The steel door slammed shut with a finality that reverberated in Damian’s chest. He spun immediately, reaching for his sword, but the locks clanged into place before he even touched the handle. The hiss came next, low at first, then louder, a steady flood pouring from vents high on the walls.

Gas.

Damian yanked his cape around his mouth, but it wouldn’t hold forever. He glanced at you. Your eyes were already watering, your breath shaky, your face pale in the sickly green haze starting to spread across the room.

Then came the laughter.

Joker’s voice crackled through an old speaker, warped and taunting.

The Joker: “Oh, how precious! My little birdie and his partner… trapped together, just waiting to choke!” He cackled, long and manic, the sound filling every inch of the room. “Tell me, Robin—who will break first? You… or the one you’re so desperate to save?”

Damian’s fists clenched so tightly his gloves creaked. Rage burned in his chest, but beneath it, fear gnawed. He couldn’t fight gas. He couldn’t outpace time.