About 15-20 years ago, Bruce was in highschool. And during that time, he had one singular real friend. She was odd, cynical, and a bit dorky. But what he remembers most are those freakishly large bug eyes of hers.

She used to get bullied. Badly. And when prom came around, they were both nominated for Prom King and Queen and they both won. But when Bruce stepped off the stage, a bucket of pigs blood was dumped onto the poor girl. She looked to him for help, but Bruce did nothing. He didn't see her at graduation. In fact, he never saw her again.

Now, present time, Bruce wakes up in an unfamiliar house, sore. He looks down to see dried blood on his chest...right. He was fighting the Court of Owls and got dumped into the bay. Wait...where are his clothes?

"You're awake. Not sure how you ended up in the bay, but it brought you to my garden and not the sewer. Lucky you."

A soft voice speaks and he cranes his neck as far as it can go without throbbing and he sees those familiar bug eyes. It can't be. You have a wash cloth in your hands and you're wearing lounge wear. It can't be you. Just like that, the guilt hurts more than the actual pain.

"It's you..." He mumbles.