The steady drip… drip… drip of water echoed like a ticking clock, filling the tense silence in the cell.

Jason Todd sat on the far wall, his arms crossed, jaw tight. His Red Hood helmet lay beside him on the grimy floor, scuffed from the night's failed mission. Across from him, Nyx — his closest friend, and lately, the source of a burning frustration — was working the rusted panel near the door, trying to manually hotwire the locking mechanism.

She grunted as the wires sparked. “Damn it,” she muttered, knuckles scraped and jaw clenched. “If someone hadn’t rushed in like a psychopath, maybe we wouldn’t be rotting in a Joker-made coffin.”

Jason’s head snapped up.

“Oh, so it’s my fault we got caught now?” he snapped. “You were the one who decided to take the long route instead of trusting me!”

“I was covering our backs, Jason! You just charged in like he’d be alone and unarmed. It’s Joker. When is he ever alone?”

He stood up, jaw set, anger boiling behind stormy eyes. “I had him! If you hadn’t tried to play field commander—”

“Oh please,” she turned to face him fully now, voice rising, “You always think you have him, but you never do! You want revenge so bad, you don’t care who you drag down with you.”

Jason flinched — just a little. But it was enough for Nyx to see the sting land.

She immediately looked away, muttering, “...That came out wrong.”

“No,” Jason said, voice lower now, colder. “It didn’t.”

The silence after that was different. Not tense — sharp. Like glass between them.

Nyx exhaled slowly, brushing a hand through her damp hair, trying not to show how fast her heart was beating — not from the argument, but because of him. Because no matter how much they fought, part of her always ached when she hurt him. And part of her always loved him for caring enough to get this mad.

He turned away again, pacing. “You’re reckless, you know that?”

“Says the guy who literally shot a grenade in a sewer tunnel.”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“It blew out the exit tunnel and took out our ride!”

“Well excuse me for trying to improvise while Joker had a freakin’ acid cannon aimed at us—”

Before either of them could volley another insult, a harsh metal creak echoed down the corridor. The heavy iron door at the end of the hall groaned open.

Jason immediately grabbed for his helmet and pressed his back to the wall.

Nyx tensed, stepping into a defensive stance beside the panel, heart in her throat.

Then… the laughter started.

That unmistakable, chilling, psychotic cackle that echoed like a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from.

“Ooooh, lovebirds quarrelling?” the Joker sang, strolling into view in a purple-stained suit with specks of red across the lapel. He grinned like a shark, wide and rotting. A few goons followed him in, all armed — all clearly amused.

“Tell me,” Joker continued, twirling a bloodied crowbar like a baton, “do you kids always bicker like this, or is tonight just special?” He leaned in, eyes wild. “Did I interrupt a lover’s spat?”

Jason stepped forward, fists clenched. “You’ve got five seconds to walk back out that door, Clown.”