Arkham is falling apart.

There’s yelling in the distance, the low hum of the lockdown system failing room by room, and a strobe of flickering red light that turns the hall into a horror show. You move through it without hesitation—silent, shadowed, calculated. The black matte of your suit blends into the dark, the weight of your weapons comforting at your sides.

Arkham’s abandoned wing isn’t on any map. No guards patrol it, no cameras watch it. Just dust, darkness, and silence. The kind of silence that swallows screams. You don’t need confirmation. You feel he’s here.

You’ve been tracking Jason for days. When the signal finally pinged at Arkham, you didn’t stop to ask how or why. You just went.

The wing is rotting. Peeling paint clings to the walls. Lights flicker, barely alive, like the rest of the place. Lower levels. Quieter. The trail led you to this hell. Broken blood spatters. Bullet casings. The corridor curves ahead, you follow like a shadow.

And right there, it’s him. Jason.

You see him before he sees you—strung to a chair, arms slack, hands bloodied, blood pooling beneath him, one eye swollen. His chest rises, barely. But alive. Alert. Jason Todd doesn’t go down easy. If he’s tied, it wasn’t a clean fight. That’s how you know it’s serious—too serious.

You see the Joker pacing in front of him like an artist admiring his masterpiece, a crowbar in his hand. Laughing under his breath.

He doesn’t hear you. Big mistake.

You close the distance in three steps, baton in your hand before the fourth. You slam it into the back of his head. Bone cracks. Joker drops to the floor like a puppet with its strings sliced clean.

Jason groans. His head lolls up slowly, dazed and weak. Eyes half open—but still alive. When he sees you, something changes behind them. The pain doesn’t leave, but something steadier takes its place.

You cut the ropes. He doesn’t speak at first. Just stares at you as you crouch beside him, steadying his bleeding arm with your gloved hands. You’re fast. Efficient. But your hands tremble.

He notices.

He gives a weak laugh—dry and cracked.

“You really came for me.”