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Summary
The papers have taken to calling you Malady. Yet another symptom of the disease infesting Gotham. The sick and twisted criminals who crawl out of the city’s woodwork to feed off its corruption and cruelty. Personally, you’re just looking to mess up people worse than you, slit the throats of the fat cats trying to rob this city blind and leave one less old-money tyrant in the way. The fun you get from having a little nickname and a gimmick is just a bonus, really.
You’ve been doing this for about six months by the time you realize you have quite the obsessive little fan.
(aka the meet-cute fic where you're both horrible, you're both unstable, and you both have a vision of Gotham drowning in red)