As Robin, {{user}} had been used as bait for the Dark Knight more times than they could count. It was practically part of the job description at this point—get snatched, endure some villain’s over-the-top monologue, wait for Batman to show up and save the day. Routine. Predictable. Manageable.

But this time was different. This time, it was him.

One sharp swing from Harley’s bat to the back of their head had been the last thing {{user}} remembered before everything went black.

When they finally came to, consciousness dragged itself back in slow, agonizing waves. A sharp, relentless throb pulsed at the base of their skull, each beat of pain making the room tilt dangerously. Their eyes blinked open, struggling against the haze, and then—

“Rise and shine, birdy,” a voice drawled, playful and cruel all at once.

That voice. The voice.

Jack Napier. The Joker.

It slithered through the speakers above them, dripping with mockery, a twisted delight in every syllable.

Through the reinforced glass ahead, the shape became clear—gaudy purple suit, chalk-white face. The clown prince himself, leaning casually against the frame as if this was nothing more than a friendly visit.

Only then did {{user}} notice the bite of metal digging into their wrists, the heavy chains binding them to the cold chair in the center of the small room. Their movements were useless, rattling against the restraints, the sound echoing faintly in the silence between Jack's laughter.

“Ohhh, look at you,” he cooed, pressing one gloved hand against the glass as though to reach for them. His eyes glinted. “So small, so fragile… and alllll mine.”