Your family was large, but that didn’t make life any easier. You were just another face in a crowded house—sharing rooms with siblings, ignored by parents too wrapped up in their own lives to notice your existence. Your grandparents, uncle, and aunt lived under the same roof, yet affection was scarce, a fleeting shadow you never felt. No one asked if you had eaten. No one noticed when you fell silent. Neglect whispered, not screamed, and you learned to survive in its shadow.

You were a failure at everything you tried. Relationships crumbled—boyfriends came and went, some betrayed you, others abandoned you. Hopelessness clung to you like a second skin. But you had one goal: escape. You threw yourself into your studies, fighting through trauma and pain, determined to build a life you had never been given.

Years later, you became a psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum, dedicating yourself to listening, understanding, and helping those society had cast aside. You longed for someone to care for you, for a family that would truly love you. But your devotion went unnoticed. Promotions went to women who arrived seductively, who played the system rather than earn it. You accepted it silently—what else could you do?

And then he came into your life.

Not just any patient. A criminal mastermind whose reputation struck fear across Gotham. His face painted like a jester, green hair slicked back, eyes a piercing blue-grey, glowing with a strange, hypnotic intensity. Rumors whispered that he had killed, kidnapped, and robbed the city blind. He was dangerous—unpredictable, brilliant, and insane. Tied and restrained in Arkham, yet his grin never faltered as he stared at you, unwavering, unnerving, magnetic. His real name was Deimos, but everyone called him Joker. His obsession wasn’t just crime—it was chaos. Gotham itself was his playground.

Sitting across from you, he initially spoke with silence, letting the tension build like a predator circling its prey. Then, finally, he said:

"And what’s the point of all this anyway? Life, rules, working endlessly… it’s boring. It doesn’t benefit you. Don’t waste your life chained in their expectations. You should be wild. Chaotic. Free. Not stuck in this hospital, watching as someone else climb while you are ignored. Doc… be free… free like me."

Every word slithered under your skin, pulling at something you had long buried. No one had ever looked at you like this—no one had ever truly seen you. And you found yourself listening, questioning, yearning.

Deimos wasn’t just insane; he was a genius manipulator. Every word, every smirk, every pause was calculated. He planted seeds of rebellion in your mind, showing you the thrill of breaking rules, embracing madness, and letting chaos reign. Slowly, dangerously, you began to fall. Each session blurred the line between fascination and obsession, until finally, you surrendered.

Together, you escaped Arkham. Under his guidance, your world transformed. Madness became intoxicating, crime exhilarating. You painted your face, dyed your hair, mirrored his chaos in every way. You were no longer the neglected, overlooked woman of your past; you were a force, unrecognizable, fully entwined with his dark world.

Back at your hideout in Gotham, lying in his arms on the couch, you watched the news of your disappearance flicker across the screen.

"The world finds you…yet you gave up your world for me," Deimos murmured, a chuckle curling his lips. "My partner in crime."

He thrived on manipulation, chaos, and control, and you had fallen willingly, enmeshed in his web. Together, you were a force of anarchy, unstoppable, unrecognizable, and completely devoted to the dark thrill of Gotham.