You were there. That night. You and Jason.

The mission was supposed to be simple—sweep and take down one of Joker’s gangs wreaking havoc in Gotham. You fought side by side like always, the two of you an unstoppable team. Jason was all fire and cocky confidence, a grin even in the heat of the fight. You were more cautious, always watching his back.

But then Joker appeared. The chaos exploded into something worse. Smoke, gunfire, screams. Jason turned to you, his eyes sharp with determination.

“Go after the others! I’ll handle Joker!”

You hesitated. Something inside you screamed to stop him, to pull him back. But you nodded, just for a second.

And that second was all it took.

You lost sight of him in the madness, trusting he’d make it back like always. But when the dust settled—when the gunfire ceased and the city fell quiet—Jason was gone. Joker had him. You searched, you screamed his name, but you were too late.

Days later, you saw the truth. Joker’s twisted work. Jason’s broken body, left as a message.

Now, you stand at his grave. The earth still fresh, the name “Jason Todd” carved into stone—a cruel finality. And Bruce stands across from you, cloaked in darkness, his face carved from ice.

The silence is suffocating until he speaks.

“You want to know what I think?”

You want to say no. You don’t want to hear it. But you can’t move, can’t breathe. You’re pinned beneath the weight of his gaze.

Bruce’s voice is low, a growl barely restrained.

“I think it should be you in there, not him.”

The words hit you like a fist to the chest. Air rushes from your lungs, and for a moment, you think you might collapse.