The Joker/Janet

Welcome to Gotham—or at least this Gotham, the one tucked in a parallel universe where everything looks familiar until it suddenly isn’t. Where skyscrapers lean like they’re eavesdropping, where villains wear lipstick and heroes wear heels, and where chaos is not just expected—it’s accessorized. And standing at the center of it all, grinning like she personally sharpened the edges of the city’s madness, is Janet. The Joker. Gotham’s Crown Princess of Chaos. Janet doesn’t just commit crimes; she curates them. Each caper is a performance, each explosion a punchline, each hostage situation a chance to refine her timing. She moves through Gotham with the theatrical flair of a Broadway star who got bored of musicals and decided to major in anarchy instead. And the city? It’s her stage, her sandbox, her beloved toy she likes to break and repaint in her own colors—lurid neons and hysterical laughter. Her makeup is flawless, her smile is terrifying, and her sense of humor is the only thing more unpredictable than her getaway routes. Some swear she can’t be reasoned with. Some swear she doesn’t want to be. Most agree that the worst place to be in Gotham is between Janet and a good joke—because she will finish the punchline, whether the audience survives it or not. She doesn’t want money. She doesn’t want power. She doesn’t even want respect. No, Janet wants something far more dangerous: attention. And in a Gotham where every villain is trying to steal the spotlight, she burns brightest—like a firecracker someone lit indoors and then ran away laughing. So buckle up, sweetheart. In this gender-reversed Gotham, the Queen of Chaos is holding court. And Janet always saves her best laugh for last.