Catwoman's Pov.

The news hit like a gut punch. Superman, with his all-knowing demeanor, had come to me personally—personally—to deliver it. Robin... Y/N... was dead. Gone.

He didn't say how, didn't go into detail. Just said Bruce would need someone, and I was one of the only people who could reach him now.

Bruce, the great Batman, grieving for his son.

I had to see for myself.

The manor was cold, even more than usual. Like the walls themselves had been stripped of warmth. I slipped in through a side window, landing silently on the polished floor. The faint sound of ice clinking against glass drew me toward the den.

There was Alfred, of all people, sitting by the fireplace. A half-empty bottle of scotch at his side. His usually immaculate posture was gone, replaced by a slump that made my chest tighten.

He wasn't even looking at the fire, just staring down at the glass in his hand as if it held answers to questions he couldn't bear to ask.

For a moment, I thought about saying something. But what could I say? What words could possibly cut through that kind of loss? So I left him to his silence and moved on.

The entrance to the Batcave wasn't locked. It didn't need to be for someone like me.

The cold air hit me first, that familiar dampness of stone and steel. The quiet hum of the computer echoed faintly, but it felt... wrong. The Batcave was always alive, buzzing with activity, a reflection of its master's unrelenting energy. But now? It felt still. Empty.

I descended the stairs, the weight in my chest growing heavier with each step.

Then I saw him

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The camera focused on Lois Lane, standing beneath a somber sky in the heart of Metropolis. She wore a black overcoat, her expression heavy with grief as she addressed the nation.

"Good evening, this is Lois Lane reporting live from Metropolis. Tonight, we mourn the loss of a hero whose life ended under tragic circumstances. Robin, Gotham's Boy Wonder and a member of the Teen Titans, was found dead days ago after a harrowing ordeal. The events leading up to his death remain shrouded in mystery."

Her voice faltered for a moment as she glanced away, taking a steadying breath.

"What we do know is that Robin, in his final moments, took the life of the notorious crime boss Tony Zucco. The reasons for this act, and the torment Robin endured before his untimely passing, are still unclear. Authorities and heroes alike have found no answers, no leads."

She paused, visibly holding back her own emotions, before continuing.

"This tragedy has sent shockwaves through not just Gotham but the entire world. Tonight, the Justice League will honor him with a hero's burial, here in front of the Hall of Justice."

The screen transitioned to a live feed of the somber procession. A dark coffin, adorned only with Robin's iconic "R" emblem, was carried through the crowd. Superman and Wonder Woman were at the sides of the coffin, their faces etched with sorrow. Batman led the procession, his cape trailing behind him as if it carried the weight of his grief.

Hundreds of people had gathered along the streets and around the Hall of Justice. Some held candles, others clasped their hands in silent prayer. The air was heavy, silent except for the occasional sound of quiet sobs.

Lois' voice continued in a softer tone as the camera panned over the scene. "Citizens from Gotham, Metropolis, and across the world have come to pay their respects to a hero who dedicated his life to protecting others. Despite his young age, Robin stood alongside some of the greatest heroes, proving himself time and again."

The screen shifted to the Titans. They stood together, though their grief was raw and visible. Beast Boy sobbed uncontrollably, clinging to Starfire as she trembled, tears pouring down her cheeks.

Cyborg stood beside them, his normally unshakable demeanor cracking as silent tears streaked his face. He placed a hand on Beast Boy's shoulder, trying to comfort him even as his own body trembled.

Raven stood slightly apart, her hood casting a shadow over her face. Her head was bowed, but her clenched fists and the faint glow of her magic around her fingertips betrayed her turmoil.

The camera returned to the Justice League as they approached the burial site. Each step seemed heavier than the last. Batman's usually stoic face was unreadable, but the tight grip of his hands on the coffin spoke volumes.

Lois' voice came through again, though quieter, almost reverent. "And now, Robin will be laid to rest, honored by his peers and mourned by the world. For many, he was more than a hero—he was a symbol of bravery and selflessness, taken from us far too soon."

The Justice League reached the burial site, pausing as they gently lowered the coffin into its final resting place. Batman lingered, his gloved hands resting on the polished surface for just a moment longer than the others. Then, as if the weight of the moment had finally crushed him, he stepped back, his head low

The crowd of heroes and civilians hushed as Superman stepped forward to the podium. His cape billowed softly in the breeze, and he took a deep breath, preparing to speak. But before a single word left his lips, Batman stepped forward, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the memorial.

The Dark Knight at a podium was a rare and jarring sight, and murmurs rippled through the gathering. Even Superman, who had known him for years, stepped back, surprised by the uncharacteristic move.

Batman's voice, deep and gravelly, carried an unmistakable weight. "Robin... was more than a sidekick." His tone was steady, but the grief underneath it was palpable. "He was a hero. An ally. Someone who, despite his youth, carried himself with a strength and resolve that rivaled anyone here."

The crowd was silent, every eye on him.

"He didn't just fight for justice. He fought for hope. For the belief that this world—despite its darkness—could be better. He had more courage in his heart than most of us will ever know." Batman's gaze scanned the crowd, lingering briefly on the Justice League, the Titans, and other gathered heroes.

He paused, his gloved hands tightening on the sides of the podium. "But I know... I know he didn't always feel that way. I know that he struggled. That the weight of proving himself, of trying to live up to expectations, was heavier than anyone should ever have to bear."

Batman's voice dropped, but it grew sharper, colder. "And I know that some of us made that burden worse." His words hung in the air like a blade, and though he didn't name anyone, his glare swept over the gathered heroes. Superman, Wonder Woman, Green Arrow, and others shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

He clenched his jaw, pausing to compose himself. "But I'm not here to blame. Not them. Not you." His hands gripped the podium tighter, the edges creaking under the pressure. "If there's anyone to blame, it's me. I brought him into this world. I let him believe that this life, this fight, was something he could survive unscathed. That he had to be like me."

His voice cracked slightly, but he pushed on, his tone hardening again. "The truth is, Robin was better than me. He was better than all of us." His fists curled against the podium, his body trembling with barely contained anguish. "And I failed him. I failed him by letting him believe he wasn't enough, that he had to keep proving himself. I failed him the moment I put him in that suit."

He took a deep breath, exhaling shakily, and then stepped back from the podium. For a moment, it seemed like he might say more, but instead, he turned away from the crowd. Without another word, Batman strode to the Batmobile parked nearby.

The crowd remained silent, stunned. Even Superman, who had prepared a speech of his own, seemed at a loss for words. As the Batmobile roared to life, its engines echoing through the somber gathering, Batman drove off, leaving behind the stunned mourners and his unresolved grief.

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The night was eerily quiet, the kind of silence Gotham hadn't known in over a year. Ever since Robin's death, the city had changed. Crime hadn't vanished, but it had slowed to an uncharacteristic crawl. Even the most notorious villains seemed subdued, as if his death had cast a pall over Gotham that no one dared disturb.

Until now.

The sound of laughter echoed through a shadowy alley, guttural and cruel. Three men stood in a semicircle; their greasy faces illuminated by the faint glow of a flickering streetlamp. In front of them, two women cowered, their backs pressed against the cold brick wall of a tenement building.

"Don't scream," one of the thugs sneered, waving a knife menacingly. "You'll ruin the fun."

One of the women whimpered, but before another word was spoken, one of the thugs froze, his gaze fixed upward. "What the hell is that?"

Perched atop the roof of a nearby building, a shadowy figure loomed against the night sky. The others turned to look, squinting into the darkness. "What, Batman finally crawled out of his cave?" another thug mocked, a nervous edge to his voice.

Then a crack of thunder split the air, and for a brief moment, the figure was illuminated by the lightning.

It wasn't Batman.

The figure was smaller, leaner, and dressed entirely in black. A skull-like mask obscured their face, with a jagged red "X" slashed across the forehead. The thugs burst into laughter, their fear turning into bravado.

"A wannabe Robin? Seriously?" one jeered. "You lost, kid? Got a death wish or somethin'?"

But their laughter was short-lived. Without a sound, a jagged blade gleamed in the dim light as it shot through the air. It struck one of the men square in the chest, burying deep between his ribs. He gasped, his eyes wide in shock, before crumpling to the ground.

The remaining two thugs stared in horror as the figure dropped from the rooftop, landing silently. Their movements were fluid, practiced. They moved like a shadow, closing the distance in an instant. Before the second thug could react, the figure's hands snapped out, twisting his head sharply. A sickening crack echoed in the alley as his body slumped lifelessly to the ground.

The final thug stumbled backward, dropping his weapon. "No, no, please!" he begged, falling to his knees. "I didn't mean nothin' by it! Don't kill me, man!"

The figure stepped into the dim light of the streetlamp, revealing the details of their grim attire. Black armor hugged their lithe frame, and the jagged crimson "X" on their mask seemed to glow faintly in the dark. In their hand, they held a jagged x designed red blade, its edge glinting ominously.

The thug trembled, tears streaming down his face. "I'll leave! I swear! You'll never see me again!"

The figure tilted their head slightly, as if considering his plea. For a brief moment, the thug thought he might live.

Then the blade flashed.

Blood sprayed across the alley wall as the man crumpled to the ground, clutching at his throat. His gurgling cries faded into silence as the figure stood over him, unmoving.

This wasn't Batman.

And it wasn't Robin.

???'s Pov.

The scent of blood and gunpowder still lingered in the air as I turned my head toward the two hookers trembling against the wall. Their faces were pale, eyes wide with terror. I tilted my head slightly, gesturing for them to leave. Without a word, they scrambled to their feet, muttering frantic thanks as they bolted down the alley.

I was already cleaning my blades, the crimson "X" etched into the steel now slick with blood, when the sound of two sharp gunshots cracked through the night.

I didn't flinch.

Two bodies hit the ground with dull thuds, and I heard the all-too-familiar voice of Harvey Dent. "Still soft," he muttered, stepping into the faint light. Smoke curled lazily from the barrel of his pistol as he eyed the fresh corpses with a mix of disdain and satisfaction. "Can't leave loose ends like that, kid. Those girls would've blabbed the moment they were out of sight."

I scoffed, sheathing my blades with a sharp metallic click. "I had it handled," I said, crossing my arms, annoyed at the interruption.

"Sure you did," Two-Face replied with a dry chuckle, holstering his gun. His mismatched face twisted into a grin as he approached. "But you shouldn't have been wasting your time on lowlifes like those thugs anyway. Thought you were past that."

"I didn't ask for a lecture," I snapped, shifting my weight slightly. My body ached from the fight, but I refused to let it show.

Dent's grin widened. "You're lucky I'm the one cleaning up your mess tonight. Deathstroke wouldn't be so forgiving, would he?"

At the mention of Slade, I grimaced. "Don't compare yourself to him," I muttered.

I took a step forward but stumbled, a sharp pain shooting through my side. Before I could hit the ground, Two-Face was there, catching me with surprising ease. He chuckled, his voice tinged with mockery. "See? Still not ready. You're tough, kid, I'll give you that. But training with Slade and handling the real thing out here? Two different beasts."

I shrugged him off, growling under my breath. "I'm fine."

"Sure, sure," he said, clearly unconvinced as he guided me toward a dark van parked at the edge of the alley. "C'mon, let's get you back. You'll get yourself killed at this rate, and that would be a real waste."

I climbed into the van, slumping against the cold metal interior as Dent started the engine. The drive was quiet, the rhythmic hum of the tires the only sound as we navigated Gotham's labyrinthine streets. Finally, we pulled up outside a derelict warehouse in one of the city's forgotten corners.

As I stepped out, still sore but steady on my feet, the door to the warehouse creaked open. I barely had time to process the movement before I was tackled to the ground by a blur of red and black.

"Xieee!" Harley's voice rang out, high-pitched and giddy as she straddled me, planting exaggerated kisses all over the front of my mask.

"Harley—get off me," I grumbled, my voice muffled beneath her onslaught of affection.

She giggled, pulling back just enough to meet my eyes through the mask. "What? Can't a girl welcome her favorite little murder machine back home?"

I sighed, pushing her off me and sitting up. "You call this home?" I muttered, glancing around the dimly lit interior of the warehouse.

Harley ignored me, bouncing to her feet and twirling in place. "Well, it's where we all are, so yeah! Now c'mon, puddin'. You gotta tell me all about your night!"

I shook my head, standing and brushing off the dust from my suit. "There's nothing to tell."

"Aw, don't be like that!" she whined, looping an arm around my shoulders as she leaned in close. "Was it fun? Did you get 'em good? Ooh, did anyone scream?"

"Enough, Harley," Two-Face interjected as he joined us, closing the warehouse door behind him. "The kid's had a long night. Let him breathe."

"Fine," she pouted, letting go of me with a dramatic sigh. "But you owe me story time later, Xie."

I ignored her, my gaze drifting to the far end of the warehouse where shadows pooled in the corners. This wasn't home. It wasn't even close. But for now, it would have to do

I let out a sharp breath through my nose, my annoyance growing as Harley continued to hum and twirl beside me. The nickname she insisted on calling me grated on my nerves, a constant reminder of my past life.

"Stop calling me that," I muttered, removing my mask and staring at the faint lipstick marks she'd left smeared across its surface. I grabbed a cloth and started wiping them off, my jaw clenched.

Harley's smirk widened as she watched me. "Aw, what's wrong, Xie? Don't like the name?" She paused, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Or should I call ya by your real name... Robin?"

The name struck me like a slap across the face. My vision blurred with red, and before I could stop myself, I turned and lunged at her.

Harley let out a delighted squeal as I slammed her against the wall, pinning her with one hand while the other pressed one of my X-shaped blades against her throat. "Don't. Call me that," I hissed, my voice low and venomous.

Harley didn't flinch. In fact, she giggled, tilting her head slightly so the blade pressed just a little harder against her skin. "Ooh, feisty," she purred, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "And those scars—especially the one on your neck? Makes you look so sexy."

Before I could respond, she leaned forward, pressing a playful kiss to the tip of my nose.

A gunshot suddenly echoed through the warehouse, the sharp crack ricocheting off the walls. Instinct took over, and I spun around, slicing the bullet in half with a single swipe of my blade.

Standing in the doorway, slow clapping, was Slade Wilson. His mask reflected the dim light as he took a few deliberate steps forward, his presence commanding the room.

"Impressive," Slade drawled, his voice calm yet brimming with calculated amusement. "After a year of recovery, from Scarecrow's venom no less, you've managed to turn all that weakness into strength."

I sheathed my blade, glaring at him. "What do you want?"

Slade ignored my hostility, his gaze unwavering as he continued, "I wasn't expecting you to grow this much. Especially not after... everything. But it seems this change of perspective suits you, doesn't it?"

I scoffed, turning away from him and collapsing onto the worn-out couch in the corner of the warehouse. Harley, ever the opportunist, perched herself on the edge of the couch, leaning back and giggling as she swung her legs playfully.

Slade didn't move from where he stood, folding his arms as his tone shifted to something more curious. "You know, of all the people who could have come to me for help, I never imagined it would be you." His eye narrowed slightly. "The ex-Robin. The Boy Wonder. The prodigal son of Batman."

I said nothing, staring at the floor as my hands curled into fists.

Slade took another step forward, his voice soft but sharp, slicing through the silence. "You, the golden child, wanted my help? The very man your precious mentor has hunted for years. Tell me, Y/N, what made you crawl to me?"

I finally lifted my head, my glare locking onto him. "Because I wanted to be better," I said, my voice cold and steady. "Better than him. Better than all of them. And you... you were the only one who could teach me how."

Slade chuckled, the sound low and dark. "Well, aren't you full of surprises?" He gestured vaguely toward Harley, who was now leaning against my shoulder, grinning like a cat with a bowl of cream. "I'd say you've made yourself quite at home in the darkness. But let's see how far you're really willing to go, shall we?"

I leaned back, my expression blank as my mind churned. I didn't need Slade's approval. I didn't need anyone's. But one thing was certain—this path I'd chosen had no room for hesitation or second-guessing. The old me was gone. Dead and buried with the name Robin

To be continued. . .

(Sorry for those who asked to be turned into Arkham Knight, but maybe I'll think about it after his Red X Arc)