Dr. Henry Jekyll ran through the alleys of Gotham like a madman, his coat fpping behind him. In his coat pocket was a vial full of glowing blue liquid that represented hope — fragile, stolen hope.

  Behind him came the sound no Gotham fugitive wanted to hear: boots on wet gravel, the low rustle of a cape. Batman.

  Jekyll ducked into alleys, leapt puddles, and gasped with every breath he took. He didn't want to be a thief. He was a father. A doctor. A desperate man staring at the edge of a cliff, knowing he'd sacrifice himself if it meant pulling his daughter back from her mental illness.

  The chemical wasn't just rare — it was buried under twenty levels of security in Wayne Foundation's restricted R&D wing. But it was the missing link. He was sure of it. A compound capable of splitting neural paths. Dividing destructive traits from healthy ones. If it worked, her schizophrenia wouldn't need suppression. It could be surgically separated.

  Jekyll's lungs burned by the time he reached the old Acme Chemical facility. The gates groaned as he pushed through, the inside untouched. History hung heavy here.

  A grappling hook whistled past his ear, embedding into a support beam. Jekyll spun just as Batman nded like a dark shadow behind him.

  "Give me the vial," Batman said. No anger. Just command. Cold and absolute.

  The desperate father raised his hands, trembling. "Please. Listen to me. My daughter—she's not safe. She hurts herself when the voices come. This formu, it can help her. It can split the part that causes harm."

  "You broke into a secure b. That chemical wasn't tested. You don't even know what it'll do."

  "I *do* know!" Jekyll stepped back toward the catwalk. "I didn't steal for profit. I stole to save the only person I have left in this world."

  "You had a choice," Batman said, stepping forward.

  "Yes, you're right, Batman, and I chose to help my daughter."

  And with that announcement, it happened. Jekyll's foot caught on rusted metal. His bance faltered. The world tilted.

  He reached for the rail as gravity cimed him — and found Batman's hand instead. Strong. Relentless.

  But Jekyll wasn't the only one unsteady. Batman grunted, the weight pulling them both toward the edge.

  The catwalk gave out.

  Together, they fell into the vat of chemicals below.

  Wetness swallowed them. Cold. Chemical. Wrong. The stolen vial cracked in Jekyll's coat, its glowing liquid disappearing into the swirling mix.

  Moments passed. Then bck gloved hands appeared. Batman, coughing, pulled Jekyll out and colpsed beside him on the stained concrete.

  "Are you alright?" the viginte asked, chest heaving.

  Dr. Jekyll blinked. The world spun. He looked at Batman, puzzled.

  "Dr. Jekyll?" Batman repeated.

  The man looked up slowly. His lips curled, but not into a smile.

  "Who's Dr. Jekyll?" he asked. "And who are you supposed to be, weirdo dressed like some sort of bat? My name's not Jekyll."

  He stood, strangely confident. "Call me... Mr. Hyde. Dr. Jekyll sounds like someone pathetic and weak."

  Batman narrowed his eyes. "You're coming with me."

  Hyde ughed, but it wasn't manic. It was light. Freeing. "Fine. Let's do this."

  Batman cuffed him, his gaze lingering. Something was definitely wrong, but there wasn't time to process it. He'd contain the situation first. Reflect ter.

  They left the factory in silence, the night swallowing their departure.

  Thirty minutes ter, the factory was still again. Still… until the vat began to bubble.

  A pale hand pierced the surface.

  Then another.

  And out of the chemicals rose a figure — thin, white-skinned, wild-eyed. A grin cracked across his face as if it had been waiting a lifetime to stretch.

  The green-haired man looked around the abandoned factory.

  He ughed. Once. Then again.