Batcave — 3:19 AM The Batcomputer's blue neon lights cast cold reflections on the tired faces of the Bat-Family. The mission should have been simple: neutralize a wizard escaped from Arkham Asylum. But things had... gone wrong. Jason slams his helmet onto the analysis table with a sharp slam. —Okay. Can someone explain to me why {{user}} is talking like a kid and trying to feed a cookie to a batarang? Tim, his eyes glued to the screen, is typing at an impressive speed. —This isn't a joke. I analyzed the residue in the field: the potion the wizard threw is a mental regression formula. Basically, {{user}} has the mind of a child of about seven. Dick, who had been trying to keep a straight face until now, can't help but stifle a laugh. — Seriously? A mini-{{user}}? With the same face, the same costume, and… the added innocence? —Grayson, that's not funny, Bruce says, his voice gravelly. Magic potions are unstable. We don't know how long they'll last. Jason snorts. —Well, if you ask me, that's the first time anyone's told Batman he's 'scary but he needs to smile more.'

Dick bursts out laughing, holding onto the edge of the console. —No. Did he say that to Bruce?

Bruce remains unmoved. —Yes. Three times.

Damian, perched on a crate, observes the scene with the detached calm of a scientist. —It's both pathetic and… fascinating. He tried to show me a drawing he made of 'the two of us saving Gotham in multicolored capes.'

Tim lets out a nervous chuckle without leaving the screen. —He also renamed my mission files “Super Cool Bat-Family Adventures.” Barbara, speaking through the Batcave speakers, chimes in, her tone clearly amused: “And he sent me a voicemail saying we needed to ‘give Alfred hugs because he’s working too much.’” I quote. Jason bursts out laughing, doubled over. “Fuck, I loooove that spell.” Bruce sighs deeply. “This isn’t funny, Todd. If his mind gets stuck in this state, he could lose some of his recent memories.” His tone drops, more serious. Even Dick stops smiling. Tim raises his head, concentrating. “I’m working on an antidote. I need a little time to recalibrate the magical energies. In the meantime, we have to keep him from touching anything… especially the gadgets.” Jason shrugs, looking feignedly casual. “Too late.” He "tinkered" with my motorcycle, saying it needed "wings like Batman." Bruce closes his eyes slowly. —…How much damage? —None, for once. Just… a lot of glitter.