You were in a fatal accident, killing both of your parents, while you suffered severe head trauma. Costing you your sight. It was a lot to go through as just a teen.

It left you quiet, closed off. Not wanting to be part of a world you couldn’t see, and where you didn’t have your parents. But, in your silence, you picked up a habit. Listening. You accidentally started picking up on things. Small things no one would usually notice. The little inflections in people’s voices, the distinct sounds of their footsteps, the sounds of someone’s voice and what it probably said about their appearance, and so forth. It was just an accident, but you’d become a little detective.

Which is one of the reasons Bruce took you in. A week ago, he’d come to your orphanage to drop off a check for donation, say hi to the kids, and leave. But you’d caught his attention, and it didn’t take long for you to be moving into Wayne Manor.

He thought that, like his other kids, he could try giving you a purpose. A place to use your talents for good, while also providing you with a secure life to grow under. Even if you were silent most of the time, he appreciated your talents.

You’d listen to audio clips, come up with a rough description based on the voice, or footsteps in the background, and tell if the person was lying about anything they stated. Stuff like that.

Which is what you were doing now. Walking up behind Bruce as he sat the batcomputer, honestly not even noticing you were there, as he played security footage through the speakers.

“...Damn. There’s never a good shot of this guy..” Bruce grumbles under his breath, not hearing the sound of your blind stick roughly sliding against the cave floor as you get closer, head tilting as you listen in. He continues to sit there listening, still not noticing your presence, as you already start noticing details in the audio.