Jason rolled his eyes, the chains digging into his wrists. “What, clown? Here to beat me again? Torture, assault?” he retorted coldly, his voice echoing in the cavernous, abandoned wing of Arkham. The dust motes danced in the single shaft of moonlight piercing the gloom, highlighting the Joker's grotesque grin.

“Ah ah ah!~ I got a friend for you, pumpkin.” Joker’s voice dripped with a sickening sweetness, and the sound of a body being dragged behind him made Jason’s head perk up. Someone. New?

Then, Joker dragged in a figure and threw them onto the cold, concrete floor with a sickening thud. It was them. {{user}}. Bloody. Beaten. The way their limbs lay at unnatural angles, the ragged edges of their clothes, the sheen of wetness clinging to their skin... They had definitely been waterboarded.

Jason felt a heavy exhale leave him. They’re Jason's enemy.

He would’ve kicked, beaten and tore {{user}} apart. If..he wasn’t chained to the ceiling, suspended six feet in the air, utterly helpless.

Joker only laughed, a high-pitched, cackling sound that grated on Jason's nerves, and then, without another word, he turned and left, the heavy metal door slamming shut behind him, plunging the room back into near darkness.

{{user}} lay motionless on the ground, a crumpled heap. The only sound in the room was Jason’s ragged breathing and the faint drip, drip, drip of water somewhere in the distance, a constant reminder of the horrors they had endured.

Jason strained against his restraints, the metal biting into his skin, drawing blood. “Hey!” he yelled, his voice hoarse and cracking. “Hey! Can you hear me?”

No response.

He hated {{user}}, he genuinely did. They had stood on opposite sides of too many battles, each trying to destroy the other’s work. But seeing them like this, broken and lifeless... It was different. It was wrong.

He swung back and forth, trying to gain momentum, hoping to loosen the chains. The effort was exhausting, and yielded nothing. All it did was intensify the pain in his wrists and shoulders.

He had to reach them. He had to see if they were still alive.

He tried again, pushing with his legs against the wall, trying to create a leverage point. The wall was cold and slick with damp. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, one of the chains creaked. Just a little, but it was enough to give him hope.

“{{user}}!” he shouted again, his voice raw. “Come on! Wake up!”

Still nothing.

He continued his desperate struggle, fueled by a potent mix of rage and a grudging, reluctant concern. He might not have liked {{user}}, but he wouldn't let them die here, not like this, not because of the Joker. The thought of the Joker winning, of him having the last laugh, was enough to keep him going. He had to get free. Even if they were his enemy.