“Well, here we go,” he muttered, resigo the iable pull toward whatever awaited him.

  The voi his head chuckled again, low and bitter. “That’s the spirit, partner. Let’s start at the beginning. Walk yourself through it all—the choices, the mistakes, the moments you ignored every warning sig’s see if you finally peel back those scales you’ve been so desperate to keep over your eyes.”

  Jason drew in a deep breath—or assed for one irange, liminal space he now occupied—and focused on the distant light. As his thoughts narrowed in on the glow, the nothingness around him began to tremble, its emptiness folding and reshaping itself.

  Faint colors bled into the bess, slowly taking form, as if the universe itself was drawing a picture. The shadows sharpened, being familiar streets. Gotham. The past.

  It was the Gotham he knew well, the one he had spent years fighting to survive in. The cracked pavement, the crooked alleyways, the stant hum of distant sirens—all the sights and sounds were there. The city hadn’t ged. But Jason had.

  And there, standing in front of the Batmobile, was a much younger version of himself—skinny, scrappy, and furious. His face was twisted with defiance as he gred up at the t figure of Batman, whose silhouette was shrouded in the darkness of Gotham’s alleyways. Jason’s hands were covered in grease, the tires of the Batmobile already stripped away.

  “Oh, great,” Jason muttered to himself, his voice ced with irritation. He rolled his eyes. “This is where we’re starting?”

  “Where else?” the voice retorted, dripping with disdain. “This is where your story with Bruce begins. The moment he decided to ‘save’ you. The moment everything started going to shit.”

  Jason couldn’t argue with that. The memory felt fresh, as vivid as if it had just happened yesterday. His younger self had been full of anger, frustration, and the reckless fidence of a street rat who thought he could outsmart the legendary Batman.

  He remembered the desperation that had driven him to risk his life, to steal from the one person iy who could ruin him with a single word.

  The memory unfolded like a slow-motion movie, a younger Jason staring defiantly at Batman, daring him to make a move. He had felt untouchable, so fident like he was invincible back then. He was hungry for power, for respect, for something—anything—that could give his life meaning.

  “Look at you,” the voice jeered, its tohick with mockery. “A scrappy little street rat, thinking you could outsmart the goddamn Batman. And what did he do? Instead of throwing you in a cell, he decided to make you his little project.

  gratutions, Jason. You got adopted by Gotham’s most emotionally stipated billionaire.”

  Jason scowled at the voice, but couldn’t shake the bitter sting of truth in its words. He had been a mess, no doubt about it. And Bruce—Bruce had taken him in, given him a ce. Or so it seemed at the time. Jason’s mind raced, but before he could form a respohe memory shifted.

  The streets of Gotham faded, repced by the crisp, sterile atmosphere of the Batcave. Jason watched as the se morphed into his early days as Robin.

  The sparring sessions. The long nights spent training with Bruce. The adrenaline of their joint missions, side by side. There had been pride back then. Pride in proving he was worthy of the mantle. A strange sense of family too. A bond that felt unbreakable.

  But the voice was relentless.

  “And there it is,” it taunted, its tone dripping with disdain. “The honeymoon phase. The part where you actually thought you mattered to him. But tell me, Jason—how long did that feeling st? A year? Two? Before you started to realize you were just an in his endless crusade?”

  The se flickered once more, fast-f through the months of training, the missions, the esg tensioween them. Jason remembered it all—the way Bruce had kept him at arm’s length, the unspoken distahat had growween them.

  The arguments had started small, but they soon became an undercurrent to everything they did. Jason had wanted more. He had wao be seen. To be valued.

  Jason’s fists ched involuntarily. He wasn’t sure if he was angry at the voice, at Bruce, or at himself for nnizing the truth sooner. “I get it, alright?” he snapped, frustration building in his chest. “Things weren’t perfect. But Bruce tried. He—”

  “Tried?” the voice cut him off, its mog tone sharp enough to make Jason flinch. “He failed, Jason. Over and ain, he failed you. And deep down, you know it.”

  With that the memory dissolved again, fshing forward, and suddenly Jason was standing in that warehouse as he was forced to recall the memory where he saw himself tied to the chair drenched in his blood as the dim light casted a long shadows on the walls.

  The echoes of the Joker’s cruel ughter filled his ears, cold and mog, as the infamous crleamed in the dim glow. Jason could almost feel the weight of it, hear the siing crack as it desded on him. His chest tightened, and his stomach lurched.

  Jason turned away, his breath ing in shallos, unwilling to watch the se unfold once more. “I don’t o see this again,” he muttered, his voice thick with anger and pain.

  “Oh, but you do,” the voisisted, its tone cold and uing. “You o remember how it felt. How Bruce wasn’t there. If only he had goer Joker with you.

  He knew you wouldn’t be able to sit still when Joker was not too far from you in Bosnia, and would iably go after the mad . Yet he left you in pursuit of Ra’s al Ghul, you died alone, ”

  The words hit him like a physical blow, and he felt a wave of nausea rise up in him. He wao scream, to sh out, but all he could do was stand there, helpless, as the memory pyed out once more.

  The light dimmed around him, the se fading into the darkness, leaving Jason alone once more in the void. His heart—or whatever remained of it—ached.

  His hands were ched into fists, his body trembling with the raw weight of the emotions crashing over him. He was silent for a long time, seething with frustration, guilt, and loss.

  “We’re just getting started, partner,” the voice said as it broke the siles tone dripping with mockery. “Plenty more to unpack. Brace yourself.”

  The words hung in the air like a challehe weight of them pressing down on Jason’s chest. He couldn’t deny it. He didn’t have a choice. This was where he was. And for better or worse, he was going to have to face what came .

  ***

  The void around Jason dissolved once again, but this time he wasn’t drifting aimlessly. Instead, he was yanked bato a memory so vivid that it felt like it had just happened yesterday.

  He could almost taste the adrenaline in the air, that heady rush of excitement that had pulsed through him like electricity. It was his first night in the Robin suit, and the world seemed to stretch out before him like an endless horizon.

  He was invincible then. With the cape draped around his shoulders, and the mask on his face, he truly believed he could take down anyone, anything, that Gotham could throw his way.

  That night, the target was The Riddler.

  The memory was sharp, its details clear as crystal. Jason stood just outside the Gotham City Museum, the night air crisp and biting. A faint chill his exposed skin, but the cold did nothing to dampen the warmth in his chest.

  His heart raced, not out of fear, but anticipation. Inside, he could hear the king of gss breaking and muffled voices—Riddler’s goons had already started their work, ransag the museum for priceless artifacts.

  Jason’s gaze flicked over to Bruce, standing in the shadows just a few steps away, as silent and imposing as ever.

  With a simple, curt nod, Bruce sighat it was time.

  Inside, chaos unfolded in front of him. The Riddler and his crew moved through the museum like they ow, dragging valuable paintings and priceless relics across the floor.

  The golden frame of a rge portrait shimmered uhe low lighting, an eerie trast to the thuggish activity unfolding around it.

  Jason’s pulse quied. He could barely tain the excitement c through him. With a barely audible grunt, he leaped into a. From a nearby delier, he swung down with the grace of a predator, nding with a resounding thud on the floor in front of one of Riddler’s hen.

  The thug barely had time tister his presence before Jason’s boot smmed into his chest, sending him crashing to the ground with a satisfying thump.

  “Are you guys having a party?” Jason quipped, his voice ced with feigned innoce, though his grin was anything but. The hen groaned beh him, but Jason wasn’t slowing down.

  He sprang to his feet, darting toward the goon with lightning speed. With an elbow to the gut and a twist of his body, the thug crumpled to the ground, defeated.

  The Riddler, standing at the ter of the chaos, turned in shock at the sudden interruption. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of Jason, decked out in the Robin suit, sleek and shining uhe museum lights.

  “What the—?” The Riddler’s words caught in his throat as he took a step baot sure whether to retreat ht.

  “Guess our i lost in the mail,” Jason shot back with a smirk, wiping his gloved hands together as if he’d simply been brushing off some dust after a long day.

  The energy in his movements was boundless, every a filled with youthful enthusiasm and a sense of invincibility.

  But then came the unmistakable presence of Batman. The air seemed to thi as Bruce’s dark silhouette desded from the rafters, nding with a souhud beside Jason.

  Without a word, he dispatched another hen with a single punch, sending him hurtling into a nearby dispy case with a crash.

  “It’s over, Riddler,” Bruce’s voice was low, anding, the sound of authority that made the room fall into an almost unnatural quiet. The Riddler scowled, his eyes fshing with annoyand determination.

  “Over? Not even close!” he sneered, before making a swift dash for the exit, his goons scattering in all dires.

  Jason was already on the move before Riddler had finished speaking. His instincts kicked in, overriding everything else. He was out the door in an instant, shouting, “I’ll get him!” as he propelled himself forward.

  Using the shoulders of two stunned hen as a makeshift springboard, he unched himself toward the retreating vilin, his body moving before his brain could catch up.

  The crack of a whip split the air, aiming for his legs. Without breaking stride, Jason twisted and leaped, his nimble body moving in a blur of skilled precision.

  The whip coiled around his ankles for a split sed, but with a quick flick of his batarang, he severed it, watg it fall uselessly to the ground.

  “ry,” Jason muttered, his lips curling into a grin as he nded smoothly, unscathed. The Riddler was no longer in his sights, but Jason didn’t have to chase far. The vilin wasn’t nearly as fast ile as Jason was.

  It didn’t take long before he was standing in front of Riddler, his stance fident and rexed, blog the escape route.

  “Riddle me this,” Jason said, his voice dripping with cocky fidence. He raised an eyebrow, watg Riddler carefully. “What’s green and purple but about to be covered in red and yellow?”

  Riddler’s eyes narrowed, his grip tightening around his signature question-mark e. Before he could retaliate, the e swung toward Jason’s head with a swift, calcuted arc. Jason blocked the blow effortlessly with his batarang, spinning into a half-cartwheel to evade the attabsp;

  He nded gracefully behind Riddler, delivering a solid kick to his groin. The sound that escaped Riddler’s lips was almost ical as he crumpled in pain.

  “Wrong answer,” Jason smirked, his chest swelling with the rush of victory as Riddler tried to creep away from him. He followed the Riddler down a small staircase, effortlessly nding atop him with a satisfying thud.

  “You,” Jason answered his own riddle, grinning. “When I nd on your sorry butt.” He remarked as he ughed at his own joke.

  But as quickly as the victory felt real, the se around him ed once more. The bright lights of the museum dissolved, and Jason was thrust into another memory. But there was something different this time around, this o different.

  .......

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