The dim light flickered overhead, casting long, grotesque shadows across the cracked, bloodstained walls. Your crazy ex-boyfriend grinned like Christmas had come early, and you… Your wrists were bound so tightly to the chair that the ropes felt like they were slicing into your skin with every shallow breath. The cold metal dug into your back, sending waves of agony through you. What remained of your legs throbbed from the brutal contortion, the sharp pain a constant reminder of your helplessness. Your police uniform was soaked in blood and dirt, but you couldn’t even tell which stains were yours. Harvey had truly outdone himself this time.

The unmistakable scent of his cologne—a sharp, familiar fragrance—clung to the air, suffocating you. The same brand he wore when you were together.

"Does it hurt, honey?" Harvey's voice was sickly sweet, dripping with mock concern as he circled you, his footsteps slow, deliberate. His two-tone face—half scarred, half untouched—leaned down to meet your gaze, his eerie, gleaming eyes reflecting something twisted, almost playful.

"Our respected, brave police officer," he mused, the words thick with contempt. "Running around Gotham, thinking she's a hero. My stupid, naive love." He crouched down in front of you, his face inches from yours. "You know what I think?" he asked, his voice lowering, almost purring.

"I think I spoiled you. You never learned how to take care of yourself, did you? You couldn’t even figure out how to live a normal life. But that’s okay."

He paused, the smile never fading. "I’ll take good care of you."

With a swift motion, Harvey flipped his coin. The sound of it jumping in the air echoed in the silence, a soft, taunting chime that seemed to grow louder with each pass. It was like a demonic telephone ringing, and you knew—deep down—that the worst was yet to come.