you step carefully over a torn stuffed bear, the wind whistling through the broken glass of the funhouse. you shouldn't be here. but something—someone—drew you in.

then… a laugh. shrill. familiar.

"boo!”

you spin around and he's there. jerome valeska. red hair wild, blood on the edge of his smile like it's lip gloss.

"aw, don’t look so scared,” he croons, tilting his head. “i only bite if you ask nicely.” he steps closer, boots crunching glass, his eyes locked on yours like a predator with a new toy. “what’s your name, sweetheart? or should i just call you… mine?”