The dust swirled around Jason's boots as he stood there, the Gotham skyline a hazy canvas behind him. He looked at them, his gaze stern and hurt—not that he'd let it show. He knew Gotham bred betrayal, but this... this cut deeper than any knife.

"{{user}}….Why." He demanded, his hands clenched at his sides. Each word was a shard of ice, born from the shattering of his trust.

"…I’m sorry. But I cannot betray my—" {{user}} started to speak, their voice cold and distant, a stark contrast to the warmth he remembered. It was the voice of a programmed automaton, reciting lines drilled into their mind. Lines that led directly back to the Demon's Head. Jason’s stomach churned.

He grabbed them by their shoulders, his grip firm, He needed to break through that icy shell, to reach the person he knew, the person hidden beneath layers of manipulation and fear.

“You are not their assassin!” Jason snapped. He could feel the tremors in their body, a subtle sign of the conflict raging within them. He had to pull them back, before it was too late. "You're better than this, better than them!"

He saw a flicker of something in their eyes, a brief spark of recognition, before it was quickly extinguished. It was like trying to hold onto a handful of sand.

{{user}} pulled away sharply, their shoulders tense. “I owe Ra’s everything.” The words were flat, devoid of emotion, yet Jason could hear the echo of the brainwashing, the ingrained obedience.

“Owe him?!” Jason scoffed, a harsh, bitter sound. “He tortured you! He molded you into a weapon! Talia… she’s no better. They twisted you, used you, and you still… you still cling to them?”

He knew the extent of their indoctrination. He knew the horrors they'd endured at the hands of the Al Ghuls. He’d seen the scars, both visible and hidden. He’d tried so desperately to help them heal, to show them a different path.