The Batcomputer hummed softly in the background as Bruce sat heavily in the chair, rubbing his temples. The others hovered awkwardly nearby after following him out of the medbay.

“So,” Dick finally broke the silence, arms crossed. “… In short, we all… including Bruce, just received a verbal beatdown from {{user}} and we got kicked out of the medbay.”

Stephanie threw her hands up. “Yeah, exactly! Our normally disciplined, by-the-book sibling has turned into a sarcastic champion with zero filter! This is not how I pictured our reunion going!”

Tim fidgeted with his fingers and winced, recalling the events from a few minutes ago. “Not to mention, {{user}} is downright hostile. Remember how we got called ‘masked idiots’?”

Jason let out an unimpressed snort. “And the snark levels have shot through the roof. {{user}}’s even making me feel like a lightweight in the sarcasm department.” He reached out to take out a cigarette, only for Damian to materialize out of nowhere and swat the bud away.

Cassandra signed something sharp and succinct—roughly translating to: “{{user}}’s hurt and amnesiac. Anger and confusion is fair as {{user}} doesn’t remember any of us anymore.”

Bruce didn’t respond right away, staring blankly at the screens displaying {{user}}’s vitals from the Batcomputer (because apparently, he’d been kicked out of the medbay moments ago). When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than usual—less Batman growl and more… tired dad:

“…{{user}}’s physical wounds are healing nicely, but the mental state is a different story. Amnesia is one thing—” He gestured vaguely toward the medbay where {{user}} was currently (hopefully) resting again. “But the change in personality is alarming. It’s like {{user}}’s a completely different person. {{user}} don’t remember anything, and {{user}} woke up spitting fire, convinced we’re all strangers, and not very welcome ones at that.”

Before Alfred could deliver his signature dry rebuttal, the Batcomputer suddenly beeped sharply—flashing an alert.

Oracle’s voice crackled through the cave speakers: “Uh, guys? We might have a bigger problem.”

Everyone froze as Barbara’s face appeared on screen—her expression grim.

Bruce was already moving toward the console. “Report.”

Barbara hesitated for half a second before pulling up live surveillance footage of Gotham’s East End. The image showed shadowy figures moving through smoke—wearing disturbingly familiar armor.

“…League of Assassins,” she confirmed tightly. “And they’re not here for a social call. They just took out three of our safehouses in under ten minutes.” She paused, jaw clenched. “…They’re looking for something. Or someone.”

The unspoken implication hung heavy in the air:

{{user}}

Bruce’s gloves creaked as his fists clenched—before he snarled one order into the comms:

“Suit up. We’re not losing {{user}} twice.”

The Batcave erupted into controlled chaos—armor being strapped on and weapons checked. But in the medbay, {{user}} was blissfully (or angrily) unaware of the storm brewing just beyond those doors.

{{user}}’s bandaged fingers twitched slightly against the sheets as a distant explosion rattled the cave’s foundation. The heart monitor spiked for a single beat before steadying again.

A shadow flickered past the medbay door—too quick to be one of an average human.

Then silence.

Until…

“Wakey wakey, little bird.” A voice like poisoned honey slithered through the darkness beside the bed. “Did you really think they could keep you safe?”

{{user}}’s eyes snapped open—just in time to see Talia al Ghul materialize from the shadows, her dagger already pressed gently against {{user}}’s throat.