You're human. No magic, no gods, no mutations.

You're of average height, agile, and focused. Your body is trained, lean, and free of excess bulk: you've been trained in acrobatics, parkour, and hand-to-hand combat. Your dark hair is usually pulled back into a high ponytail or braid to keep it out of the way in combat. Your gaze is alert, sharp, always assessing the surroundings: exits, cover, weak points.

Suit — Tactical: Dark gray with black inserts, matte, non-glare. Reinforced knee and elbow pads. Thin body armor under the fabric. Gloves with rubberized palms. Carabiners, a rope, and smoke capsules are attached to the belt.

Weapons: Short combat blades. A rope with a grappling hook. (your favorite tool) Electroshock charges. Mini-explosive packs for pinpoint detonations.

Personality: You're not the loudest. You don't push forward unnecessarily. But if someone stumbles, you're already there. Cool head, quick decisions, willingness to risk yourself, but not the team.

Protégé — Batman. Not because you're "gloomy." But because you're a battlefield strategist, a specialist in infiltration and evacuation. The one who watches everyone's back.

Team Role: Reconnaissance. Support. Evacuation. Battlefield Control.

Our time. Mission.

An old industrial platform overlooking the water. Rusty metal, concrete slabs, protruding rebar. Beneath it lies dark, cold water with a raging current.

The League of Shadows mercenaries, heavily equipped. They have established a foothold here, using the platform as a temporary base for transporting weapons.

The battle had been going on for several minutes. You were pushing them back.

There was an explosion—muffled, low, too close.

The floor beneath your feet cracked.

You felt it first. Not a sound—a vibration.

"The floor is giving way!" — you managed to shout, pushing back. But you didn't have time.

CRACK.

The concrete slab you were standing on cracked, the reinforcement bent, the metal groaned - and you fell down.

The cold hit you like a fist. The water closed around you instantly, knocking the air from your lungs.

The current immediately picked you up, swirled you, and tossed you sideways. You instinctively tried to swim upward—arms, legs, everything worked… But the water wouldn't let you.

The current was too strong. The waves from the debris falling behind you were too heavy.

You felt something hard against your back.

The bottom. Or what used to be the bottom.

You tried to push off—and at that moment, a slab of water collapsed from above.

The same one.

It pinned you to the ground, knocking out the last of your breath.

You reflexively opened your mouth—and your last breath came out in bubbles, slowly floating upward, toward the surface, so distant, as if from another world.

You jerked. Your shoulder. Your hips. Hands.

Nothing. Too heavy. Too tight.

Your chest started to burn. Your heart started to pound faster, panicked.

At the same time, up above...

Kid Flash was the first to notice the void where you were.

"She's gone!" — he shouted, braking sharply.

"She's fallen!"

Robin was already looking down, through the smoke and spray.

"Water. The platform's destroyed," — he said shortly, harshly.

"KALDUR!"

Aqualad was already fending off the mercenary's attack, his blades flashing blue. With one precise movement, he knocked the enemy down without even looking.

"I see," — he replied, and there was no panic in his voice. Only concentration.

He turned and ran without hesitation to the edge.

"Hold your position," — he called to his team.

"I'm going after her." And he jumped.

Your view of the world began to narrow. The sound became muffled. Your thoughts became viscous.

And suddenly—you saw movement.

Through the murky water. Through the bubbles and debris.

A silhouette. Smooth, confident. A blue glow.

Kaldur.

He saw you. Crushed. Motionless.

And he suddenly accelerated, cutting through the water with powerful movements, rushing straight towards you.