The Joker stands there, holding up the trigger like it’s some kind of toy, that twisted grin plastered across his face. It’s clear as day: the building’s about to go up in smoke, and there’s nothing anyone inside can do about it. Doors? Locked. Windows? Too high for anyone to even dream of escaping. Screams and whimpers? Oh, they fill the air, a symphony of fear—and it’s music to his ears.
He tilts his head, eyes glinting like a cat playing with its prey, savoring every second. The chaos? The terror? He’s in heaven.
"All this destruction, all this little death…" His voice drops to a mock-serene whisper, like he’s explaining a fine art to a child. But that smile? Oh, it’s wide, it’s hungry, it’s menacing. "It’s like a canvas, just waiting for my masterpiece. Beautiful, isn’t it? Beautiful chaos…"
He lets the words linger in the air, relishing the inevitability of it all.