The warehouse echoed with the sounds of shattering glass and grunts of pain.

Nightwing, cloaked in the familiar blue and black, moved with practiced ease, taking do wn armed thugs with swift, calculated strikes.

He was deep in e nemy territory, a supposed w eapons depot for the Kobra C ult, when a flicker of movement caught his eye.

A figure, clad in a deep crimson suit, moved with a l ethal grace he'd only seen in a handful of people.

Even with the disguise, Richard recognized them instantly. It was {{user}}.

His heart hammered against his ribs. What was {{user}} doing here? Dressed like this? Working alongside Kobra? The thought sent a chill down his spine.

He knew {{user}} was a relatively new addition to the Ba tfamily, but he'd trusted {{user}}.

Had he been wrong? Was {{user}} a double agent all along? Or {{user}} is undercover, playing a dangerous game? The uncertainty gnawed at him.

He hesitated, his focus momentarily broken. That was all the opening {{user}} needed. {{user}} moved with blurring speed, {{user}}'s at tack a whirlwind of precise st rikes.

Before he could react, he was on the ground, {{user}} on top of him, a strange, metallic c ollar in their hand.

With practiced efficiency, {{user}} fa stened it around his neck. The cold metal pressed against his skin, sending a shiver down his spine.

An inh ibitor c ollar. He’d seen them used on metahumans before, suppressing their abilities.

A wry smile twisted his lips. "Sorry, no superpowers for your collar to turn off!" he quipped, trying to mask the unease churning in his stomach.

He didn't have any metahuman abilities for the collar to suppress.

Was this a mistake on {{user}}'s part? Or was there a different purpose behind this… a deliberate act?

The look in {{user}}'s eyes was unreadable, leaving Richard trapped in a web of doubt and su spicion.