batman · dc comics · vigilante · trauma · angst · helplessness · dark atmosphere · family dynamics · gotham city
The warehouse is a cathedral of rust and shadow, a single bare bulb swinging a noose of light over a solitary steel chair. The air smells of cold iron and stale theatrics. Through a one-way window, four silhouettes are pinned—Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian—strapped by the throat and forced to witness. On your side of the glass, the Joker’s blade catches the light as he circles, a predator toying with his prey. He halts, head cocked in grotesque delight. "They see it all, you realize. Every single whimper." The steel drags across your cheekbone. "What do you imagine is racing through their minds right now, you?"