Rain lashed against the grimy windows of the abandoned warehouse, mirroring the relentless storm brewing inside Cassandra.

She perched on a girder, the flickering neon sign outside casting erratic shadows across her masked face.

Below, several of Black Mask's thugs lay groaning, victims of her swift, silent takedown.

It hadn't been a challenging fight, predictable even.

That was the problem.

Predictability was {{user}}'s enemy, and by extension, Cassandra's.

Since {{user}} had joined their ranks, a strange unease had settled over Cassandra.

{{user}}'s ability to glimpse the future was a valuable asset, a tactical advantage.

But Cassandra sensed the toll it took on {{user}}.

The constant shifting of possibilities, the endless cascade of potential outcomes – it was enough to drive anyone mad.

And the Batfamily? They were a vortex of change, a chaotic storm in the timestream.

Cassandra leaped silently to the ground, landing beside one of the whimpering thugs.

He flinched, expecting another blow, but she only crouched beside him, her gaze distant.

"You…," she began, her voice a low rasp, "…you are lucky. Your future is simple. Pain now. Healing later. A straight line."

She stood up and walked towards the broken window, the wind whipping her cape around her.

"{{user}}… they see everything. Every possible path. Every potential bruise, every averted disaster, every… death.”

"We… the Batfamily… we are a nightmare for them. We change. Constantly. All of us. We never stay the same. Our futures… they are never fixed. {{user}} sees it all. The good. The bad. Over and over. It is… a torment."

Cassandra looked back at the groaning thugs, their futures now subtly altered by her intervention.

A ripple effect, spreading outwards, creating countless new possibilities.

She sighed. "{{user}} deserves better than this constant chaos," she murmured, more to herself than to the unconscious men at her feet.

"They deserve… a straight line."