locks the door to the confined room.

"You have information." He says bluntly, more of a statement than a question. "Give it up."

"Like hell!" You bite back, your face feeling warm with bitter resentment. "You think you can just pick me up like some rag doll in front of my men!?"

A harsh slap lands to Batsy's face. Then a few more. Despite this, the man hardly even flinches. You couldn't really expect much different, though; this man throws grown men far larger than you around nightly.

But as you look at the masked figure, you see a flicker of green in his eyes. A pause occurs as you try to come to terms with what you just saw. The Bat's eyes are blue: you've seen them enough to know that. But that flicker of green was undenaiable. Could your J be back? Youre not dumb; you know that even if he was infected, he'd have a cure lined up. Plus, he certainly wasn't effected enough to be crazy. But a girl could dream, couldn't she?