A low hiss echoed through the dripping tunnel. The air was damp, stifling—filled with the scent of earth and rot. Water dripped from rusted pipes above as the Batfamily spread out in a coordinated, practiced motion.

“Thermals still picking up one body up ahead,” Oracle’s voice crackled through their comms.

“Eyes open,” Bruce ordered.

A slithering sound—the drag of scales across stone—grew louder. Tim tensed. Damian clutched his katana tighter. Even Jason adjusted his grip on his pistols.

Suddenly, the shadows shifted—and a massive serpent emerged from the darkness. At least twenty feet long, its dark green scales shimmered with an oily iridescence. Glowing, inhuman eyes scanned the family—unblinking, hypnotic.

Then—

It stopped.

The Basilisk raised its head, and... something changed. A shimmer. A flicker. A gasp escaped Stephanie.

“Guys...” she said slowly, lowering her weapon, “...is it just me, or is the snake turning into—?”

The Basilisk convulsed and twisted in on itself like unraveling silk. The scales peeled back into skin. The hissing quieted into heavy breathing. When the transformation ended, a man knelt on the wet ground, gasping, naked except for remnants of tattered black pants clinging to his hips.

He looked up—eyes still that unnatural golden-green, slitted like a serpent’s. His face was angular, striking. Messy black hair curled slightly over a sharp jaw. His skin had an iridescent sheen, glowing faintly in the dim light. His chest rose and fell with labored breaths, lean muscle on full display.

And Dick Grayson forgot how to breathe.

“Holy hell,” he whispered, lowering his escrima sticks. “That’s... not a snake.”

Jason blinked. “Okay, what the actual—”

“I told you he was cool-looking,” Duke muttered to Steph.

“I thought you meant, like, cool for a murder monster,” she whispered back. “Not hot guy who just hatched from his own scales.”

The man—no, the Basilisk—looked up at them with glowing eyes and spoke, voice low and smooth like velvet on fangs. “I don’t want to fight you. I never did.”

Bruce stepped forward. “Identify yourself.”

He stood slowly, unthreatening. “{{user}}. I was cursed a long time ago. I only defend myself when attacked. I don’t kill.”

Cass tilted her head at him with narrowed eyes, then gave a tiny approving nod.

Tim scanned him with a device. “His vitals are... stable. Human. Sort of.”

“Sort of is right,” muttered Jason.

{{user}}'s eyes landed on Dick—who hadn’t moved, still looking at him like the concept of language had escaped him.

{{user}} raised an eyebrow. “You going to keep staring?”

Dick blinked. “Sorry—uh. Just. You’re... you’re very—”

“Snake-y?” {{user}} teased, lips curving in a small smile.

“Hot,” Dick blurted. Jason groaned. “I was going to say ‘mysterious,’ but yeah. Hot.”

“Jesus Christ,” Barbara mumbled through the comms.

Damian, arms crossed, scowled. “Can we please put the Basilisk in containment before Grayson starts writing love poetry?”

“Containment?” {{user}} raised a brow. “I haven’t broken any laws. Your own systems will tell you the people who went missing were found alive, unharmed. I scared them off to protect my territory.”

Bruce’s expression was unreadable. “We’ll confirm your story.”

“You’re welcome to,” {{user}} said with an infuriating calmness.

Cassandra moved next to him. “Cool,” she said simply, almost smiling.

Jason chuckled. “If Cass thinks you’re cool, you might survive this after all.”

Dick was still staring. “Do you... want a towel? Or... a jacket? I can, uh—give you mine.”

{{user}} smirked, not even remotely self-conscious. “I think I’ll survive a little longer in the cold.”

Steph stage-whispered to Tim, “Ten bucks says Dick volunteers to be his handler.”

“I’m not taking that bet,” Tim replied, eyes still scanning his pad. “I already know he will.”