The training room hummed with tension. The sound of gears whirring, the low buzz of automated dummies resetting, the faint echo of Bruce’s boots pacing along the upper walkway—it all blended into a rhythm you knew too well.

No suits, no gadgets, no armor. Just skin, muscle, instinct. Bruce had said it was to “evaluate combat readiness under stripped conditions,” but everyone knew it was more than that. He wanted to see who they really were without the mask.

Dick went first. Of course he did. He moved like the air itself—graceful, untouchable, every motion fluid, almost playful. He dodged instead of struck, turned every attack into an elegant dance. Defensive, controlled, acrobatic. He finished without breaking a sweat, a soft grin on his face, the kind that screamed old habits die hard.

Jason went next, and subtlety went straight out the window. The second the dummies powered on, he went feral. Pure force, all fire and vengeance. One kick sent a metal target flying across the room. The next cracked a training bot clean in half. By the time the timer buzzed, there wasn’t much left standing. Bruce’s silence said everything.

Tim followed, precise and methodical. Every move calculated, every step predicted. His strikes were efficient—minimal motion, maximum effect. But then, mid-parry, one of the dummies feinted, and with perfect comedic cruelty, snatched his glasses right off his face. The moment’s hesitation was all it needed. Tim hit the mat flat on his face, blinking up at the ceiling. Jason’s laughter echoed through the room like gunfire.

Then came Damian.

The lights dimmed automatically, motion sensors calibrating, but even in the darkness, Damian moved like he was the shadow. Small, fast, impossible to track. His attacks weren’t flashy—they were surgical. Swift disarms, silent takedowns, zero hesitation. By the time the system registered “Simulation Complete,” Damian was already standing still, breathing calm, eyes flicking to Bruce for approval.

And then it was your turn.

Every gaze shifted to you. The hum of the machines grew louder. Bruce’s voice came over the speaker, low and expectant. “Your turn.”

No armor. No weapons. No mask. Just you. What will you do?