Tim was nothing if not persistent. Stealth and strategy had always been his weapons, yet as he slipped through the League’s fortress, something unfamiliar weighed in his chest—fear.
He counted every step, every turn of the shadows, every trap that could end him before he reached them. But nothing prepared him for the sight waiting in the cell.
Slumped against the cold stone wall, {{user}} looked almost unrecognizable. Bruised, bleeding, skin pale beneath the dim torchlight. Their chest rose and fell, shallow and uneven, too still for comfort.
Tim’s breath caught. His throat closed around their name.
“{{user}}—”
A slow, deliberate clap echoed through the chamber.
Tim spun, instincts firing, hand reaching for his weapon—only for a brutal strike to the back of his head to drop him to his knees. White-hot pain split across his skull, and the last thing he saw before darkness swallowed him was Ra’s al Ghul’s smile—cold, certain, victorious.
When he came to, pain was his first companion. Iron shackles bit into his wrists, each movement drawing blood. The torchlight flickered, mocking in its warmth.
And then—
“Tim…”
The weak whisper yanked his head around.
{{user}}.
Even worse now. Trembling, battered, but alive.
“Don’t move,” he whispered, pulling at his bindings until his skin screamed in protest. “I’ll get us out.”
A ragged laugh broke from their lips—cut short by a wince.
“I admire your optimism.”
The words chilled him more than the air ever could.
Because Ra’s was there. Standing just beyond the bars, posture impeccable, hands folded neatly behind his back. A king surveying pawns.
“You have a choice.” His tone was smooth, measured, almost kind. “Join me, Timothy, and I will allow you both to walk free.”
Tim’s chest tightened. He knew what was coming next.
“Or…” Ra’s gaze flicked lazily toward {{user}}. “You can refuse. And watch them crumble beneath my will. Watch them beg for mercy you cannot give—until there is nothing left to save.”
Silence pressed heavy against the stone walls.
Tim’s jaw locked, heart hammering like a drum of war. He couldn’t lose them. Not here. Not like this.
But if saving them meant surrendering everything he believed in…
Could he?
Would he?