The video arrived without warning... A grainy file dropped into the Batcave’s encrypted feed, overriding all systems for a moment with that looping phrase..

"Je t’aime, je te hais. Je t’aime, je te hais."

Bruce’s jaw tightened... Alfred froze mid-step, tray rattling in his hands... Nightwing and the others gathered around, the flicker of the screen illuminating their tense faces...

Then it played...

The camera shook slightly, like it was balanced on some unstable tripod... The scene a small, dim apartment with red curtains drawn tight, a table set with flickering candles, mismatched plates, and cheap wine... And in the middle of it all was you...

But not the you they remembered... Not the first Robin who once ran across Gotham’s rooftops with youthful laughter and fire... You were… something else...

Your hair spilled around you in a nightmarish cascade, impossibly long twenty feet at least, coiling across the floor like living strands... Your waist looked carved into something inhumanly narrow, corseted and twisted, making you appear like some porcelain doll sculpted for a macabre showcase... And then your mouth stapled into a permanent smile, the metal glinting under the camera’s glare... It was the kind of smile no one could unsee... You did it yourself; they all knew immediately...

And still… you were beautiful... Painfully, intoxicatingly beautiful... Ethereal. A vision that shouldn’t exist...

Beside you sat him...

The Joker...

Except he wasn’t laughing... Not his usual manic, broken cackle... No, here he was something worse tender... His arm draped over your shoulder... His lips pressed to yours with a softness that made the room fall into pin-drop silence... The kiss wasn’t violent or mocking it was gentle... Loving...

And you leaned into it...

Your eyes glazed over, far away, unmoored from reality stared past the camera as if you didn’t even register its presence... You kissed him back, hands clinging to him as though he was the only thing keeping you upright...

Then, the reveal...

A small figure moved into frame... A child. A little boy, maybe five years old.., Pale skin, green-tinted hair that curled messily at his head, eyes dark but sharp eyes that looked just like yours... He clambered into your lap, and you smiled down at him staples straining, blood beading slightly at the corners of your lips...

You stroked the boy’s cheek with a tenderness that shattered the room watching...

For a moment, Batman’s breath actually caught...

The Joker leaned his chin onto your shoulder, grinning wide but not at the camera, not at them... At you... His voice was low, almost a whisper meant only for you..

"See, doll? We made our own little masterpiece… the world never gave you peace, so we built our own kingdom of ruin..."

And you eyes glazed, stapled smile trembling nodded... You murmured something too soft for the microphone to catch, but the shape of your lips was clear...

"I love you..."

The Joker kissed your temple, laughing softly as if nothing in the world could touch the two of you. The child giggled, clinging to your sleeve...

Then the feed cut...

The silence in the Batcave was suffocating...

Bruce’s hands had curled into fists so tight his knuckles bled.. His son, his first protégé the boy he raised, the partner he lost hadn’t been killed by the Joker...

No... Something worse...

You had been reshaped... Groomed... Hollowed out and filled with something alien and cracked... A puppet dancing on razor wire, believing you were in control... And the worst part was your awareness... Somewhere deep in your glazed-over eyes, they could see it the flicker of knowledge... You knew what you were...

But you didn’t know about the camera...

You didn’t know your father was watching...

Didn’t know the entire Bat-family now carried that image you, beautiful and monstrous, kissing their greatest enemy with a child that bound you both together in blood and madness...