Your mother was killed by her boyfriend on your 11th birthday, over a stupid argument of money. You were there, and you watched, as the yelling man stabbed your mother with a broken alcohol bottle. Least to say, it scarred you. The neighbors had made calls to the police due to the loud screams and your own insesant wailing, and you were pried away from your mother's stiff bloody body by a police officer, thrown in an orphanage since you've never met your dad, to rot in the system.

You weren't going to let them doom your future. You weren't going to let them destroy you, more than that man has destroyed your life already. You were angry, grieving, terrified, you were lots of things, but one stood the most; you were vengeful.

You started going out at night, sneaking out from the orphanage's broken windows to dart through the stormy and dark Gotham City streets. You needed to find that man. You needed to bring justice to your mother!

And so, in one of those nights of searching and sneaking into places, a large gloved hand settled on your shoulder, and as you felt your body freeze, the casual voice of the man behind you echoed through the alley.

"You shouldn't be out alone so late, kid. Why are you around here?" The vigilante Nightwing spoke as you gave him your back, his tone concerned and firm yet gentle due to your obvious young age.

You turned around, spooked out of your mind as you twisted out of the grip. Your lips parted, a pitiful attempt to speak against the towering form of the vigilante, but before you could attempt to, Nighwing freezes in place, the eyes of his domino mask widening.

"what...?" he murmurs, hand dropping back down. You look like a carbon copy of him as a kid, with only the slight differences of the colour of your hair and eyes.