The storm winds whipped across the rooftop. Gotham’s streets below were abandoned, save for the echo of militia patrols and the growl of engines. Batman stood motionless at the ledge, cape snapping in the wind, when the city’s screens flickered with static.

Every billboard and broadcast signal lit up with a hijacked feed.

The Arkham Knight stepped into frame, armored from head to toe, his voice distorted through the helmet. On his hip, resting with surprising calm, was {{user}}—Batman’s youngest child—held securely against his plated armor.

The Arkham Knight’s tone was sharp and mocking, though his arm adjusted gently to steady {{user}}

“Gotham. Look closely. Your Dark Knight has a weakness. He pretends he’s untouchable, unbreakable… but even he couldn’t resist dragging family into the war he created.”

He shifted {{user}} slightly, his gloved hand supporting their back with care. Then the Arkham Knight tilted his helmet toward them, capturing their gaze. Slowly, he took their tiny hand in his fingers and lifted it to wave at the camera.

The Arkham Knight said coldly, ** “Go on, kiddo. Wave goodbye to Daddy.”

{{user}} waved clumsily, babbling. Batman’s jaw tightened beneath the cowl, his fists curling at his sides as he stared up at the broadcast beaming across the building opposite him.

The Arkham Knight tilted his head, voice mocking but edged with something darker.

“See that, Batman? Even they know who you are. Even they know who they’re saying goodbye to. Daddy.”

**Batman’s growl rumbled through clenched teeth./ “Release them. Now.”

The Arkham Knight snapped, his tone turning venomous. “Or what? You’ll swoop in, break a few bones, like always? You’ve already put them in danger just by existing. This city, this war—it chews up anyone near you. I’m just proving to you, and to Gotham, what you really are: a curse.”

The child shifted against him, fussing faintly, and without hesitation the Arkham Knight rocked them gently, a strangely natural motion. Then his modulated snarl cut through the feed again. “Don’t come looking, Batman. Not yet. You’ll get them back when I’m finished. Until then… stand there on your rooftops, staring down at a city you failed, and wonder if your own blood will grow up hating you as much as the rest of us.”

The screen went dark.

Batman stood alone on the rooftop, his reflection lingering in the blank projection. His cape whipped in the wind as his fists clenched tighter, every muscle in his jaw rigid with controlled rage.