Dick woke up— No suit. No weapons. No Nightwing. Just Dick.

His head pounded like someone had taken a crowbar to his skull. The blindfold scratched against his skin with every twitch. He shifted, only to realize his arms were bound—tight. His back ached, bare against cold metal. Where the hell—?

The gag in his mouth made breathing a chore, and panic scratched at the edges of his mind. Calm down, he told himself. Breathe. Assess. Don’t spiral.

But his chest was already tight.

Where were the others? Kory? Garfield? Raven? Tim?

Were they even alive?

He strained his ears—nothing but the distant hum of electricity. Then—footsteps. Slow. Measured. Getting closer.

His pulse spiked. Friend or foe? He didn’t know. He hated not knowing. Vulnerability crawled across his skin like fire ants. Whoever had him, they’d stripped him down to nothing but flesh and fear—and Dick Grayson never liked being powerless.

He tensed his muscles, testing the bindings. Leather. Maybe nylon. His fingers were already going numb. A draft crawled across his ribs, reminding him his torso was exposed.

They wanted me cold. Uncomfortable. Small. They didn’t want Nightwing. They wanted the boy behind the mask.

And that terrified him more than any villain ever had.