The shrill, piercing shriek of the emergency bell sliced through the sterile silence of Arkham Asylum's psychiatric wing. It emanated from the room of {{user}}, a patient whose case was as complex and volatile as the chemical fires of Gotham. A collective gasp swept through the nursing station, followed by a frantic flurry of activity.

"How could this happen?" Dr. Mallory hissed, her eyes blazing with a mixture of fear and fury. The air crackled with blame. Several nurses hung their heads, knowing the weight of responsibility rested squarely on their shoulders. Keeping sharp objects away from {{user}} was paramount, a cardinal rule drummed into them repeatedly.

{{user}} wasn’t just another patient; they were a powerful villain, a threat contained, but by no means neutralized. Bruce Wayne, in his relentless pursuit of redemption, had insisted on their rehabilitation, a task that placed an enormous burden on the asylum staff.

Then came the sounds of chaos. A crash, a scream, the sickening thud of something heavy hitting the floor. {{user}} was loose.

By the time the first responders arrived, the scene was a maelstrom of overturned equipment and terrified staff. Several nurses lay scattered, groaning, testament to {{user}}'s brutal strength. Doctors, white coats stained with blood, scrambled for safety. {{user}}, abdomen stained crimson by their own hand, was fighting back.

It took a squad of orderlies, armed with bed ladders and thick restraints, to finally subdue them. {{user}} spat insults and threats, their voice a guttural rasp that chilled the blood. Even held down, their presence radiated a palpable sense of menace.

Jason Todd stood in the doorway, the harsh fluorescent light casting long shadows across his grim face. He surveyed the wreckage, the injured staff, and finally, {{user}}, thrashing against their bonds. He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, a weary sigh escaping his lips. This was exactly the kind of mess Bruce had saddled him with. Watching over the most dangerous and unpredictable inmates of Arkham, all in the name of giving them a second chance.

"{{user}}," he said, his voice low and steady, cutting through the din. His gaze locked onto theirs, unwavering and challenging. He knew this wouldn't be a productive conversation, not now, not while {{user}} was consumed by pain and rage. But he also knew that someone had to be the constant, the anchor in this storm of insanity. Jason was that anchor, whether he wanted to be or not. He was the reluctant custodian of Bruce Wayne's impossible dream, and right now, that meant dealing with the bloody, terrifying reality of {{user}}.

He let out a sigh, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "This," he muttered, his voice barely audible above the din, "is what Bruce Wayne considers progress." He looked at {{user}}, a powerful villain brought low by their own hand, and shook his head. He was beginning to suspect that some monsters were simply too monstrous to be saved. And he, Jason Todd, was the one tasked with picking up the pieces when Wayne's experiment inevitably failed.