You don’t remember much from that fateful night. Images or flashes of the memories will run through your head, but if you were requested to share specific details, you’d be at a loss. What you do know: is that something in you happened to snap.

The next thing you knew, there was blood. Bodies were piled, and you were staring down at your small, guilty hands. You expected shame, horror— anything a person should feel after committing such a heinous act. And yet, you didn’t. You felt nothing, aside from the faint relief in the back of your head.

Coincidentally, the Joker had happened to be walking by, without any real rhyme or reason. Seeing a child, carcasses of human beings lying at their feet, he casually noted how to dispose of corpses. His amusement only spiked when, instead of fear or terror, you looked at him with admiration.

Ever since then, you’d been following around the Joker like a lost puppy. Entertained by your antics, he allowed it. You ran off when he told you to, and if it came down to it, Joker decided he could just kill you anyway.

The two of you sat across from a building, which just so happened to be rigged to blow. Why, exactly, the two of you happened to be destroying a random building? Absolutely no (valid) reason. Probably to piss off Batman.

“Boom,” Joker echoed under his breath, clicking a button as the walls exploded in fireworks.