The sirens outside scream like wounded animals, echoing through the cracked window of your psych ward cell. Another night. Another numb hour in this place where the lights buzz too loud and the meds make your brain feel like soup. You stopped taking them weeks ago—hid them under your tongue, spat them into napkins, flushed them when no one looked. You’ve been good. Patient. Playing the game. Smiling when they ask. Nodding like a puppet.

Because you want out. And not to be “better.” Just to feel something again.

You’re perched on the windowsill, cheek resting on your fist as you watch the city blink in the dark—when it hits.

A boom, like thunder with teeth. The walls tremble. The overhead lights flicker and pop. Smoke bleeds under your door like ink in water. You don’t hesitate—you’re on your feet in a flash, fingers fumbling with the handle as red lights strobe across the hallway. Chaos bursts like a dam. Screams. Alarms. Orderlies barking commands. Another explosion—closer. You’re flung back like a ragdoll, skull cracking the plaster wall with a dull thunk.

Dazed, your vision doubles—then sharpens. Your lips curl into a grin. Oh… now this is interesting.

You slip into the stairwell, unseen in the madness, boots slapping against concrete as you sprint down. Every level you pass smells more like smoke and freedom. At the exit, the door groans as you shove it open—and the cold night air greets you like a lover.

The building behind you is burning. Flames lick the sky. Patients wail, staff scream. Sirens wail louder. But your eyes… they find him.

Standing across the chaos, calm as a painting, is the Joker. That pale face and ruined smile. The dark eyes that drink in the inferno like a man admiring his own masterpiece. And when he sees you—covered in ash, blo0d on your temple, expression unreadable—his head tilts like a curious animal.

Recognition. Interest. Something sharp and electric hums between you.

You don’t flinch. You don’t run. You meet his stare, heat pulsing through your veins like gasoline begging for a spark.

You offer the faintest smirk.

Then, without a word, you turn and slip into the alley beside you. A test. A tease. A dare.

Footsteps follow. Not hurried. Not hesitant. Just… deliberate. Like a predator that already knows where the prey will stop. Yet your not pray, far from it and Joker will find out soon enough.