POV Knight
Sunday 8:00 A.M.
In the abandoned mansion, the pentagram illuminated itself once again with a flash of light. The body of the teenager returned to its undead form.
Shaking on unsteady legs, he noticed the faint rays of light piercing through the cracks in the ceiling. Drawn to the glow, he walked toward it, seeking the warmth he had felt briefly during his fleeting transformation into a living being. But, unfortunately, an undead could not feel warmth.
{Lucky for you, you also can’t feel the cold. Though, after a while, even that gets tiring.}
Ignoring the voice echoing in his mind, he curled into a ball in the spot where the light pooled most brightly through the ruined ceiling. After shifting into a comfortable position, he answered with a weary voice:
"Lib, I’m tired. Can I take a nap? Please?"
The voice responded with an understanding tone, soft and patient with the boy’s exhaustion.
"(Of course. You need to resupply on... things.)"
"Yes, I need to resupply on..." A soft yawn escaped his lips. "I think... tired am I..."
Without another word, he drifted into a deep sleep in the wrecked subterranean room. His energy was drained by the challenges of the previous night.
The Library of Memories, unwilling to disturb his much-needed rest, quietly adjusted the subtle changes made to the boy´s powers during the recent perilous encounter. The young undead had grown significantly on only his second day after his rebirth. Now, as he meditated in slumber, the silent halls of the broken mansion bore witness to his ongoing transformation.
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POV Batman
Sunday 21:00 P.M.
Robin was finishing his preparations for the night while Batman uploaded critical data into the Bat Jet’s secure systems. The mission ahead was demanding, and every detail mattered.
"Here—Oracle frequency encryptor activated, surveillance system operative. I’ll start mapping the perimeter once I access their servers," Barbara's voice reverberated through the comms, calm and efficient as always.
The download completed instantly. The Bat Jet’s onboard computer was now equipped to counter hijacks, cyber breaches, or extended usage scenarios. Everything was ready.
"Take only what you need, Robin. We’ll need speed and precision to stay undetected," Batman instructed, his tone firm but measured.
"Yes, sir," Robin responded without hesitation, though his focus was split between his gear and the new suit he had yet to fully trust.
Tonight’s operation leaned heavily on stealth—more than usual. To accommodate, both Batman and Robin wore special variants of their suits: sleek, all-black designs with advanced visual camouflage systems. The composite materials were state-of-the-art, rendering the wearers nearly invisible in low light. Despite their advanced technology, Batman knew better than to let Tim rely too much on the suit’s features.
"Tim," Batman said, breaking the silence, "grab a few more knockout gas capsules. Leave some of the electronic door openers."
"But if I leave them, I won’t be able to unlock—"
"You’ll only need three at most. If things go sideways, I want you to survive. And remember your emergency mask," Batman interrupted, his voice edged with the authority of experience.
Tim hesitated but nodded. "Yes, sir."
"(I can’t let him trust the suit too much. Overconfidence in tools leads to mistakes—and mistakes can cost lives.)," Batman thought. He’d learned that lesson the hard way. Enemies like the Joker, Riddler, and even Bane had exploited his own tools against him in the past. If Robin could handle himself without relying on the suit’s advantages, he’d truly be ready to use it when it mattered most.
As the final preparations for launch began, Batman’s thoughts drifted to the game he and Tim had been playing for months—a test of skill and adaptability.
The first of these variant suits, codenamed Fire Bird, had been issued during a chaotic bank heist orchestrated by Firefly. Designed for extreme environments, the suit incorporated dense, heat-resistant polymers capable of withstanding industrial-grade flames. It was far superior to even high-end firefighting gear.
But Fire Bird’s true innovation lay in its breathing system, which allowed the wearer to seal themselves entirely within the suit, granting immunity to smoke and toxic industrial conditions. Hidden in the sleeve was a compact fire-suppressant foam launcher, perfect for emergencies.
During the mission, Robin quickly noted the inherent disadvantages of the heavier, fire-resistant Fire Bird suit. Its weight slowed him down compared to his usual gear, but he adjusted swiftly, compensating with strategic movements. When he discovered the suit's hidden emergency foam-suppression system, he used it at precisely the right moment, neutralizing Firefly's flames just long enough for him and Batman to restrain the arsonist.
Batman allowed himself a small, approving smile, recognizing Robin’s quick thinking and composure in the heat of the moment. That success marked a pivotal point in their missions together.
Since then, every specialized suit Batman provided Tim carried its own unique set of challenges and secrets.Like a gessing game whit a deliberate pattern:
1. Adaptating to the Disadvantages
Each suit introduced new limitations—heavier materials, reduced agility, or limited storage space. Robin’s first challenge was to adjust his strategy to compensate for these weaknesses.
2. Discovering the Hidden Features
Every suit came equipped with a hidden upgrade or feature, which Robin had to uncover. Whether it was a tactical tool or an emergency system, the discovery itself tested his observation and ingenuity.
3. Execution Under Pressure
Robin needed to use the hidden feature effectively in a real mission or demonstrate exceptional decision-making without relying on it.
If Tim excelled in all three areas, he earned permanent access to the suit and its features. Falling short of two or more points, however, resulted in extra training sessions rather than the more coveted forensic science lessons Batman occasionally offered. The system wasn’t just a test of skill; it was a method to instill discipline, ingenuity, and responsibility in handling advanced tools.
It was a lesson forged from Batman’s own experiences with Dick and Jason—where he had learned the hard way how to balance trust with guidance.
The suit Tim wore for tonight’s mission presented its own distinct challenges. On the plus side, it was exceptionally lightweight and flexible, allowing for unparalleled ease of movement. However, this came at a cost: the suit lacked significant protection and offered minimal space for carrying equipment.
Its standout feature was its stealth mode—an advanced cloaking system capable of rendering the wearer nearly invisible by generating a perfect visual camouflage. The system used a network of photosensors to replicate the surrounding environment onto the suit’s surface, effectively blending the user into the shadows.
Yet, like all technology, it had limitations. The camouflage faltered in brightly lit areas, where the photosensors struggled to maintain seamless replication. This made the suit ideal for low-light scenarios but required caution in environments with fluctuating illumination.
Batman watched silently as Tim inspected the suit. The young Robin tested its flexibility, adjusting his movements to compensate for its vulnerabilities. Batman didn’t interfere; this was part of the process.
“He’s learning,” Bruce thought. “Every test makes him sharper. If he masters this suit tonight, it will mark another step toward his readiness.”
Despite the quiet trust he had in Robin, Batman never took unnecessary risks. The mission tonight would challenge Tim, but he had no intention of leaving anything to chance. Both the suit and the stakes were tools—not just to fight Gotham’s criminals, but to shape Tim into a more capable and self-reliant partner.
As the Bat Jet ascended into the night sky, Batman briefly glanced at his protégé, whose focus was now entirely on the mission ahead. Robin’s determination was evident, and Bruce couldn’t help but feel a rare sense of pride. This was the path to becoming a true hero—not through shortcuts, but through discipline, growth, and trust.
"(And that’s something we’re going to need, especially in Arkham.)"
The Bat Jet streaked through the stormy Gotham skies, its engines a low hum against the backdrop of rain and thunder. Approaching the asylum, the duo relied on Oracle’s live feed, patched into the external and internal camera systems.
The security tonight was lax—a stark contrast to typical operations. The outer perimeter was monitored by a few dozen guards, most half-heartedly passing their shifts. Cameras filled almost every corridor and room, but inside the complex, the real action was carried out by hundreds of corrupt or indifferent guards. They patrolled in perfect rotation, not to maintain order but to avoid getting too close to the inmates.
Tonight’s laziness was especially pronounced. The guards likely knew the Blackgate prison system was close to bursting, triggering the high tide of the bribe season. Many low-priority inmates would pay heavily to be quietly released back into the underworld.
"(At least the low-priority patients)," Batman thought grimly.
The asylum’s true dangers—the truly insane and dangerous criminals—were housed deeper within the facility. They were isolated in fortified cells, surrounded by heavier defenses than the general population.
His thoughts were interrupted as the jet approached their designated drop zone. They were nearing the one blind spot in Arkham's defenses, where a gap in illumination allowed for covert entry. Batman handed control of the jet to Oracle and stepped outside into the storm.
"Remember your training, and be mindful of the wind," Batman shouted over the roar of the rain. Without hesitation, he launched himself into the abyss.
The wind and rain whipped at his cape and mask as he fell, calculating the drop with precision. He chose not to rely on his digital visor; his instincts were honed from years of experience. At just the right moment, he opened his cape, using it as a glider to navigate the storm. His trajectory aimed him toward a rusted watchtower, where two guards sat dozing.
Batman landed on the tower’s edge and rebounded with a quick, controlled kick, redirecting himself toward the open roof of one of Arkham’s installations. The next patrol wouldn’t pass for several minutes, giving him just enough time to take cover.
Turning back, he scanned for Robin. The young vigilante was mid-air, his cape deployed, but his course was slightly off. Robin had miscalculated his trajectory, and as he approached the tower, he overcompensated. His smaller frame collided lightly with one of the tower’s beams, throwing his trajectory further askew.
Robin tried to adjust, but the mistake had drawn attention. The guards in the tower stirred, their groggy movements giving way to alarm. One reached for the searchlight, powering it up.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
From his position on the roof, Batman acted instantly. Watching Robin struggle to redirect, he calculated where the young hero would pass and moved. Launching himself off a nearby wall, Batman propelled himself toward Robin, intercepting him just before the searchlight could catch them.
Robin’s panicked expression met Batman’s determined gaze. Instead of colliding, Batman twisted mid-air, using the momentum to turn their descent into a controlled roll. They tumbled onto the roof and came to a stop, barely avoiding the edge.
Robin began to whisper, "Tha—"
Batman silenced him with a gloved hand. He quickly pulled Robin into the shadows of a vending machine on the roof.
The searchlight swept across the rooftop, pausing momentarily on the area where they had landed. Batman and Robin stayed perfectly still, their dark suits blending seamlessly into the shadows. After a tense moment, the guards, dismissing the noise as the storm’s work, resumed their drowsy vigil.
Once the light moved on, Batman leaned in close to Robin, whispering, "We regroup on the far end of this roof. Stick to the shadows and keep your movements deliberate. No more mistakes."
Robin nodded, his embarrassment overshadowed by his determination to do better.
The storm raged on as the duo moved deeper into Arkham’s shadowy labyrinth, the mission only beginning.
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While they easily passed the security measures into the special containment zone. Batman continued remembering the case after last nigth, taking it easy as a way to clam Alfred down and to take a nigth to warm up.
While they were taking of some of the habitual criminals, they "assaulted" the Penguins Iceberg Restaurant.
At least that´s what Tim thinks.In truth, while Robin took care of some of Penguin´s men while getting info out of his archive looking for the lost weapons.
Oswald and him had talked about the recent situation on Gotham.
After all, he and Oswald had come to a compromise; both would play the game of cat and mouse and would cut back on their conflicting activities in exchange for Batman allowing some of the tame and grey businesses, and Oswald would cooperate in information and positioning on Gotham. After all, what better way to know what was going on in the underworld than having a partner in it?
Batman asked him what was actually going on in the city.Oswald gave him a worrying answer.
The "non-retired" villains in Gotham, unlike him, were banding up in a plan to trap him and end him. Mr. Frezze, him, The Riddler, Two Face, and The Toymaker had been funded by a new group in Gotham that had hidden away Dr. Scarecrow and pushed out of the table the "retired criminals" like Bane, Ivy, and Croc.
Disccusing the moves of this new group that were ordering around everyone using their special hitmen and money certainly reminded him of the League of Assassins. And with their M.O. trying to conquer Gotham, it seemed the glove seemed to fit.
"And that´s not all Bat's."
A small grunt responded to the penguin.
"It seems that they are currently coordinating themselves to ambush you in Arkam; Mr. Freeze seems to have been redirected there instead of into Blackgate, and its been month´s since my ears inside have heard of him."
A slight pause followed.He seemed to suspect what the detective already thought was happening inside of it.
"And this new cliche has told me to post my men outside of Arkham and to look into you getting inside; they seem to know that you are going to enter."
"Say what you want to say."
"There is another patient that has cost me many ears and that has disappeared just recently in Arkham."
"..."
"The clown"
The Joker.
The mere thought of that madman being free again sent a dark impulse through Batman’s body, surging from his core to his fists. The relentless cycle of violence and chaos felt like it was creeping ever closer, threatening everything he had worked to protect. If Joker escaped again...
“I think he’s pulling the strings, directing everyone while temporarily cooperating with the League to use them against you,” Oswald said, his voice low. “He probably even knows about our little vis-à-vis.”
Batman remained silent. There was only one person in the world who could manipulate others as easily as the Joker. Ra’s al-Ghul challenged him with calculated grandeur. Lex Luthor sparred with him intellectually. And Gotham’s rogues took delight in trying to outwit him. But the Joker? He had a way of hitting Batman exactly where it hurt most, every time.
“I won’t be able to help you if you go in there, you know,” Oswald added, clearly aware of what Gotham’s vigilante was planning. His words were almost a warning.
“Didn’t you want to be mayor?” Batman replied, his tone sharp. “If I die, you won’t have a problem bribing your way into the office."
The Penguin chuckled, his laughter tinged with a rare moment of honesty.
“Please, I don’t have a death wish. I’m not a lunatic like the rest of you.” He sighed, his voice carrying a hint of nostalgia. “All I want is to keep my restaurant. I gave up chasing my ego when you left the city and it all went to hell, Bat. Besides—”
He turned, realizing mid-sentence that Batman had already vanished into the shadows.
“Damn it, Bat,” Oswald muttered, shaking his head. “At least let me finish before you run off to get yourself killed.”
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With everything in mind, Batman had assigned everyone their roles. Barbara was assisting with infiltration while monitoring the city, and Alfred operated the Batmobile remotely to patrol Gotham, creating the illusion that Batman was still on the streets. Of course, the enemy would see through this tactic, but it was part of the game. Both sides understood that the gears were turning, and the pieces were in motion. Batman had prepared several contingency plans for what could happen this night or in the days ahead.
“Batman, my sensor’s picking up something,” Robin said, his mask’s facial scanner more advanced than Batman’s standard tools.
Batman, already aware of the double trap ahead, chose to let Robin work through it. It was a chance to train him—to teach him not to overly rely on technology.
“And what do you think it is?” Batman asked, directing a questioning gaze at the elevator door.
They were perched on the ceiling of a hallway in one of Arkham’s deepest sections, secured by their climbing tools. Ahead of them was the elevator leading to the containment cells. To the right, the patient storage room housed rations and supplies. To the left, the guard station, complete with a secure, lockable dumbwaiter. Each room had its own dumbwaiter: one for transporting necessities to patients, and one exclusively for the guards. But the elevator was their only direct route down to the containment zone. Robin, having been warned earlier, had noticed an anomaly in the setup.
“There’s something odd about the camera design. It’s got extra electrical lines running into it, and the suspension tracks look bulkier than the blueprints I studied.”
Batman stayed silent, observing Robin’s growing frustration at the lack of response.
“So, what path do you think we should take?” Batman asked.
Caught off guard, Robin hesitated, wondering if he’d made a mistake. His scanner hadn’t detected anything suspicious, and his memorization of Arkham’s (legal and illegal) blueprints hadn’t revealed discrepancies.
“We should descend through the storage room,” Robin suggested. “It must have less security than the guard station below.”
Batman’s gaze locked onto his, serious and unwavering.
“This is where experience comes in. You’ve detected one of four traps ahead of us.”
“What? How?” Robin asked, stunned.
“Switch your scanner to radiation mode and look at the elevator again.”
Following Batman’s instructions, Robin recalibrated his scanner. As he examined the elevator, realization dawned.
“You memorized the blueprints but didn’t study the profiles of who we’re dealing with tonight,” Batman said.
“Toymaker, Mr. Freeze, Two-Face...” Robin recited whit a tired voice.
“Correct. Now, look at the bulkier lines on the elevator tracks. What do you see?”
“They’re hydraulic.”
“Those are pressure sensors. They’re linked to the camera, and if we try to bypass the elevator vent or move around it, they’ll detect us and trigger the freezing charge inside the camera, which will alert everyone.”
“But how did I miss that? My scanner was set to thermal and electric modes.”
“Victor Fries isn’t just a brilliant physicist—he’s also an engineer. He knows my tactics well. And as for me? My scanner is standard, but I’ve reprogrammed it to investigate suspicious areas based on changes in the field. Technology can be fooled, but experience teaches you where to look.”
“And the other traps?” Robin asked.
“Below us, the dumbwaiter in the patient storage room is likely being monitored by thugs, waiting for us to slip down. And once we’re down there, the catwalk to the cells—accessible from both the elevator and the guards’ dumbwaiter—will be watched by the patients.”
“What?! How could the patients...”
“Notice how quiet it is here? There’s already been a jailbreak, probably today or yesterday.”
“How do you know that?” Robin snapped. “And don’t just say ‘experience.’”
“Breathe in,” Batman instructed.
“What?”
“Through your nose.”
Tim hesitated but complied, inhaling deeply. The sterile, chemical scent of Arkham hit him first, but faintly, almost imperceptibly, there was a trace of blood.
“The thing about blood,” Batman said grimly, “is that when there’s enough of it spilled, no cleaning will fully erase the smell.”
The realization hit Robin like a blow.
"(Damn it… we’re late)” Robin thought. His sharp deductive skills kicked in, analyzing the situation. An important clue surfaced in his mind as he recalled Mr. Freeze’s profile.
“But wait—this doesn’t make sense. Victor always tries to avoid casualties. Deep down, he’s not a killer. How could he have done this?”
“Because he didn’t,” Batman replied firmly. “Freeze only commits crimes that serve his research to cure his wife. He’s not a criminal for pleasure. In fact, he’s one of the more restrained villains—like Croc. If he had a choice, he wouldn’t even be in Arkham; his real connections are in Blackgate.”
“Then it was someone else?” Robin asked.
“Yes,” Batman confirmed, his voice grim. “I suspect the League of Shadows orchestrated his transfer to Arkham. Their involvement explains the traditional approach we’ve seen here. And they’ve likely forced him into this scenario.”
“But the only thing he truly cares about is his wife.”
Batman’s expression darkened. Robin saw it immediately: even though his mentor had warned him of the dangers before entering Arkham, the full weight of the evil nature of the criminals they were fighting was becoming clear. Batman disconnected their radio communications for a private conversation.
“They know that.” Batman said. “The League knows about you. They’re targeting us where we’re most vulnerable. By now, they’ve likely deduced we’ll both be using cold suits or variants of them.”
Robin’s mind caught up quickly. “That’s why we’re using the stealth variant, right? Even though it’s weaker in protection, it’ll let us handle both Freeze and the League assassins.
“Exactly. Never let your tools define you; adapt them to the situation. Predictability will get you killed.”
"(And because this variant ensures you’re safe.)" Batman thought.
Having clarified their strategy and aligned their thinking, the duo set their plan in motion. They descended into the storage room below, their timing precise. Smoke grenades detonated just as they dropped through the dumbwaiter, taking out the guards before the chaos could escalate.
Once the room was secured, they slipped into the shadows and began moving through the prison’s upper catwalks. The frozen air and empty cells set an ominous tone. But as they progressed, their worst fears materialized. A spotlight abruptly illuminated their position, revealing a group of armed patients wielding stolen guard equipment.
“Kill the Bat!” someone roared.
Reacting instantly, the duo dropped from the catwalk just as an explosive device detonated near them, filling the catwalk and the lower floors with mist.
In midair, Batman fired his grappling gun, with Robin close behind. They narrowly avoided triggering a series of mines below, each primed to detonate and unleash a freezing blast capable of encasing anyone in solid ice.
As they swung clear of the hazard, Robin’s sharp eyes caught movement in the shadows of a nearby cell. Batman noticed something too, but before either could speak, the attack came. A figure lunged toward Batman from the darkness, but Robin was faster. He hurled a dart, intercepting the assailant mid-flight.
Simultaneously, Batman launched two batarangs—one to Robin’s right, the other soaring overhead. The weapons struck true, forcing three hidden assassins to veer off their trajectories. Though the injuries were minor, the surprise attack was foiled. Regaining their footing, the assassins landed in controlled rolls, but their element of surprise was gone.
Gripping a wall ledge, Batman and Robin surveyed their surroundings. The frozen prison was a treacherous maze, rigged with traps and modifications designed to deter any intruders. Ice-coated surfaces everywhere, turning the facility into a death trap.
“Focus on the assassins; the patients are the minor problem,” Batman ordered in a low voice. “And stay clear of any zones that look modified from the original layout.”
A suspicious mechanical hum filled the air. Without hesitation, the pair separated, melting into the shadows just as gunfire erupted from above. Patients on the upper walkways blindly fired into the smoke cloud that had formed beneath them.
The battle had begun.
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POV : The Knigth
The young undead began to rise from his sleep, regaining his consciousness slowly. He woke up from his slumber, feeling renewed from the rest. He took a moment to breathe in the cold air of the night. The vicious fight had left him with a weight on his heart that just seemed impossible to lift. The sting of pain had taken a toll on his then-suppressed senses; the sensation had left a mark on him. He now knew what pain was and why people feared it.
(Hum... Fear that one is a new one.)
Fear was also a new experience that he didn't feel before; it seemed to excite him no matter the form. It felt good but at the same time bad. It was quite a problem juggling these new emotions in his young mind. He felt lost...
Remembering his guide, he directed his attention to his own mind.
"(Library?)"
Not feeling a response to his thought
He spoke, trying to get an answer:
"Lib, do you hear me?" The darkness remained in silence.
Then a seemingly ethereal note appeared on his visual field.The blue ether of it didn't seem to illuminate the mansion hall.
"(Right, the restrictions; now I am not in danger.)"
He looked sadly at the note, mourning the loss of a dear... colleague?, mentor?, friend?.
Friend!.
The temporal loss of his friend left him thoughtful of when they would meet and of what the note contained for him.
{Hello, little guy. I'm glad that you are reading this and not on the ground crying in depression (hopefully). }
{As your power has detected that you are no longer in true danger, it has gone back to its normal state. We won’t be able to talk for a while. I can’t say when, but we will talk again once you discover how to turn into your human form.}
{Can’t tell you a lot of things since there are restrictions put in place by the idiot of [@@@@] so that you grow "adequately."}
{Bending the rules a little bit, I have taken care of your power response, and I have left you this note with some contents to help you understand what's going on.}
{I hope that we see each other again soon so I can help you. But by all that is good, be careful. That little speedrun straight into one of these city monsters is the clearest example of why you should be cautious—both of the people here and of what it means to not have your undead form protecting you.}
{PD: Hope you don’t die. I leave you on the backside some info that I Bended from your power.}
With the note on hand, he crossed both hands and made a prayer thinking about his friend.
"(Thank you for taking care of me, Lib.)"
Feeling reinvigorated, he took a let out a big exhale, feeling some of the weight leaving his body.
"So this is what is called stress. Feels good to let it out."
Thinking positively about what he was going to do now with a more clear path ahead, he began moving while he was reading the note's back.
Just to instantly get assaulted by a furious stream of notifications that surprised him and almost made him fall.
"(Stupid power!)"