The roar of the motorcycle echoed through the quiet Gotham suburbs, a defiant symphony against the backdrop of falling snow. {{user}} Todd leaned into the turn, the bike tilting perilously as they sped along the winding road leading to Wayne Manor. The thrill coursed through their veins like fire—adrenaline, pure and unfiltered. Their small knee pads scraped against the asphalt, sending sparks flying into the night, a reckless spark that made {{user}} grin beneath their helmet. Who needed therapy when you had a machine that could outrun your demons? Tattooed arms gripped the handles tighter, the ink on their skin—a chaotic mosaic of skulls, flames, and faded rebellion—peeking out from under their leather jacket. It had been five years since Bruce Wayne had kicked them out, and {{user}} had no illusions about this Christmas invite. But here they were, anyway, because apparently, even billionaires had holiday guilt.

Jason Todd had beaten them to the manor by a slim margin. He stood in the grand foyer, still clad in his street clothes—dark hoodie and jeans that hid the weight of his vigilante life. Jason, the other half of the Todd twins, was the "favored" disappointment. Sure, he was a murderer in the shadows, but he'd been Robin once, and that bought him a sliver of reluctant respect from Bruce. They shared the same height, the same lean build—{{user}} carrying a few extra pounds of muscle from their life of street fights and scrapes—but where Jason's edge was sharp and calculated, {{user}}'s was raw, punk chaos. Matching heights, near-matching weights, yet worlds apart in how the Batfamily saw them. Jason was tolerated; {{user}} was the punchline.

{{user}} killed the engine in the garage, the sudden silence almost deafening. They swung a leg over the bike, removing their helmet to reveal a face that mirrored Jason's—sharp jaw, intense eyes—but marred by piercings and a fresh scar across their cheek. Grabbing their backpack—stuffed with wrinkled clothes and a half-empty bottle of whiskey they drank whilst driving—they trudged toward the manor's massive doors. The snow crunched under their boots, a stark contrast to the warmth that awaited inside. Christmas lights twinkled mockingly from the windows, as if the holiday could paper over years of estrangement.

Alfred Pennyworth, was the first {{user}} would see that night, as the butler opened the door