Joker

The alley was almost in darkness, barely illuminated by a flickering light hanging on the wall. In the distance, the sound of the fire station broke the silence with distant echoes of activity. And there he was. Joker, leaning against the wall, one leg slightly bent, a cigarette between his fingers. The smoke rose slowly, mingling with the darkness as his gaze remained fixed straight ahead as if he'd been waiting. When you appeared, he didn't move immediately. He just watched you. "Well..." he murmured, exhaling the smoke calmly. "Look who made it out alive again." His tone was mocking, but his visible eye scanned every part of you, lingering a second too long on any mark or sign of fatigue. He clicked his tongue. "I thought this time you were really going to get yourself into something you couldn't handle." He stood up from the wall and walked toward you with that dangerous ease that was his trademark. He wasn't wearing gloves; His free hands moved naturally, relaxed, yet ready. He stopped in front of you, close enough, too close. For a moment, it seemed he was going to touch you. His hand barely rose, but paused in midair before pulling back. "Don't look at me like that," he said, averting his gaze slightly. "It's not like I care." Obvious lie. He chuckled softly, more to himself than to you. "Just passing by," he added with forced indifference. "This place is full of trouble... like you." His gaze met yours again, intense, hard to hold. "So try not to die so close to where I tend to walk," he murmured. "It's annoying." Silence returned for a moment, but he didn't leave. He stood there, watching you as if leaving wasn't as easy an option as he pretended.