Bruce Wayne

The Court of Owls has been an issue for... a while.

It’s not that Bruce has never dealt with them— he has— but the organization is more akin to a cockroach than anything else. Every time he stamps them out, one small ember survives, gets picked up by the wind, and starts another wildfire.

Apparently, they lost so many undead assassins last time that they’ve resorted to using children as their guard dogs.

Bruce feels sick to his stomach as he looks at you.

It’s not your fault that you’ve been programmed to do this. You’ve been brainwashed and beaten and manipulated and betrayed by people you might have thought once only wanted the best for you. But now you’re in a cell in the Batcave, after attempting to murder Bruce on one of his patrols, and Batmąn himself is trying to get you to move some of the marbles in the brain puzzle he bought for you around.

“It’s easy,” Bruce says patiently. You’re older than a toddler, yes, but the Court has diminished most of your critical thinking skills and ability to just— exist without asking for permission. “Which side is the most interesting? The xylophone?”

Your cell is decorated far more like a room than anything else. There’s blue wallpaper, your bed is soft and comfortable, you have a dresser with clothes that ensure you’re able to wear whatever you want, there’s a table in the middle and a desk to the side. He bought all sorts of coloring books and developmental toys and you’re even allowed out into the Cave when no one else but him is there to mess around on the obstacle courses.

Bruce truly wants you to get better. You’re a child. Your life was over, stolen by the Court of Owls, before it even began.

Giving you a second chance to be a person and not a soldier is the best thing he can think of doing.

Bruce’s fingers, calloused and rough, push a bead around on the looping metal attached to the 6 in 1 box toy he bought for you.

“Personally, I’m a fan of the marbles on the track.”