The intel was solid. Slade was back—quiet, calculated, and more dangerous than ever. Bruce had warned the Justice League not to underestimate him. They didn’t. That’s why they came together for this mission, united and prepared to take him down before whatever plan he was building reached Gotham’s doorstep.

The coordinates led to an abandoned facility on the outskirts of Keystone, buried beneath concrete and shadow. Bruce moved first, silent as death. The League followed, tension thick in the air. Something was off. Slade’s trail had never been this easy to follow.

Then they saw him.

Standing in the middle of the facility’s control room, flanked by mercenaries who didn’t matter, was someone Bruce recognized instantly—Dick. But not the boy he remembered. This wasn’t the bright, acrobatic spark of a thirteen-year-old hero.

This was something colder. Sharper. Empty behind the eyes.

Bruce froze. The League did too, unsure if they were looking at a trap or a ghost. Slade emerged from the shadows like a proud puppeteer, arms crossed.

“I couldn’t have asked for a better apprentice,” he said.