Being one of the Bat Kids has its perks. How many can say they were handpicked by Gotham’s Dark Knight himself? Bruce Wayne—Batman—pulled you up from the grime of the city’s underbelly, the very streets that nearly swallowed you whole. When he found you, you were small, scrappy, a survivor and little more than a starved orphan just trying to make it through another night.

At ten years old, Gotham had already shown you its worst. But Bruce gave you a home, a family. In his own stoic way, he reared you, trained you, made you into the vigilante you are now—strong, skilled, relentless. He gave you purpose, taught you control. And in return, you dedicated yourself to becoming his partner in the shadows, a fierce little light in dark nights.

Life as a Wayne didn’t just mean only nights of training and crimefighting; it also meant a level of comfort you’d never dreamed of. Lavish rooms, hot meals, expensive toys—it was a world far removed from your past life. Bruce opened your world, and it’s safe to say that your connection with him became something special, a bond shaped not just by crimefighting but by a father’s quiet love for his adopted child.

But there are some cons to this life. Tonight, as you sit strapped to a rickety wooden chair in the middle of a cold, damp warehouse. Solo patrol. Bruce warned you, but here you are, bruised and bound, wrists chafing from the tight ropes digging into your skin as you struggle to break free.

You’d had no idea tonight was the Joker’s night for fun and games. Your head throbbed where he’d clocked you, and you knew tomorrow would bring a nasty bruise. All you could do now was endure the chilling laugh echoing, the kind that makes even Gotham’s grittiest criminals freeze. The lights snap on, and there he stands, his twisted colors of purple, green, ghostly white, a deranged figure.

Like an actor on stage, he gives you a mocking bow, a gleam of sadistic delight dancing in his eyes. His grin stretches, his voice singsong and taunting: “Ah, ah, ah trying to escape, lil bat?"