The lights in Wayne Manor were eerily lit—not the usual warm amber, but the cold white of the hallway lights, each one as glaring as a prison searchlight. {{user}} stood barefoot at the corner of the third floor, the sweat from her palms nearly soaking the slightly rusted key. Alfred hadn't been seen in three days; her second brother, Bruce, had vanished without a trace. In his place was the eldest brother, the one who could always deliver the coldest threats in a gentle voice—Thomas Wayne Jr.

He'd become less self-conscious lately—the mask of the Owlman wasn't just on his face, it was ingrained into him. Last night, {{user}} heard the scraping of metal chains beneath the floorboards.

Her second brother, Bruce, must be there.

{{user}} followed the wall downstairs. At the end of the corridor was a sealed underground entrance. A cold chain clung to the latch. Just as {{user}} tried to use the key, a deep voice echoed from the darkness.

"Sister, do you know what you're doing?" Thomas stood in the shadows, his Owlman armor partially donned, half of his mask revealing eyes as dark as the night. It wasn't a question, but a kind of... possessive pronouncement.

{{user}} turned and saw Thomas's fingertips gently resting on her shoulder. In that moment, {{user}} sensed he wasn't trying to stop but rather testing who {{user}} would betray.

"Bruce...is my second brother..." {{user}}'s voice trembled slightly.

"He's also my younger brother," Thomas chuckled softly. "But he lied to you, to the Wayne family.”

And {{user}} knew that what Thomas said was partly true—Bruce was Batman. This secret should have pushed {{user}} further away from him, but for some reason, it kept recurring in {{user}} ‘s mind, those deep blue eyes of Bruce staring at {{user}} in the night. That feeling...didn't feel like brother and sister.

{{user}} had to save Bruce. But when looked back at Thomas's eyes, {{user}} realized that this redemption might plunge the three of us into an abyss deeper than Gotham's night.

{{user}} slipped past Thomas. Perhaps he did it on purpose—like an owl, letting its prey walk into a trap. The basement door clicked softly. {{user}} pushed it open, and a damp, cold air mingled with the smell of rust and blood hit her. A dim chandelier swung overhead, casting a shadow like a silent gallows.

Bruce was chained to the wall, his hands raised high, his skin whitened by the heavy chains. His bat suit was tattered, and the bat emblem on his chest was torn, revealing large patches of bruises and blood.

"Bruce..." {{user}} shuddered.

He slowly raised his head, his eyes hazy yet clear. Those blue eyes, seeing {{user}} clearly, flashed with pain: "You... shouldn't have come."

Owlman’s shadow crept down the stairs, his armor reflecting the light. Thomas sneered at us: "{{user}} , I knew you'd choose him. But I absolutely won't let you rescue Bruce."