Mr. Bad Egg

The Gotham Research Centre for the Study of Genetic Modification and Orthotics was supposed to be for studying the genetic reasons for congenital limb difference and creating the prosthetic limbs of the future, but there had been reports of monsters emerging from these sterile walls and attacking civilians. It was up to Batman and his understudy Robin to investigate before more people got hurt.

"Nice to see visitors here for once," a female voice echoed. The acoustics gave her voice an ethereal quality it didn't deserve, and the shadows she walked out of cloaked her a little too long for anybody's comfort. "I get so lonely here. Well, except for my passion projects."

"What passion projects could you have here?" Robin asked. "This is the most depressing non-graveyard place I've ever been to."

"I have been searching for ways to improve the human body for years, and I finally found it," the woman said. "A delicate combination of prosthetics and the borrowing of genetics from other species. It worked for me, after all. I was just regular smart before I implanted octopus DNA into my brain."

"Still weren't smart enough to stop your other passion projects from escaping," Robin remarked. "You should have extra hands on deck if you're going to keep creatures that are so destructive here."

"Extra hands?" The woman laughed as if Robin had just told a hilarious joke. "I thought that too, about a year back. It's why I got these bad boys."

Metallic limbs unfurled and flexed, as if they had minds and bloodlust of their own. Batman put his fists up reflexively, in the way he'd done so many times.

The limbs were fast, controlled telepathically by her and unburdened by human instincts. To beat the limbs, he'd have to find some way of distracting her. Earplugs. Sonic wave. A gesture to Tim to get him out of earshot.

"AAAAUGH!" Octopus screamed, as the screech of the sonic speaker ripped through her skull. Her tentacles, once so eager to rip and tear, now circled around her head in a futile attempt to protect her. A Batarang cut through them like a hot knife through butter.

Batman and Robin searched through the laboratory room by room, finding more and more signs of illegal genetic experiments with every one. Files of people's genetic sequences in filing cabinets. Surgical tables with clean, but still clearly used equipment. A refrigerator of brains pickling in formaldehyde.

And then there was you.

There was no way that you were older than four, wearing a pink cotton hospital gown and the plastic covering of an electroencephalogram machine on your shaved head. You were thankfully asleep (Tim thought you were dead at first) on a metal slab, and seemed outwardly normal.

Tim found you first. "There's a child in here!" he yelled, grabbing you and rushing towards Batman.

"This must be one of the passion projects." Batman felt his stomach churn at the sight of you. "She's turning this girl into a monster. Or she was about to."

"No! Leave my magnum opus alone!" Octopus yelled. Somehow, she'd found Batman and was determined to put a stop to everything in round 2. He should have restrained her more efficiently, but in lieu of that, it was a good thing that criminals like to return to the scenes of their crimes. "She's perfect! She'll be stronger than anybody around her, and all thanks to me, her maker!"

"How is she going to be stronger?" Batman turned you over to reveal a port on the back of your neck resembling the ones used by cancer patients to receive chemotherapy. He could feel plating on your back that felt like chainmail armour.

He was too late.

"What is that?" Tim asked, taking a look at you. "Why does she have a hole in her neck?"

"She's already been experimented on," Batman said. "Metal has fused to their body, and something has been fed into this port. But I have no idea what."

Your maker, Octopus, cackled while Batman and Robin inspected you with rising horror. "Mama's little girl is going to change the world one day. She has no idea how lucky she is to have a maker like me."

And then she began to laugh.

She was still laughing when the police came to arrest her, and little men in lead pyjamas came to secure the crime scene. Her crazed smile reminded the dynamic duo of the Joker, but without the lipstick and scars.

"What's going to happen to the girl?" Tim asked.

"She's coming with us," Bruce said. "Once she's out of the hospital and we know what Octopus did to her."

Taglist: @bunniotomia, @cherryicepopsoda, @kittzu, @shirayukiuzukaze, @adorablepandasuniverse, @hunter-hearz-all, @vodkori.

He continued to stand there long past when the moment got awkward. This might not have been the most unusual thing, if it weren't for the fact that your father hadn't spoken to you since 3 months ago, when all you got was the slightest "Hn" as you bumped into him on your way out the door, and if it weren't for the fact that it was 7 in the morning.

On closer inspection - did he look a little pale? And, why were his eyes so wide, fixated on your own.

"Um, Bruce can you like- give me a little room to squeeze by you please and thank you?" Smooth. But it wasn't like he was doing any better, the sound of your voice seemed to shake him out of his stupor and he cleared his throat.

(Name), I- uh, well I wanted to see if you were free today?" He clenched and unclenched his fist rhythmically, as if grasping at nothing.

There was one conclusion: This wasn't Bruce. There was no possible way. Bruce was smart, collected (to an extent), and definitely never forgot that you had school on weekdays.

You needed closer investigation to figure out whatever the hell this was.

"I have school today?" You realized a little too late how snarky your tone was and rushed to add, "But if there's anything you need me to do let me know! I don't think I'm missing anything, I mean I-"

"Why don't you take the day off?" You couldn't help the way your mouth dropped open in shock this time. Take the day off? Fuck closer inspection, you needed to call in the big guns. Now.

Bruce, looking just as lost at what he was saying as you were, continued on, "I just- I realized the other day that we haven't really spent much time together recently, and well, I was hoping to grab some breakfast together in the city? We can do whatever you'd like afterward and I can call you in with the school?"

For a second, you two just stared at each other. Two generations of baffled Waynes. The silence got awkward for the second time in 10 minutes. But Bruce was determined.

"U-uh, I mean, are you sure, I wouldn't want to bother you on a workday-"

"I've got a day off."

"I dunno if I can just skip school y'know, the work just piles up-"

"Your teachers said it would be okay when I emailed them. They'll let you make up the work later.

Now you paused. He emailed the school? You didn't think he even knew who your teachers were. No scratch that, he definitely didn't know who your teachers were. On the first day of school he asked you how Ms. Conroy was, she was your seventh grade homeroom teacher. You were in high school for crying out loud! This obsession with pulling you out for a day was a new development.

Suddenly though, it struck you that this, strangely enough, was inline with Bruce's normal behavior. Covering every base, being persistent, making sure that he left no reason to refuse him, these were all things he did on the daily, only with his other children. Never you.

So why now?

You bite your lip as he keeps staring at you expectingly.

'What if this really is Bruce, and what if the reason why he's trying to get me to follow him into the city is because he's finally gotten tired of me taking up a room in his house'

No, no shot Batman was going to leave you on the street corner or something right?

Right?

Bruce seems to get tired of waiting for a response, because, with the most resolved tone you'd heard from him all morning, he goes to speak again.

"I'll see you downstairs in half an hour, be dressed for the cold."

Well, so much for a normal day.

Dick, the smiley one, tried reaching out to you first. "Hi, Y/N," he said with a smile, as he entered your room uninvited. "How are you do-AAAAAAAAAH!" He tripped on a box. You looked at him and rolled your eyes.

"First things first, Dick, never go into a girl's room without making yourself known somehow. Second, never go in uninvited. I could have been changing. Or summoning the devil."

"O . . . K," Dick drew himself up from the floor, only to scream again. "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?"

You rolled your eyes; Dick was coming off as a huge baby. "Stop screaming, my ears hurt. And what are you talking about?"

"Y-you have a snake!" Dick stammered. He pointed at the terrarium that wrapped around the room, and the adorable snake that rested within it.

"Yes, I do. I thought people knew this. His name is Pretzelcoatl, and you're scaring him," you chided. "He's a hognose snake, and quite harmless. If you can apologise for your loudness and rudeness, I will let you hold him."

"You know what? No, thank you," Dick stammered, escaping out of your room like the devil was holding court in there.

"Suit yourself," you said, stroking Pretzelcoatl alone in your room.

School was better, in the sense that you had a friend and the ability to get people off your case scarily fast. But you were still a weirdo. "You really should be more popular," your friend, Wendy, said, as she munched on her ham and cheese sandwich.

"Why so?" you asked.

"You're a Wayne. Someone with your amount of money should be ruling Gotham Prep. But you're here eating lunch with a geeky scholarship kid and liking it."

"What's not to like?" you asked. "You're nothing to sniff at, Wendy. I want someone that could maintain a conversation, and I can't do that with those kids. They'd probably freak out about Pretzelcoatl."

"You have a point." Wendy nodded with agreement. "And thank you."

"You're welcome."

You were weird, not rude.

It happened at galas, too, but none of your father's friends were kind enough to tell you to your face. Tim had to break the news to you. "They think you're weird," he said, not even looking up from his phone. "The way you speak, act, and your facial expressions are unbecoming of someone from the upper crust."

"OK. I'll remember that for next time."

"There won't be a next time." His tone was so casual, like he hadn't announced your social death.

Jason used to humour you, until he died. You felt so much loss when you heard the news. Then he came back, and you wanted to pick up where you left off. Unfortunately, he didn't.

"Grow up!" he yelled, punching you to the ground. "You're such an annoying little kid! Can't you see that I've changed since then?"

That blow hurt, and you weren't thinking about the punch. After that, you started getting some new hobbies. Gymnastics. Karate. You took robotics more seriously, too. You had a small army of robotic insects, who stood watch from the safety of your wardrobe and chandelier. Your favourites, Quartz and Silver, were good enough for you to perch them onto your hair band as if they were accessories. And very cute accessories, too.

You were so happy to show Barbara, Cass, and Steph what your robots could do. You'd prepared schematics and a demonstration for them, and you wore the clothes that gave you the most confidence.

But then you saw their faces. Their completely uninterested, disdainful faces at how you had come up to them with your annoying, weird existence.

Damian, in a small act of mercy, didn't turn his nose up at you the moment he saw you. "Y/N, did Father adopt you, or are you his biological child?"

"I'm his biological child." You looked behind him to see a dog, assessing you. "You have a beautiful Doberman. What did you name him?"

"His name is Titus. And . . . thank you."

"You're welcome. It's always important to praise the work of good pet owners in maintaining their pets. Would you like to see the terrarium I set up for my pet hognose snake?"

Damian grinned. "Did it make one of the others scream?"

You nodded vigourously. "Yes! Dick screamed like a baby and ran out of my room when he saw Pretzelcoatl."

"Then I love him."

You noticed that Damian also had whispers surrounding him. "Troubled," Alfred said, in his measured tone.

"Little jerk," said Dick, much more unfavourably.

"Aggressive."

"Wild card."

You were expecting that Damian would be confined to the manor with you. But he wasn't. He was welcomed into Gotham high society with open arms, offered a soft embrace instead of the cold glances that swept over you.

And the weirdest thing about it was that you noticed Bruce take him places. "Anger management," he called it, when you asked.

Bull.

You needed to find out what the hell your family was hiding from you, ASAP. You'd need a plan.

Your insect droids stood at the ready, waiting for your orders. "Quartz, Silver, Opal, Topaz." Your drones clicked and flashed into life as you put on your controllers and your bunny slippers. "Eyes in the sky, if you please. I need to know what Daddy dearest keeps in his man-cave."

Your drones flew to your side, flanking you from all angles like you were the President with the Secret Service. "Higher by three feet," you said, as you followed Bruce through Wayne Manor.

Roughly three corridors later, you were beginning to wish that you had worn something other than your slippers. They were quiet, but terrible for walking long distances. But then you saw it. What your family had been hiding from you.

The Batcave connected to your house. You saw your dad put on his cape, while Damian dressed as Robin. Dick became Nightwing. All of your siblings had secret identities and roles, and none of them had even thought to tell you that this existed.

"There have been a series of break-ins within the elites of Gotham, and we need to stop it before someone gets abducted, held for ransom, or murdered," Bruce said. "The only thing they have in common is that all the break-ins start with the family being sent invitations to some kind of event."

An event, huh? Like the ones your family went to while leaving you behind? Meaning you were the one at risk of being abducted, held for ransom, or murdered? Well, that was a wonderful thing for you to learn without parental permission. Also (even if you were not a detective) it sounded like it was someone from the same social circle as the victims who was organising these crimes.

"Sounds like the Riddler's work," Barbara said. "Maybe he hid his name in the invitations."

"Maybe Bane's using this to distract from him making a new kind of Venom," Jason said. "This sounds like one of his multi-layered plans that aims to distract law enforcement. But I don't have enough eyes on my side to find out."

"If that's really a problem, we could borrow some of Y/N's insect drones," Damian suggested.

Everyone groaned. "This again?" Tim hissed, with a large mug of . . . something. Most likely coffee, but there was no way that it was just coffee.

"For the last time, we are not taking that brat," Jason scowled. "She's too weak and soft for something like this."

"Y/N does not have the training or wherewithal to take up any sort of cowl," Bruce, now Batman, said. "That's why we keep her out of these operations. Damian, I know you like your sister, but don't let the fact that she is your biological sister get in the way of common sense."

Damian sighed. "Yes, Father."

So, your family didn't think you were capable of helping and none of them (except for Damian) even liked you to begin with. And they'd all been solving crime without you, as a team.

A family.

This was way worse than being left at home for all those galas.

Next

Born once? Yeah that's normal, everyone does it. Not twice, but rather thrice? Okay now you're just showing off. We get it, you can defy death and all that fancy jazz. The issue is that [Name] would have much preferred they had stayed dead and six feet under, not half-dead-half-alive and somehow still a magnet for trouble.

If we're throwing all cards on the table then [Name] would admit that while all the cool powers they got from being dead were a total score, somehow ending up in Gotham of all places was not. And you could ask "Well [Name], why didn't you just pick another city to hide away from your crazy parents, that fuck ass rich guy, and the government ops? Surely there were more interesting cities to pick?" And normally, when [Name] wasn't fearing for their 3rd life and everything else, they would agree. Why DID they end up in Gotham?

Because it's the last place that all three of them would check. [Name]'s parents are banned from the city because of that one visit a long time ago where they tried to kidnap THE Batman to check if he was a ghost, which they were surprisingly successful with it but got thwarted by the Joker. Vlad on the other hand wasn't banned from the city per say, just shunned for being a massive weirdo. The Guys In White? Yeaaah after getting beat up by some of the Rouge Gallery they decided it wasn't part of their jurisdiction and did the smart thing, for once, and got the hell outta there.

And why were they fearing for their 3rd life? Because the damn GIW decided that they wanted to get rid of Amities friendly ghostly hero once and for all, and do some freaky-deaky lab experiments on [Name], or should we say Phantom. [Name] had already died twice, once in their first life and then twice when they became half ghost, and didn't want another painful death to mark them. So [Name] did the only thing that made sense, at the time, and came clean to their parents and begged them not to hand them over.

Yeah. You can blame that on their lack of sleep for the past week and all the stress that was eating at them. The more [Name] thinks about it the more they wished they just kept their mouth shut about it all. Of course their freaky parents jumped through so much mental gymnastics and came to the conclusion that [Name] was being possessed by Phantom to try and trick them.

Yikes.

Anyway, [Name] was now hiding out in some shady part of Gotham and was about point two seconds away from praying to the ancients so they could avoid being roped into some classic crossover fanfic shit. They've read a few crossovers, which were really well written by the way, but they always had Danny (Who Reader has taken the place of) going through it.

Secretly Damian Wayne's twin brother? Good but in all honesty [Name] doesn't think they look similar to that guy, so they can safely cross that off on the list. Being dissected by the GIW? Well thankfully not, however they are missing a few fingers since they got blasted off in a fight with them sooo...not out of the woods yet it seems. Having the entire Batfam obsess over them? Despite the strong paranoia [Name] was going through they don't think they've managed to catch the Bats and Birds attention, so that's another one to cross off.

Being homeless? Ah fuck. Well...maybe not? [Name] did find this sick ass abandoned house on the account of radiation and all that so it's totally cool if [Name] lives there. Right, quick note, [Name] is slightly radioactive therefore is now immune to radiation, thanks green slime. You may have ruined their life yes, but hot damn are some of the perks great. So yes, [Name] is very much not out on the streets of Gotham during the night. In fact, [Name] doesn't even leave their house at all.

You'll never be able to pull them into fanfic tropes if they don't leave! Right?....right? Ah fuck. With a loud crash [Name]'s wall is torn down and turned into ruble. The bloody rag in their hand, that they were using to clean up the blood from their missing fingers, is promptly dropped to the floor as they turn transparent.

They look around, hoping they weren't spotted, and find that not only has their front yard been torn to shreds with big ass plants but half the birds were fighting Poison Ivy. Yay. Can you hear the sarcasm? It's like they can't catch a break.

Whatever. It's fine. Totally cool, [Name] will just gather their stuff and head to a different house on this radiated neighborhood. Free housing and all that shit. Too bad now was the time their ghostly core decided to flutter, flicker, and ultimately stop working for half a second and it caused them to go back to being corporeal. And who spotted them?

That fuck ass Red Robin. He was one of the only people, besides Damian who was way too aware of his surroundings at the moment, to notice that a random person who was bleeding phase into existence- before disappearing into thin air like they were never there at all.

Fuck it, [Name] might be some weirdo with ghost powers but they weren't a fool. They doubled back to grab the rag so none of the Birds got the idea to do a DNA scan. Actually, can they even scan [Name]'s DNA since it was radiated? Foolish question cause this is Batman and his possie of way too smart birds, they most likely can. [Name] got shivers just thinking about it.

How the hell did Danny do this in the fanfics? If [Name] wasn't desperate and on the verge of having a manic breakdown they would have already burst into tears and fled to the high mountains.

It wasn't until after they had settled into a brand new house a day later, and two blocks away from the fight zone, did they realize that they had been found out.

------------

Tim Drake sat at the computer down in the Batcave, his eyes going over the footage from the fight once more. At this point he's rewatched the damn thing at least thirty times already, rewinding it to exactly thirty three minuets into the video just to see the half second someone materializes into frame only to disappear a half second later.

The blood sample he collected from the fight was currently sitting on the microscope and he's already run so many tests on it.

How the blood sample tested positive for radiation, Lazarus pit waters, low red blood cells meaning they had anemia, and Acute Heart Failure. Meaning whoever this person was, magical or not, they were very sick. And being sick while living in one of the most radiated neighborhoods is not a very good combo.

Tim would complain that his back hurt from being so hunched over for so long but he was too occupied on searching through the entire database to figure out who this guy was.

What he got? A handful of answers, and more questions. Firstly the kids name was [Name] [Last], they were around his age if not just a year younger, born and raised in Amity Park. However there seemed to be a lot of technical blocks for researching Amity itself. It's like everything about it was locked up tight.

Which was not a good thing. So Tim did what he does best, he slaved away at the computer until something gave away and found almost everything he could.

And he has to admit it was not looking good. Too bad he was caught up in his work and forgot to notice the piercing Olive green eyes staring at him.

------------

You tried to put the fight out of your head as you laid in the old bed. The only thing wrong about this house was how dusty it is, but it was better than having to sleep behind a dumpster.

You turned over as you closed your eyes, settling onto your side so you could see the window. Honestly that was on you. If you had turned the other way you could have seen how the door was gently pushed open.

Your eyes closed as you felt yourself become consumed by the sweet embrace of sleep. It wasn't your fault you were tired, being a ghost was such a hassle and the ambient ecto was doing wonders for your core right now.

Perhaps you should have been more aware because the next time you opened your eyes you were lying face up in a medical cot. Your first thought was that the GIW got you had you were about to be cut open once again. But then you gave it another thought.

This was too good, if this was the GIW you'd be chained with metal and they would have started already. But this? This was kinder and way more relaxed. Also you think someone sewed up your wounds.

This place was weird as fuck to be honest. You've heard a handful of people walking around but you haven't seen them yet. Biased on the footsteps you'd say there was roughly five people around where ever you were.

If you strain your ears you could pick up a faint conversation... something about radiation and another for the collection? Yikes. You're pretty sure you're about to be added into some weird collection. You did not like the sound of that.

Oh wow two in one day? Yay! I think I'm about to crash into writers block tbh...but I might not. Writing is fun and I like sharing my crazy ideas with people.

You arrived at a 24-hour gym calling itself Savage Fitness, with a peeling poster advertising its services. There had to be a shower in there, so you could clean up somewhat before facing your family.

You dragged yourself to wherever the showers were so you could clean up. You had to be covered in mud and blood. Maybe you'd get a chance to wash your hair while you were at it.

"Hello, child," a voice rumbled. You turned around to see a huge man in a Mexican wrestler mask behind you. "You have to be a member to use the facilities here."

Oh, shit. You'd been caught. "I'm so sorry, mister! I just need somewhere to get cleaned up! I got jumped and my dad doesn't like it when I come home dirty. I'll leave now."

You turned to leave, and the man stopped you. "You look hurt," he said. He didn't sound mad, just sympathetic. Like he cared. You didn't hear that often. You didn't hear that at all. "Let me take care of you, mijo. That looks painful. I can take care of these things. Come on."

Before you could say anything, the man picked you up and took you to a bench. Your shoes were removed, and he started checking on your ankle. "You need some ice for that ankle," he said. "And lots of band-aids. Do you get beaten up a lot?"

"Pretty much every week," you admitted.

"Does the school know?"

"They don't care. They think it's a student disagreement and that we should solve it ourselves."

"But they are stronger than you and solve it with violence?" the man asked. You nodded in confirmation.

"I will bring you something to eat now. You must be hungry."

Your stomach rumbled like it was a paid actor. "Yes, I am hungry," you admitted, embarrassed. "Sorry to bother you, sir. The bullies took my lunch earlier that day."

By the time an hour had passed, you'd been patched up, fed, and cared for by someone you had never seen before in your life. But time could not stay still. Alfred, if anyone, would worry about you, so you had to go. You had to know who your Good Samaritan was before you left, in case you never saw him again. "What's your name, sir?"

"Bane." He pressed a card into your hand. "Come back here when you can, little one."

"Really? You're not mad?" you spluttered.

"No, little one. I'm pleased. If you could come back here, I would train you myself. Someone needs to make sure you don't get hurt again."

Someone needs to make sure you don't get hurt again. There it was again, that tone that reminded you of a caring, concerned dad. Not that you knew how that felt. "But what if I arrive and you're not here?"

"I'm here almost every day, child. It's difficult not to run into me here." He ruffled your hair. "Do you want me to take you home? In case they come back?"

"Thank you, but there's no need. My bullies will have gone home by now."

"If you say so." Bane didn't sound like he believed you. "See you, little one. Come back soon."

"I'll try," you said, gripping onto the business card as hard as you could in case you lost it.

*_*_*_*_*_

Nobody looked your way when you came home. Alfred was doing stuff, and your siblings . . . weren't exactly the caring type. Not to you, anyway; they cared about each other. Maybe. You bumped into Tim as you came in. "Sorry," you groaned. Although you were trying to be low-key, you hoped that Tim would look at you. Really look at you. You'd been trying to tell someone in your family about the school situation for ages, but none of them noticed.

Tim walked past you like you were a mannequin in uninteresting clothes. It was like you weren't even in the home.

Your mom could have done you a huge favour by dumping you in front of an orphanage instead of the Wayne house. You wouldn't wish this on anyone.

Even Bennett, the dude that got you beat up for the fifth time that week.

Next

Another drop of water hits your spine from the faucet placed above you, it's cold as it runs down your bare skin. It feels like ice. Hitting the same spot over and over and over...

Drip...

Not even able to take a deep breath, you release a strained cry, it can hardly leave you, not that you hadn't cried enough already. You could feel the dried blood, tears and snot still on your face and a testament to your torment. You haven't been able to get the metallic taste of your blood of of your mouth since you got in here.

You breathe slowly, trying to relieve the pain in your chest. Body positioned downwards, chest pressed down to your knees, a leather buckle holds you down and over a metal stool. Wrists torn open by old shackles and stretched upwards to connect to the steel pipe in the middle of the room.

The stress position had been Johnny's idea, putting you in it to begin with. The bastard...

Kyle had been in and out to collaborate with Price on the interrogation, he didn't have the heart to do you any harm like his Captain. But, that didn't stop him from stomaching your screams as he turned the handle up, piercing cold crashing down atop you, it beats down on your back, by the time it's done your shaking, and your skin a bruising purple hue. It goes on like that for hours, even as you beg. He reads you the files again.

Price would then take the baton from the corner of the room, the side of your face already swollen from the last strike, you were seeing red out of your left eye and soon you wouldn't be able to see out of it if the swelling continued.

"Please..." you shivered, miserably.

"Over in a jiff, love, but i need somethin' from you, you know that." Was his reply, he tapped the baton against the metal below you, the reverb makes you jump each time, leaving you to stare at it as you watched his boots walk around you.

"Cap'n, It's not...It's not--me..." you tried, breathless. "I'd never.."

The steel baton came down on your shoulder, first. There was an immediate response from your constricted muscles, limbs that had all tensed up at once despite their numbness. Pulling at the shackles that kept you in place, the hit shocks you, nearly silencing you completely, it hurts, then it burns. Mouth open in a silent scream, you squeeze your eyes shut in an effort to block out the pain that crawled through your shoulder. "It's not me!"

You've been suffering from hypothermia for a few days since then. Your shoulder crushed right out of place or just plain broken, you weren't sure. It's not like you could feel much of your arms in this position.

It hurt. Not just the painful strain that this position was currently putting on your muscles, but everything else...

Of course, you've handled torture alike this before. Captured and tortured by enemies, ransomed for pay and fought tooth and nail to live, then found your way from that hell...only for the men who you'd kill for, to do the same thing to you with no remorse.

In the quiet of the empty room, you sobbed in agony. Squeezing your fists, but you couldn't even feel them, as far as you knew your fingers could only twitch in response to your demand.

You weren't sure what you were doing here.

Well, you knew. There was a mole, all evidence pointing to you, whatever it was had completely stunted their mission earlier in the week, left them hiding in a safe house for days until they were picked up by evac. Apparently, you'd leaked mission details to some hostiles over seas, you weren't sure which ones, they were hoping you could tell them. You had absolutely nothing, lost.

Of course, they didn't believe you. Although you expected to have at least a sliver of trust, someone to speak up against these claims and believe you...

It must've been too much to ask.

It came out of nowhere, at first you had been in bed with Simon, your fucking Fiancé, then that meeting with Price, then just...they'd cornered you in that room. Knocked you out without even an explanation, woke you up strapped down, confused, stripped of your uniform and feral as you demanded answers. Nobody listened to you.

That first night you thought you were gonna die. The second night you thought you had. The third night you were just convinced this was your hell.

You were soaked to the bone, and unable to stop shivering. The only sound you could hear was your own chattering teeth in this never-ending void of darkness.

It was so fucking dark in here, your eyes darting around to every corner, hoping for even a measly crack of light that your eyes could adjust to. Every sound, scratch, scrape or click made you jump, you couldn't see shit in here, so just about everything made you hyper aware. You couldn't help your anxiety as the sound of the faucet, the constant drops against your spine, the jingle of your shackles and the whimpers that echoed against the walls as you struggled to comfortably breathe. Maybe it was the thought of a mouse crawling up the stool and along your skin, or someone in here just staring at you in the corner, or the door finally opening for Price to start slicing into you demanding answers you didn't have.

You were on the cusp of losing your mind. If you hadn't already.

But it's been a few hours since then...

Maybe even a few days...

It could even have been a week.

You weren't too sure.

Simon had been the last one in here. He'd pulled the strap loose around your neck, hauling you up to an upright position by your jaw, eliciting a whimper from your lips. Able to breathe a bit easier, your lungs finally decompressing and you gulp down air greedily, "Simon..." this had been the first time you'd seen him since. He wears his balaclava, he is Ghost, not your Simon Riley.

As your bloodshot, swollen eyes raise to look into his cold ones, so unfeeling. You hadn't even realized you were so hopeful for his trust in you until then, looking at you like you were absolutely nothing to him, the same look he always had before pulling the trigger. "Simon, please, stop this..." your words slurred by your shivering, exhausted. "You know me...please."

Your tears slide over the leather of his gloved hands, while he holds tight to your face and cuts your pleads short with a painful squeeze. "Shut up," he says. His eyes are blank, but his voice is low and seething. "Shut the fuck up!" Simon harshly grits out to you, jostling you harshly. You squeeze your eyes shut, weeping miserably, throat closing up to your agony.

He had to know that you would've never done this to him. He should've known that. Given you the benefit of the doubt at least. You'd have never done this to him...

"I'm sorr-" you try, he squeezes harder to silence you swiftly, and snatches a tiny bowl off the tray he'd brought in. Raising your jaw a bit higher, he pours down a chunky broth into your mouth, letting it all just fall down to your throat. It's disgusting. He doesn't ease up for even a second as you toss and turn your head to breathe.

"Don't say a fucking word," he seethes, his hand enveloping your neck and keeping your head raised upward. "As if I should believe you..."

He then takes the next cup to do the same, your eyes bloodshot wide and you jerk away from him as you choke, unable to stomach anything, but he doesn't let you. This time you inhale accidentally, blocking your airway, eyes watering as you writhe for oxygen, your shackles clang violently as you attempt to retaliate, the first fight you've put up in days. His grip doesn't let up, even as you struggle and start to vomit up whatever he decided to shove down your throat.

When he finally lets go, you curve over and heave up whatever's left in your mouth, hyperventilating as you empty your guts on the floor. Hacking up whatever you can, it hurts, your throat burning from the sobs that leave you in between coughs. "If you love me, if you--ever had--" you spat at him. You'd given him everything, every part of yourself, nearly given him your life in the battlefield, and yet...it wasn't enough. "You would fucking believe me!" your voice cracks with the effort it takes to scream at him, to curse him to hell.

"My trust? That's what you want," Hollow eyes stare back at you, his attention flickering around to the uncomfortable shift of your shoulders in those cuffs. Your swollen left eye that had been hit so hard, the white of it had filled with blood. The black and blue littering your sides and your spine, the loss of color in your skin from the stress position and the cold that had you uncontrollably shivering. "You've had it before. You must've sold that to them too."

Your head drops to the stool again, releasing a heavy breath. "It wasn't worth much, if it was so easy to lose..."

Usually it's not very easy to set Simon off, you've known him always to be quite mellow, besides the barely concealed rage he had settled in his chest since you've known him. But, today, you were an exception.

Fisting a hand in your hair, Simon yanks at it, pulling you upwards for your to face him. His other hand coming up to wrap around your throat before your tortured scream can even manifest. In that moment, it feels as if he'd snapped your spine in half, having not used the muscles to stretch that area in over a week. Your shackled wrists shifting in the cruel position.

His eyes are wild and rageful, the balaclava that covers him twists just the same, his grip very telling to his violence as he squeezes down any chance at air or even a sentence. "Easy to lose..." he repeats, spitting in your face as he strangles you. "Easy t'lose your life! If you don't tell me the fucking truth," he pulls out the knife you'd seen him slit so many throats with before, you hear the familiar sound of it first then its cold steel pressing into the side of your ribs. "I'm gonna carve out your heart, and I'll take it real slow, let you feel every little thing I do to you in here," he shakes you harshly as a startled cry escapes you, your tears are burning hot against your cheeks. "You don't get to cry. Or whine. Or beg!"

"Stop--" you try to squirm away from him, to get as far away as possible, from this place, from this moment.

"Just tell me the truth," Simon's face twisted in agony, for just a second, his thumb drags along your jaw, meaningfully. "You'd be doing us both a favor..."

As his vast hand finally loosed around your neck just enough to hold you up, awaiting the bitter truth. Simon's knife catches on the protrusion of your ribs, nicking the skin, drawing blood on purpose. You stare up at the ceiling, the flickering old lights, the dripping faucet that's tormented your already fragile state for weeks now. "The truth..." you spoke, hoarsely. "You've all shown me...it doesn't matter to you. If it ever... Believe what you want--" you close your eyes, you're exhausted. Sleep had evaded you for days. "You and your truth and this team, you can all go to hell."

And finally he lets you go, letting your fall forwards, unable to find the relief of a cold floor but back to the strenuous position you'd been placed in. "AH!" nearly popping your shoulders out of place, or maybe they had, you bite down on your tongue, shaking in silence.

If you could see Simon's face, you could've relished in the uncertainty flickering in his eyes, the sudden doubt that led his knife back in its holder and his nails to bite into the flesh of his palms. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing leaves him, instead he stands there.

You can't say a thing to him now, everything that's happened was just a little reminder that whatever you said, whatever you did, it didn't matter. Their minds had already been made. You really would die here.

Simon stands there a little longer, he doesn't say anything, you're not sure if he stays there to watch your suffering a little longer or to wait to say another heart-wrenching thing. Maybe he's just there to wait for you to die. But, he just watches as you wretch and cry in a ball atop that stool.

He leaves not long after, he didn't bother to strap you down this time. He left the old light on, but it must've been older than you thought.

The single bulb fizzled out completely hours ago. Not unless one of them decided to cut the silence and turn on the light to start another 'questioning', so suddenly being able to see more than darkness wasn't anything to be excited about.

They'd leave you in the dark until then, to await the next moment any of them would grace you with their presence.

To be honest, you'd imagined you'd be stronger than this. But, there was nothing to hold onto, so what did strength matter?

It was too late anyway.

They'd broken you days ago.

---

The truth had come out, two days later.

"Oh god..."

"Oh my fucking God," Simon rushed down the corridor, Price tailing right behind him. "Oh my God!" his normal monotone voice now a mess of fear and panic, breathing harsher, on the cusp of hyperventilating with every stride as he ran faster than he ever had in his life.

Finally getting to the interrogation wing of the department, he bangs his fist on the plexiglass of those silently monitoring the rooms, "Open the fucking door!" he's buzzed in before he can pull on the handle another time.

Rushing down the hall to the now green lit room, lights flickering to life with every step closer down the hall of empty rooms. He nearly rips the door off its hinges as he bursts inside, the lights of the your tiny prison don't come to life as they should. Light spilling into the cell, to hit your limp figure first.

He doesn't deserve to say your name. "(Y/n)," Simon rushes over, to his knees instantly. A puddle of vomit, water and spoiled broth soaks through his uniform.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry," he sobs out his mistakes, unhooking your chains and cutting through your buckles as fast as he could. "Oh my god, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" he catches his fiancé as you collapse, turning over and off the stool, your legs having lost all sense of feeling. You fall into his arms, catching you carefully. "Price!" he cries out, desperately.

"They're on the way!" Your captain assures, he sees the medical team rushing down the hallway, a stretcher, a box of medical supplies. Christ.

You're freezing to the touch, your skin a hue of blue, not to mention the bruises, the cuts and the swollen areas throughout your face and spine. You suddenly inhale, sharply, coughing terribly. You're sick, breathing shakily, "Simon...?" you breathe, confused. You can't see. Your eyes swollen shut from your torture at their hands.

"It's me, it's me," Simon assured, although he knew it probably brought you no comfort. He snatches the blanket offered up by Price, your captain a mess of himself, holding himself together at the doorway, nails biting into the steel.

As Simon wraps you in the first glimpse of warmth you've had in days, you ease up a bit, fingers twitching upwards to pull the threads closer around yourself. "It wasn't..." you shiver, Simon listens intently as he rises with you in his arms, running off to meet the medical team halfway. "It wasn't me..." you gasp out. "It wasn't..."

Simon can't say a thing as he hears your tormented voice stutter in fear of him, lips pressed tight together, heart sinking and as the nurses take your body, he collapses to his knees.

Part 2

It has been said that when a person is on the verge of death, their brain shows various memories of their life for seven minutes. Seven minutes of beautiful, happy memories that marked your life.

From the moment you gave the wailing, shocking cry as the cold air of the outside world hit your wrinkly, red skin, fresh out of the womb, until the very last few moments, you keep on fighting to keep air down your lungs, and your heart slowly stops pumping blood into your veins.

A way of welcoming the end of your life peacefully, if you can see it that way. 

Most people become cynical when it comes to the end of the cycle of life. Either for loss of faith or not wanting to think about what comes after it. 

It’s probably because of fear.

No, it’s definitely because of fear.

Everyone is afraid of what happens when you cross to the other side. That’s a fact. A human fact.

That’s why the seven minutes are such a comforting idea. Seeing all the good things you have lived before going away into a black abyss of uncertainty. 

A last ray of warm light. 

(Y/N) Wayne doesn’t get her seven minutes.

Well, not her own seven minutes.

From the moment her body sank to the bottom of the water, Wayne knew her seven minutes would not be of warm, happy memories.

They would be of dark, cold hallways. Empty chairs on her birthday table. Short excuses and empty apologies for any type of tournament they didn’t assist. Cold shoulders and annoyed stares whenever she spoke or made ‘dumb’ questions.

Her dad’s empty silence. Dick’s soft avoidance. Jason’s burning anger. Tim’s sharp cut-offs. Damian’s freezing hatred. 

Perhaps Death would allow her to have Alfred’s warming smiles and compassion. Maybe even the sweet melody of her mother’s humming voice as she laid on that small bed in the asylum.

Instead, she gets seven minutes of a complete acid trip.

A small town with overly nice people.

A woman and a man who are completely in love with one another. A house that changes from black and white to color, the furniture changing with the decades.

Two babies, twins, a girl and a boy.

The rush of the wind against her skin as she runs in a complete sugar rush with a man with silver hair and then the woman saying ‘if she was to break the sound barrier, she would take her brother with her’.

A huge fight with blows of red and purple and guns ending in with a warm family hug with the twins, a scarlet witch, and an android with a soul.

A good night scene, the woman kissing each of them on the forehead before turning the lights off.

The boy crawling into the girl’s bed and both of them holding to each other tightly as their world crumbles around them in a red dome.

‘Good night,---’

‘Good night, Billy.’

That name gets stuck in her brain as life slips away from her lungs. It echoes in a gentle, childish voice as it grows farther and farther away. Just like the air bubbles escaping from her mouth and nose.

‘A twin,’ a final thought muses. 

‘I always wanted a twin.’

‘Please, let me have that life next time.’

‘Please, let it be–’

•═•═•═•═•═•═•═•═•

“Billy!”

Those are the words (Y/N) Maximoff tried to say as her mouth graggled and vomited all the water from inside her lungs once she fought to remain afloat in the deep, dark water. The left side of her head throbbed like hell, making her dizzy and tired while swimming in a puppy-like style on her right side to finally reach the edge of the nasty pool she woke up in. 

Climbing it was another gigantic chore, but she refused to remain on the murky (read as definitely contaminated) water any longer.

Coughing up her guts and wheezing for air while drenched in nasty water and bleeding wound on the head was so going to the ‘Situations I Never Wish To Repeat Ever in My Life’ list. 

It would be the only one on it, but with the way things are looking at the moment, she is pretty sure that list is only going to keep growing.

She lay on her right side once she no longer felt like she was choking. Or maybe because her adrenaline finally crashed and her strength just gave up. 

Taking deep breaths, the situation began to sink in.

She was supposed to be dead. Gone. Kaput!

Or at least that’s what she thought. All that she remembers is Billy.

Half of her, never too far away. Always together. It’s how it is supposed to be.

Billy is not here. She is alone.

Alone. Cold. Wet. Hurt. 

Did she mention being wet? She hates being wet. She hates how heavy it makes her clothes (a uniform, from what she could see?). She hates how cold it makes her skin. She hates how it reminds her of the empty floating space she was held in before Billy brought her back.

Took him long enough! Billy knows how much she hates empty dark places.

With a groan, she sits up on the cold concrete, her wet figure leaving an imprint of water forming her silhouette as if it were a murder scene. All that was left was the white tape, the thought of it making her snort.

She came to regret it once the wound on her head gave a sharp ping of pain, almost as if her body was punishing her for thinking such morbid things.

Wincing as her hand went up to touch where the wound was throbbing. The groan that was about to come out turned into a rough cough once her fingers came up bloody. 

Her fingertips rubbed the clogged blood between them, eyes moving from them to look around her.

It was an abandoned place. By the looks of it, back in its former glory, it would have been a public pool. The sun chairs were all broken, rusted, and twisted in ways that left the tubes looking like some abstract sculpture. Some umbrellas were scattered around; either closed, open, or broken in various degrees.

The pool was still filled with water, if you call it that. It was a deep green that switched between brown and black depending on which angle you looked from.

A wired fence surrounded the place, some noticeable holes that indicated people would sneak in to do graffiti, drink or smoke if the clear signs on the walls and scattered around the floor weren’t enough.

A wave of nausea came over her as she looked back againg at the pool. She scattered on her knees as quick as possible to empty her stomach once again on a overgrown bush by the fence.

She clung to the fence, finally gathering the strength to stand up on her feet. Shivers went down her spine at the feeling of her socks squashing water on her pretty much ruined school shoes. Her head hanged for a few moments, head ringing from all that transpired in the last few minutes.

Billy. She needed to find Billy.

He has all the answers. She was a hundred percent sure he was the one that put her here. Not sure why he left her on her own and hurt and drowning in a pool that pretty much looks like the dark plague made in a liquid, but he would explain. He has an answer for everything. Always. And he will probably know where M–...

Her head suddenly went blank. As if it where a clean slate that left her in a dazed state. Once it was over, a groan of pain was heard from her, a splitting headache forming behind her eye balls.

…Wait. What was she thinking?

…

Billy. She has to find Billy.

She clung to that name, scrunching down a hole on the fence big enough for her to slip out. A few loose wires scraping against her uniform and legs. One even managed to snag at her skirt once she stood up fully on the other side.

Grumbling under her breath, taking the now broken cloth and finishing ripping it off.

‘Now she has an improvised bandage!’ A very animated thought came to her mind making her smile pleasantly.

Thankfully, the blood stopped flowing a while back so wiping the residue wasn’t that bad. She was a little bit hesitant to use it as bandage due to it being soaked with the water of the pool but she had no other choice.

Either get an infection or walk around looking like a murder victim.

“Infection it is,” she muttered while moving her hair away from her left temple and wrapping the cloth around her head.

She probably looked like Rambo if he was a pathetic wet child.

“Now, which way should I go?” she wondered out loud as she looked around the alley way. The building walls were too tall to see beyond them, and the sky was already turning pretty dark.

Walking carefully as she used the bricked wall as support, the next thing that came to view was a busy street.

People going from side to side, not even giving a spare glance at others. Some on their phones scrolling or on calls. Others simply walking while staring at a destination but never at another person. Men, women, kids, teens, of all ages.

Nobody spared a glance at her.

Which is honestly the best scenario from her point of view. No time to delay on her search.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” a gruff voice asked from her side.

Busted!

She moved her head to the side to look at the man. Tall, a bit round but more like a dad bod. Greying brown hair on the sides along with a mustache. Old fashioned glasses and a thick coat with a insignia on the left side.

A police insignia.

‘Stand down!’ ‘Handle the military, I’ll be right back!’ ‘Nice tricks.’ ‘Like yours too’-

Voices scattered around her head in flashes. She didn’t see who were saying them, only blurry silhouettes of color moving around before she was brought back to the present moment.

She took a step back. The man frowned. Not in anger but it looked like worry.

His gaze moved over her, checking her until he reached her face. Then he looked almost shocked for a moment.

Or was I something else?

“Wayne? What are you doing all the way down here? And alone?” He began tossing questions as he took another step closer and grasping her shoulder gently but firmly.

‘So it was a worried expression, got it.’

“What happened? You’re soaked to the bone!” He took off his coat and wrapped it around her. It was way bigger on her but she couldn’t complain over the warmth it brought her. She hadn’t realized how cold she actually was.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t mention it, dear girl. But you haven’t answered my question, Wayne.” His voice turned a bit firm.

Damn. What was she supposed to say? And who the hell was Wayne?!

“Um, I don’t remember?” She lifted her shoulders with an awkward smile.

Best thing to do when you get caught by the police is too always act dumb. Or pretend amnesia. Which isn’t that far away from the truth, but hey, A win is win!

The man frowned, rubbing his temples as his glasses knocked up to his head with a sigh. An exasperated one. Then he took a deep breath and began to move her by the shoulders and start walking.

“You obviously got a wound on the head, so it could be a concussion. I’m driving you to the station so the Doc can check on you, alright?”

He asks as if she had a choice, which she clearly didn’t.

But, she let him walk her to the patrol car. Weighing her options, this was the better choice. Her main plan was asking around for Billy and maybe even climbing into the ceiling of a building and yell for him…

She wasn’t the best at planning. Sue her.

Now, she has better options. At the police station, she could get a change of clothes (maybe even get a quick shower if she begs?), get her wound checked out and also find information on where Billy is. All of that before they find out she is not whoever this Wayne person is.

Three birds in one shot! (Hopefully four birds. She stinks like a sewer rat.)

“Can I sound the alarm?!” She asks as soon as both of them get in the car.

He looks a bit startled at the sudden excitement. Even a bit off putting. But he just shakes his head with a quiet laugh and shows her the switch.

“Just wait until we get to-“

The alarm started blasting at full volume along with manical squealing.

•═•═•═•═•═•═•═•═•

“Yes, thank you so much for the call. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

The old phone clicks the end of the call, a moment of silence interrupted with a sigh from Alfred as he walks away to gather his coat and keys of the car. He is grateful the call came in just as he finished seasoning the dinner for the night.

The boys are grown enough to know where the utensils and plates are to serve themselves. He doesn’t know how long this would take and traffic in Gotham is a living nightmare.

But before leaving, he made a quick detour through the manor. His destination; the master’s office. He had to be informed about this.

Even if it has been years since he actually made an effort for Lady (Y/N).

The young lady of the house has always been deemed as a quiet presence by the members of the family. Keeping her thoughts and opinions to herself. Polite and well mannered. Willing to do any type of chore if it meant having at least someone to notice her.

A greeting word, a gentle touch or even a warm hug. But all of that were for nothing.

She wasn't deemed loud enough amongst her peers to matter.

But to Alfred, she was the loudest presence to ever set foot in the Wayne Manor. It was almost sad how deaf the rest of the family was when it came to (Y/N).

Three sharp knocks on the door were enough for Master Bruce to let him enter the office. The curtains were already closed, almost giving a dark atmosphere if it weren't for the warm light lamps on his desk and by the corners of the room.

Master Bruce didn't even lift his head from the documents he was revewing.

"Is something wrong, Alfred?" his deep tired voice rumbling in the air as he switched documents. Sounds of papers being moved around made Alfred frown for a second.

Always a messy man when it comes to papers, that's why he does everything in that blasted computer in the cave.

"Yes, Master Wayne," he cleared his throat before continuing.

"Dinner is ready but hasn't been served. The young masters can serve themselves while I go to the police station to pick up the young mistress."

Silence.

"...The police station?"

His tone remained the same. As if talking about the weather. It irked Alfred how his master didn't seem to react accordingly to the situation.

"Yes. Chief Gordon was the one to call. Said he found Lady (Y/N) wandering around by herself by Grant Park. Completely drenched and out of it. He mentioned she was getting checked by their doctor in case she got a concussion."

Master Bruce took a few moments to finally lift his gaze from the papers. Alfred had spent many years besides Bruce, but sometimes he couldn't place what his masters nonverbal actions meant.

Just like right now.

"...Bring her. I'll talk to her later." his gaze turned down once again.

Alfred nodded and left the office without another word until her reached the car. Once he closed the driver's door, he let out a very deep and exhausted sigh.

He could feel the disappointment flowing up inside. It felt almost like failure. Failure for not being able to drag Bruce by the ear and make him drive to the station. For not having the audacity to scream at him for how he acts towards his own flesh and blood.

Anger at himself for not being able to do more for his young mistress.

As Alfred began to drive through the gates of the manor, he took notice of how the sky had turned already dark.

But what stood out was the quick flash of green and silver striking in between the black clouds. It was gone in just a second, the loud rumbling of thunder almost making the car windows shake.

He couldn't help but feel like it was omen.

Good or bad, that was to be determined.

•═•═•═•═•═•═•═•═•

Author's note: First chapter done! Please reblog and like. Do let me know what you guys think of it and what theories come up to mind with all the hints I left around the chapter! Hopefully, next chapter will be up next sunday if college doesn't kick my ass lol. Lots of love! GG✨

Bonus Memes:

"You think you're so great just because you're a Wayne, huh?" The leader, Karl, looked at you like you spat on their entire bloodline as he punched you in that alleyway. You would have dodged if it wasn't for two of his cronies holding your arms. "You're just laughing at all of us behind our backs, aren't you? Well, there's nothing funny now, suck-up!"

"Karl, I'm not-" Your words were cut off by a punch to the head, right in the eye. You didn't see anything after that; Karl's punch had luckily knocked you out cold. But that doesn't mean that your peer-decided punishment was over. You were kicked, punched, spat on, and stamped on while unconscious, a boot print staining the back of your school uniform. When they had their fill of violence, they left you in a cold, filthy Gotham alley in the middle of winter.

You weren't found until hours later, by a guy who'd only gone into the alleyway to take a leak. "Oh shit!" he said, hurriedly doing up his fly and rushing into the nearest bar. "There's a kid in the alleyway! Someone beat 'em up bad! Could someone call an ambulance before they freeze to death? They look like they've been there a while."

It took the ambulance an hour to get there, along with the police. "How did you come across them?" a cop asked your good Samaritan bystander.

"I was going to take a leak in the alley they were in and saw 'em on the floor," they said. "Are they going to be OK? They aren't dead, are they?"

"They're alive, but barely," the paramedic said. "You did the right thing by calling us."

Your battered body was loaded into the ambulance, which squealed off to Gotham Hospital. Hopefully, you'd make it through the night without incident.

Hopefully.

Next

"Watch where you're going, idiot!" Damian scolded, knocking into you. It hurt, but you couldn't tell whether or not it was on purpose or not. "Why are you even here? You aren't preparing for anything."

He was right; you weren't. No gala invitations came in the mail for you, after all. You were always left out, for some reason.

"I wanted to stretch my legs," you said, cheerily.

"Well, you'll have to wait until we're gone. You won't get in the way like that, and we see you less." His lip curled up into a smirk.

"OK. I'll just wait until you're all gone. I'll go back to my room until then." You rushed back to your bedroom, eyes burning with tears.

Why was it never you?

You'd never been invited to a charity dinner once since joining the Wayne family. Was it because of your parentage? You had been the result of a hookup between your mother, a high-end tailor, and the prince of Gotham, Bruce Wayne himself. Maybe your origin was considered embarrassing for Gotham high society. You were nothing like Damian, who boasted of Al Ghul and Wayne ancestry, or Tim Drake, teenage CEO. You were ordinary.

And for a Wayne, ordinary was embarrassing.

You listened to Alfred drive off with them the same way you always did. Alfred would be back soon, but the rest of the family would be gone until morning.

All the better to work on your cloak.

You got out your sewing machine and worked away, opting to go with the velvet. Your dress would be a matching silver colour, and down to the ankles. Shoes would have to have thick soles so that the hems of your cloak and dress wouldn't touch the floor.

"There have to be some books about fashion around here," you mutter, as you pull books out of the shelves by the spine, dislodging them and putting them back when you had determined that this tome would be of no use to you. As you went for a book about a timeline of high fashion, sheafs of paper fell out and landed next to your feet.

You debated whether or not to look at them. Nobody was in the house, so nobody would know that you had done it so long as you put them back where you had found them. Curiously, you picked one up at random and read it.

It had your name on it. You picked up another. That one had your name on it, too. They all did, actually. What really differed were the events highlighted.

Winter Gala. Charity Ball. Annual Dinner.

Your innards twisted. You really had been invited to these events, same as everyone else. Someone in the house had repeatedly and systematically hidden your letter of invitation so you wouldn't accompany them. It was your family's doing that had left you weeping bitter tears in a home that hated you.

Those heartless bitches would pay.

Part 1 <- You are here

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14