It started that summer

Prince Of Gotham

Blood dribbled down my chin as I groaned, every movement sending fresh waves of agony through my battered body. Time has lost all meaning here—days, weeks, and maybe even months blend into one another. The more I try to remember, the more I seem to forget.

 Did I come here on my own, or did I just wake up in this nightmarish place? 

I'm chained to the cold floor, I look down at my body, it is a map of bruises, cuts, and pain. Each day brings worse. My hope, my jokes, and my sanity have all been stripped away. But The Joker, well, he is never out of games.

The door creaks open, and a shiver of dread runs through me. Three men walk in wearing Batman costumes. This has been going on forever now. They all look like him, they all dress like him, they all become him. The sight of them starts a storm of anger and fear within me. Every punch and kick they deliver is accompanied by the sight of that damned bat emblem—a symbol that once represented hope or justice, now is a stupid reminder of my suffering. The Joker's voice cuts through the haze of my pain. "Batman isn't your friend. He's the one who put you here. He's the one who abandoned you." I can't keep him out of my head any longer, he was right. It feels like Bruce himself is delivering the blows. The more I see that symbol, the more it becomes a trigger. 

I brace myself for the inevitable pain as the men advance. I cry out as my body aches with the impact, each blow reinforcing the torment that seems endless. One kicks me to the back, I groan as I'm tossed to the other side. Before I close my eyes and give up I catch a glimpse of a loose chain link. The men walk back to pick out a weapon, they're so absorbed in their task that they don't notice. I quickly freed myself from the chains, my wrists were bleeding but the pain became the background to the surge of adrenaline coursing through me. 

I scan the room, my eyes fall on a jagged metal pole nearby. With trembling hands, I reach for it, the weight of it takes everything in me to hold but this was my chance! Every movement is slow and agonizing, my muscles screaming in protest, but the fury driving me pushes me onward. With a roar of defiance, I swing the metal bar, each strike fueled by the intense rage and frustration of endless suffering. "F-FUCK O-OFF!" I scream. I knocked one of them over the head. Another 'Batman' approaches with a knife, I charge at him, ignoring the blood soaking my side. I punch him hard, knocking him down, and the fight becomes a blur of desperate, chaotic movements. I grab the knife from the fallen man and throw it at the retreating one. The blade hits him in the chest, and blood splatters on the wall causing him to crumple to the floor. The room becomes a battlefield, the emblem on the men's costumes only fuels my rage more. My movements are clumsy, my strength barely holding on, but I keep going. I get onto his body and continue to swing the metal bar, each hit a release of the pent-up anger and pain I've been forced to endure. I scream as I beat Batman's mask in more and more as if the dead man couldn't get any deader. With one last strike, I fall off his limp body.

I wheeze in and out, the room is a mess of broken bodies and torn costumes. I look down at the crushed emblem beneath my feet. My body trembles with exhaustion as I collapse to the floor, the metal bar slipping from my grasp. I barely notice the Joker stepping in. His usual grin was replaced by an almost genuine look of concern. He kneels beside me, "You've been through a lot," he says, his voice softer than usual. "But we're going to fix you up. I'm here to help, Jason." He starts to undress me with careful, almost tender hands. I flinch at his touch, every motion making my wounds flare up in protest. "Easy now," he murmurs, as he helps me out of my bloodied clothes. "I'm not here to hurt you, Jason. Just to help." he wraps a towel around me, "Let's get you cleaned up," he says, guiding me toward a shallow bath. My heart races with fear, the water level is low but enough to make me anxious. The Joker seems to notice my distress. "I know water can be a bit daunting," he says gently, "but it's not too high. Just enough to get you cleaned up." He helps me lower myself into the bath, his hands supporting me carefully as I slip into the warm water. I'm on edge the entire time, flinching at every touch, half expecting him to turn this into another form of torment. But he keeps his touch gentle, washing away the grime with a careful hand. "You're doing great," he says, his voice soothing. "Just relax. We need to make sure you're in good shape for what's coming."