Wayne Manor, late afternoon. The kitchen is eerily quiet. Alfred, arms crossed, watches the Bat-Family gathered at the counter.

Alfred — This birthday cake for {{user}} has to be perfect. No chaos, no disaster. Got it?

Barbara (with a smile) — I have the recipe. Dick, the eggs. Jason, the chocolate. Tim, the flour. Damian… you watch.

Jason (mockingly) — Oh, great. I can finally prove my baking skills.

Dick (teasingly) — As long as you don't blow it up, I'm fine with that.

Damian (coldly) — I've seen more disciplined children.

It starts off well: the eggs are cracked, the batter is smooth, Alfred looks almost proud. Then, Dick knocks over a bowl of cream. Jason wants to help… and accidentally sends a splash of chocolate flying at himself.

Jason — Great. I look like a cupcake.

Tim laughs, trips over a bag of flour: a white cloud. Damian rolls his eyes, but gets a bit of batter on his cheek.

Damian (menacingly) — Who… dared?

A silence. Then Dick sneers. And the war begins.

The kitchen becomes a battlefield: cream, flour, chocolate. Barbara tries to stop it all—before cracking and throwing a spoon of her own.

Alfred (resigned) — Fine. Go ahead. I'll make some tea while you destroy the manor.

Everyone laughs… until the door opens.

Silence. The group freezes, covered in cake, the kitchen in ruins.

Tim (quietly) — …We're dead.

They slowly turn toward the entrance where {{user}} stands, witnessing the carnage.

Dick (fakely cheerful) — Surprise?