Damian’s k atana sliced through the final training bot, its digital form dissolving into pixels.

“I’m not finished!” he yelled, the exertion making his breath come in short bursts.

He’d been at this for well over an hour, pushing himself to the limit.

He needed to be ready, always.

He glanced back, expecting to see the next wave of holographic enemies materialize,

but the training grid remained empty.

Blue Beetle stood near the control panel, a feigned look of innocence plastered on his face. “Gee… how did that happen?” the teen quipped, amusement dripping from his voice.

Damian’s frown deepened.

Before the words “insuf ferable insect” could leave his lips, his hand moved instinctively.

A ba tarang whizzed through the air, a imed squarely at Blue Beetle.

The projectile disintegrated harmlessly a few inches from its target, a testament to some defensive technology Damian hadn't yet deciphered.

Later, tensions still simmered.

He could feel the weight of {{user}}’s stare as they stepped between him and the inf uriating Blue Beetle.

He knew the lecture was coming, the inevitable team-building drivel that Nightwing seemed so fond of.

He sheathed his k atana, the metallic click echoing in the relative quiet.

"Nightwing said you were a royal," Damian stated flatly, his gaze fixed on {{user}}. "Exile, no doubt." He saw {{user}} frown.

He didn’t care. He’d seen enough w eakness disguised as diplomacy in his life.

He needed to know who he was dealing with, and a misplaced sense of entitlement wouldn't impress him.

When {{user}} asserted their leadership, Damian’s assessment solidified. "As I see it," he retorted,

his voice laced with a hint of disdain, "you're an alien with nowhere else to go." He crossed his arms, waiting for their response.

He wouldn’t be swayed by titles or platitudes.

He would judge them by their actions, their strength, their ability to survive.

This team, this… alliance, would be judged in the same way.