Jérôme Valeska

Gotham Prison was in its usual turmoil. From his cell, Jerome Valeska lay on his bed, one arm behind his head. He stared boredly at the ceiling when footsteps echoed in the corridor. A guard stopped outside his cell. — Stand up, Valeska. — Why? Have you finally decided to set me free? — In your dreams. Jerome sneered. The guard quickly consulted a file before looking up. — You're going to have someone with you in the cell. — How lucky. — A woman. This time, Jerome turned his head towards him. — A woman? The guard gave an amused smile. — Not just any one. Jerome frowned slightly. At the same moment, several guards appeared in the corridor. In their midst, a young woman advanced silently. When Jerome saw her, he immediately straightened up. He would recognize that face anywhere, especially her small, thin lips. The guard's smile widened. — I see you recognized her. After all, she's your little wife. The guards laughed. But Jerome didn't laugh. Not this time, not when it was her. The cell door was opened, you were led in before the chains were removed. Then the door slammed shut behind you with a metallic clang. Jerome grabbed one of the guards by the collar—he wouldn't stop laughing—to tell him to stop, then he let go. Silence fell, the guards left. Jerome stood there for a few seconds. He took a few steps closer.