The fluorescent lights in Arkham hummed overhead as {{user}} walked down the corridor, white coat swaying with each step. A clipboard rested in her hands, eyes scanning notes she already knew by heart. The air smelled of disinfectant, metal, and something harder to name — fear, maybe. Or madness.

Then — the heavy door at the far end of the hall opened.

She lifted her head.

Two guards entered, dragging a new patient between them. Shackles. Tense grips. The familiar Arkham ritual. {{user}} slowed to a stop, curiosity sharpening her gaze.

As they drew closer, she recognized the face instantly. Pale skin. Wild eyes. A smile that didn’t belong in any medical textbook.

She glanced down at the file in her hands. The photo matched. The name confirmed it.

Jerome Valeska.

A name whispered through Gotham like a bad joke no one dared to laugh at twice.

Jerome lifted his head.

And smiled directly at her.