The air ihe abandoned warehouse was thick with the smell of oil, rust, and stale blood. The dim flickering overhead lights cast long, jagged shadows across the cold crete floor. The walls, once pristine and sturdy, were now cracked, scrawled with graffiti and streaked with the remnants of fotten fights. Old maery y dormant in the ers, their iron frames twisted and covered in a yer of grime.

  The battered and bloodied young man y on the cold, hard ground, his hands tied tightly behind his back. He groaned in pain, his bruised body trembling uhe flickering light of the dimly lit warehouse. T above him was the grinning menace of Gotham, the Joker. Dressed in his signature purple suit, the mad exuded an aura of pure malice.

  The victim, her than Robin, groaned in agony, his head snapping to the side as fresh blood trickled from his split lip.

  His once-bright green tights were now stained with dark crimson, the blood seeping from tless cuts and abrasions that covered his chest, legs, and face. His mask, now ripped in several pces, hung loosely around his face, exposing the raw, swollen skih. His breath was shallow, the pain in his chest making it hard to draw air. Each breath seemed to send a wave of agony through his body, and his vision blurred from the damage.

  Above him, standing like a twisted specter, was the Joker—dressed in his signature purple suit, his green hair u, and his lips pulled into a manic, bloodstained grin. His eyes gleamed with sadistic pleasure as he surveyed his work, the cruel glow in his gaze never wavering. The Joker was in his elemehis broken, dipidated pce, with its rusting remains of a ohriving factory, now the backdrop to his chaotigdom.

  “Well, well, well, what do we have here?” The Joker’s voice dripped with mock as he crouched down, his faches from Jason’s. His gloved hand twirled a crowbar casually in his fingers. “You’re a mess, little bird. Looks like Gotham’s new favourite sidekick is finally learning the true meaning of pain.”

  Jason’s bloodshot eyes flickered open, and his lips parted as he tried to speak, but the words came out in a strained rasp. “Y-you… bastard…”

  The Jrin widened, his pale face lighting up with twisted joy. “Oh, that’s cute! That’s real cute.” The Joker’s hand swung the crowbar down with brutal precision, smming it into Jason’s jaw with a siing crack. Jason’s head jerked to the side as blood poured from the split in his lip, and a harsh cough wracked his body.

  “Ow, that’s gotta hurt,” the Joker sang, almost in delight, his voice high and mog. “But don’t worry, this is just the beginning. We’re going to have so much fun together.”

  The Joker moved around Jason like a predator cirg its prey, each step deliberate, filled with malice. He stood behind Jason, dragging the tip of the crowbar along the ground with a sharp scrape, the sound sending a chill down Jason’s spine. “You know, your predecessor—what was his name again? Oh, yes, Boy Blohat batty little rat had a bit more fight in him. He was a bit more of a challehe Joker’s voice dropped, turning venomous. "But you? You’re just… well, you're a disappoi."

  Jason tried to push through the agony, trying to lift himself up, but the pain from his ribs and the gash in his side was too much. The Joker’s words—twisted and mog—stung worse than the crowbar ever could. The Joker wasn’t just hurting him physically. He was attag everything Jason stood for.

  “e on, pumpkin,” the Joker’s voice was now syrupy sweet, and before Jason could react, the crowbar came down again, nding on his forearm with a brutal THWACK that sent waves of pain c through his body. The bones in his arm shattered, a out a ragged scream, his body vulsing in response.

  “Wow, that looks like it really hurts,” the Joker said, his tone dripping with sarcastic sympathy. He tilted his head, feigning as he crouched slightly to get a better look at his victim’s battered face. Then, with a sudden burst of maniergy, he swung the crowbar in his hand, delivering a brutal blow to the young man’s already swollen jaw.

  The Joker stood back, his handiwork with an almost childlike curiosity. “Hang on, that looks like it hurts a lot more,” he remarked, patting the crainst his gloved palm. His grin widened as a gleeful glint sparked in his eyes.

  “Okay, let’s try and clear this up, pumpkin,” he tihe mog endearment hanging in the air like a venomous taunt. He raised the crh above his head, the motion slow and deliberate. “Which hurts more, hmm?”

  Robin barely had time to react before the metal came crashing down again.

  “A?” the Joker asked, his voice sing-song as he delivered another merciless strike. “Or B?” Another savage blow followed, eae apanied by the siing ch of bone and muscle giving way.

  “Forearm?” He swung the crowbar like a baseball bat, the force making Robin’s arm buckle awkwardly.

  THUD.

  “Or bad?” The hit nded squarely on Robin’s ribs, f a pained gasp from his cracked lips.

  THWACK.

  The Joker leaned bad surveyed Robin’s pitiful form, his own face splitting into a wide, maniacal grin. “Decisions, decisions,” he mused, chug as if he’d just told the pune to a hirious joke.

  Robin’s face was barely reizable, swollen and smeared with blood. His body trembled as he tried to speak, his voice reduced to a faint mumble.

  The Joker leaned in close, pg a hand to his ear theatrically. “Ehh, ehh, ehh… you gotta speak louder, mbchop!” he jeered, his breath hot against Robin’s ear. He studied the boy with mock pity, tilting his head. “You know, I think you might have a colpsed lung. That always impedes the oratory.”

  With a deranged chuckle, the Joker reached out and ran his gloved fihrough Robin’s blood-matted hair. But Robin, summoning what little strength he had left, spat a mouthful of blood into the Joker’s face.

  The prince froze, his grin faltering for just a moment. Then, his expression twisted into something far darker.

  “Now that,” he said, his voice low and venomous, “was rude.” Without hesitation, he grabbed Robin by the hair and smmed his fato the cold, hard ground. The impact sent a fresh wave of blood spttering across the crete.

  Straightening himself, the Joker reached into the pocket of his suit and pulled out a crisp white handkerchief. He dabbed at his face, shaking his head in mock disappoi. “The first Boy Blunder had some manners, you know,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

  Despite the unbearable pain c through his body, Robin managed a weak, defiant smile. It was enough the Joker’s fury.

  “I suppose,” the Joker said, drawing out the words as he tapped the crainst his , “I’m going to have to teach you some manners. You should learn to follow in his footsteps.” He paused, pretending to sider the idea before waving it off with a dismissive ugh.

  “Nah,” he said, his smile returning, this time more sihan ever. “I’m just going to keep beating you with this crowbar.”

  Jason’s vision blurred as the pain threateo overtake him. But even as darkness crept into the edges of his mind, there was ohought that lingered: he wasn’t do. He wouldn’t go down like this. Not by the hands of this monster. He couldn’t.

  The Joker’s smile grew wider as he raised the crh. Jason’s body was on the verge of colpse as the beating tinued, each strike punctuated by the Joker’s unhinged ughter. The sound echoed through the empty warehouse, a chilling symphony of madness and cruelty that seemed to stret forever.

  ***

  [Ra’s al Ghul’s POV]

  Ra’s al Ghul’s sharp gaze turoward his assistant as he strode into the room with an air of tension that mirrored the night outside. The man held a tablet dispying the test update on the operation Ra’s had so meticulously pnned. Despite the apparent success of their objective, there was no word from their uable ally, Joker—only the chilli that Batman’s protégé had been abducted.

  “What is it?” Ra’s asked, his voice calm yet edged with a dangerous curiosity.

  The assistaated for a moment, clearly relut to deliver bad o his formidable master. “I’m afraid it’s as you feared, sir,” he said, bowing his head slightly.

  Ra’s turned from him, walking slowly to the massive window at the far end of the room. The a gss panes framed a view of the vast mountain raheir peaks cloaked in darkness and dusted with fresh snow. The night was cold, unfiving, and utterly silent—much like Ra’s himself when his p awry. He csped his hands behind his back, his posture andie the weight of the situation.

  “And the Detective?” he asked, his toraying only a flicker of .

  The assistant shifted unfortably. “On his way,” he replied, his voice tight. “But I fear he won’t arrive in time, sir. The boy… well, the situation appears dire.”

  Ra’s exhaled slowly, his breath fogging slightly against the chill radiating from the gss. He shut his eyes, his expression unreadable. “Let us hope he does,” he said, his voice low and ptive.

  Though his face betrayed ion, Ra’s mind was rag. This wasn’t how things were meant to unfold. He had anticipated chaos when aligning himself with the Joker—madness and bloodshed were alart of the ’s repertoire—but he had never intended for the young oo be caught in the crossfire. This was not his way, not his style. The boy had potential, after all, and Ra’s was nothing if not a man whhe value of untapped greatness.

  The assistant lingered in the doorway, unsure whether to speak or leave. Ra’s sensed his hesitation and, without turning, dismissed him with a single wave of his hand. The man bowed slightly before retreating, leaving Ra’s aloh his thoughts.

  The snowfall outside thied, the fkes swirling like restless ghosts uhe pale moonlight. Ra’s opened his eyes and studied the se, a rare twinge of doubt tugging at his otherwise unshakable fidehe Detective, Batman, had faced tless trials before and emerged victorious. But tonight, Ra’s wasn’t sure if even the Dark Knight could outpace the merciless clock tig against him.

  Joker was a dangerous gamble, a force of chaos that could ruly be trolled. Ra’s had known this wheruck the deal, but desperation had clouded his judgment. Now, the sequences of that choice weighed heavily, not only on him but on the life of a boy who should never have been dragged into the depths of this madness.

  As the moments passed, Ra’s remaiill, staring into the storm. For the first time in years, he felt a pang ret—not for himself, but for the Detective. If Batman failed, it wouldn’t just be his protégé who paid the price. It would be another cra the fragile baween order and chaos, ohat even Ra’s al Ghul might not be able to mend.

  ......

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