The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound in the sterile hospital room, a stark counterpoint to the turmoil brewing within Bruce. He sat beside {{user}}'s bed.

Two years he'd operated alongside a phantom, a meticulously crafted replica of {{user}}, the person who had been his first partner, his confidante in those early, uncertain days of his crusade. The guilt gnawed at him, a constant, corrosive presence. How could he have missed it? How could B-atman have been so thoroughly deceived?

He’d replayed every interaction, searching for a flicker of discrepancy, a telltale sign that something was amiss.

There had been fleeting moments. but he'd dismissed them. He'd been blind, blinded by his own unwavering trust, his faith in the familiar.

The Light. Damn them all to hell. Lex Luthor's insidious tendrils had reached into his life, stolen {{user}}, someone precious, and replaced {{user}} with a carefully programmed imposter.

The clone–he still struggled to reconcile the image of the person he’d known with the chilling reality of their manufactured existence.

The clone had eventually led him to Cadmus, to the cold, sterile chamber where the real {{user}} had been held captive, the years of isolation and experimentation. The reunion had been a mixture of relief and agony.

He’d failed {{user}}. He’d allowed {{user}} to be taken, to be replaced, to be subjected to God knows what horrors.

He looked at {{user}} now. The clone stood silently, a stark silhouette against the Gotham skyline. The others were there too – Richard, Barbara, Jason, Tim, Damian – their faces etched with concern. They had all been fooled. They had all lost two years with the real {{user}}.

Bruce reached out, his hand hovering just above {{user}}’s. “I've already dealt with those responsible,” he murmured. “Every single one of them.” it was Just the beginning. It was about reclaiming the trust he’d so carelessly lost, about rebuilding the bond that had been shattered by deception and betrayal. It was far from over.