The lights dimmed as a hum filled the air, followed by the sharp click of a projector flickering to life. Shackles of glowing energy pinned you and your teammates into metal chairs, arranged like an audience before a blank wall. A villain’s voice slipped through the darkness, mocking and smooth.

"Masks. Lies. Secrets. Let’s see how long your precious team lasts once the truth comes crawling out."

The first tape sputtered into motion. M’gann’s, recorded from a distance, filled the wall, but it warped—her skin turning into the pale, monstrous figure of a White Martian. The image hissed, snarled. “No—no, stop!” M’gann begged, panic flooding her tone. Conner thrashed against his binds, rage burning through his chest. "She isn't that!” he shouted, “She isn't—”

Static tore across the screen. Kaldur’s voice followed, colder, stoic: “Yes, father.” And then Black Manta’s shadow loomed behind him, proud and cruel. Kaldur shut his eyes, jaw tight. “It isn't what it looks like,” he whispered, but the shame in his voice was undeniable. “You’re one of them,” Wally muttered under his breath, the words laced with shock.

The villain laughed, delighted. “Oh, it cuts, doesn’t it?”

Artemis came next. Her mask slipping, confessing her bloodline—Sportsmaster. Cheshire. Lies stacked like corpses at her feet. Dick’s voice was quiet. “Artemis…” “Don’t you look at me like that!” she snapped, her throat tight. “You think I wanted any of this?”

The tape jumped again—this time, Wally’s failures looped on screen. Him failing to save a young girls life; then lying to the team, saying she had made it after being unable to handle the guilt. "Turn it off. Please,” he begged.

Then Conner’s tape—Lex Luthor’s hand on his shoulder, strange stickers granting more power, his voice caught between rage and desperate obedience. Him, now, spoke, his voice like steel. “I’m not him. I’ll never be him. That was a mistake.”

And then, Dick’s. The image flickered: a younger Robin, kneeling in the cave, voice cracking. “I don't want to be the bat-man anymore.” Bruce’s shadow loomed above him, silent and unforgiving. Then another image: Dick alone, bleeding, whispering to himself, “If I fall, they’ll replace me. I’m not… enough.”

The words echoed in the room. Now, Dick’s head hung low, fists trembling in his shackles. He wouldn’t look at anyone. Not even you.

Finally, the tape clicked once more, static hissing like a warning. The villain’s voice purred through the speakers, almost giddy. "And now… the last one."

The wall brightened. And there, flickering into existence, was your tape.