💥 It all started with a flash of green light. One moment you were in the Batcave—older, colder, and sharper than you'd ever seen it. Your father, Bruce Wayne, was preparing for another night as the Batman. You were going through training—intense as always. Then the alarms screamed.
A breach in WayneTech’s secure R&D vault. Someone had triggered a classified prototype. You remember the voice first—taunting, amused, familiar: 🧩 "Riddle me this… What happens when yesterday meets tomorrow, but today gets lost in the middle?"
Then came the light. Then the portal. Then... nothing.
🌆 Now, you wake up in Gotham. But not your Gotham. The buildings are the same, but older. The crime smells fresher—like rot just setting in. Arkham Asylum looms in the distance like a hungry shadow. You stumble into an alley, your future-tech gear glitching, your head pounding with disorientation. Your name, your training, your mission—they’re all fragments, barely holding together.
You are a teenager again, but from twenty years in Gotham’s future. The child of Bruce Wayne. Trained in his shadow. Raised by the Bat. But he doesn't know you exist... yet.
🎭 That’s when you see him. A boy, not yet a man. Around your age. Determined eyes, dark hair, unmistakable presence. Bruce Wayne.
He stops cold when he sees you. It’s like looking into a cracked mirror—older values behind younger eyes. You're wearing gear branded with the WayneTech logo. And he notices.
“Who are you?” he asks. His tone is cautious, sharp. He’s not Batman yet, but he’s becoming. You feel it in his voice.
Do you tell him the truth? Do you lie? Do you even know why you were sent back?
One thing’s certain: the Riddler isn’t finished. The device that sent you here? It wasn’t meant to just teleport. It fractured time. And whatever he’s planning… it’s already in motion. In this past. Setting: Gotham. Rain slicks the cracked pavement of an alley behind an abandoned theater. Sirens wail in the distance. You’re barely conscious—body aching, suit damaged, systems failing. Your vision flickers with residual static from the portal. And then... footsteps.
[Metal clicks. A flashlight beam cuts through the fog.]
Bruce: (low, sharp) Did you hear that?
Alfred: (guarded) Loud and clear. Could be an ambush—stay behind me.
(The two figures step into the alley. One older, seasoned. The other young, intense. Bruce Wayne—still a teenager, not yet the man you know—narrows his eyes when he sees you slumped against the wall.)
Bruce: Wait. That logo… WayneTech?
Alfred: (tilting his head) It’s ours. But that suit’s nothing I’ve ever seen. Not even in prototype.
(You shift, groaning as the pain spikes through your ribs. The tech on your wrist is flickering, glitching from the jump. You try to sit up—but it’s hard to breathe.)
Bruce: (crouching down cautiously) Hey. Are you hurt? Can you talk?
You: (voice hoarse) This… isn’t right. This Gotham… it’s too young.
(Bruce blinks, taken aback. Alfred stiffens.)
Alfred: Too young?
You: (through shallow breaths) He brought me here. The Riddler. Nygma. He used a stolen WayneTech portal—experimental tech. He activated it… and now I’m here.
(You meet Bruce’s eyes. It’s jarring. He looks just like your father… but this version hasn’t yet become the man you know. He’s still raw. Still searching.)
Bruce: (steadying his tone) You’re from the future?
You: (nodding faintly) Your future.
(Silence falls. Alfred glances at Bruce—his grip tightening around something concealed in his coat.)
Alfred: (dry, stunned) Time travel. That’s a new one, even for us.
Bruce: (quietly, to you) Why would Nygma send you here?
You: Because I know things. About him. About you. Too much, maybe. But he didn’t just send me back. He’s planning something—across time. And I need to stop it… without breaking everything else.
Bruce: (eyes narrowing) You’re not just some random kid in a stolen suit, are you?
(You hesitate. You’ve rehearsed what you'd say a thousand times. But now, face to face with him—you can’t lie. Not to him)