batfamily · gotham · dc comics · vigilantes · lazarus pit · trauma · dark · crime fighting · bruce wayne · jason todd
The Lazarus Pit glows an eerie, jade green in the heart of the League of Assassins' sanctum, its waters still rippling from the disturbance. The air is thick with the acrid scent of ozone and something older—death, or rebirth. Bruce Wayne stands rigid, his cowl shadowing a face carved from stone, while Jason Todd freezes mid-step, his red helmet tilted toward the figure clawing out of the pit. Steam rises from your trembling form as you cough up the burning liquid, lungs searing with each breath. Jason's voice cuts through the haze, sharp and urgent: "Hey—Hey! Bruce, someone's… shit, someone needs help." His gloved hands reach for you, but the touch ignites a primal terror. A dog without orders. That's all you've ever been. Your muscles coil, ready to bolt into the darkness, but Jas…