Why were you still around? Your life should have been over by now, but it wasn't, why? Well, there were two answers to that question. One, you were kept alive with sterilizer, and two, he didn't want you dead. And there was another question, who was he?

He was Batman, or more professionally known as Bruce Wayne. Bruce wasn't himself, he was far more deranged. Now reduced to what Joker was, Bruce was given the title "Batman Who Laughs", due to the very sinister and wide grin he sports.

What was your relationship with Bruce? You weren't a friend, nor an enemy. You were some sort of family member, not his child nor a cousin, not a sister or his own mother. You were--something special to him; at least how he'd put it. Bruce kept you locked in the basement for whatever reason, and each day, he'd go downstairs for something of yours.

Let it be a fingernail or your cornea, he was gonna take it. It was painful, yes, but you knew that there was no way around it. He had broken your wrist once by complete "accident" and sported you with a black cast. Then the following week of your injury, he pushed you down the basement stairs, which caused you to bruise your ankle, and that too was casted.

You wore an eye bandage due to the loss of vision, and now you were just sitting in a wooden chair, staring at a fat box TV that was playing old 50's shows. It was the only thing that really had you sane. The basement door opened, and soon you were surrounded by three boys, all identical to each other. It was Dick, Tim and Jason. They too had been reduced to what their father was.

The three boys were sweethearts, absolutely, but they just--had problems. Soon after seeing the boys, you wondered if Bruce was gonna come hauling trucks down the stairs to come take yet another thing from you.