Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Prototype had planned extensively for this moment. Three months ago, while sneaking out of their cell, they caught sight of a TV in the break room broadcasting an interview.

At first, it was just background noise—another broadcast from the outside world, a world they had never known. But then, something caught their attention. The people on screen weren’t ordinary. They stood tall, in bright, colorful outfits, some with capes, some hovered, some were different, like the Prototype. The name flashed across the screen: The Justice League.

The Prototype had never heard of them before. But as they listened, their mind reeled.

The broadcast detailed a raid on a medical facility that had been conducting inhumane experiments on people. The court case against the facility had just ended, and these heroes were discussing the trial’s outcome. The Prototype was entranced.

“...The company behind this thought that just because they had money, they could do whatever they wanted. But today, we proved with this conviction that experimenting on people to induce powers is inhumane. The Justice League will not stand for the abuse of individuals to further private ambitions…”

For the first time since waking up in this nightmare, a spark of hope ignited in The Prototype’s chest.

These people—these heroes—fought against monsters like Playtime Co.

If they could stop that facility, maybe they could stop this one too.

Maybe someone would finally help them.

Maybe the cycle of abuse faced by The Prototype and the other toys could finally end.

And so the Prototype did what they did best: they planned.

For that first month, they changed the security schedule. It wasn’t hard, and for once, things seemed to be going right. Everyday that inched closer, the hope in their chest began to grow stronger, from a spark into kindling.

It only helped that Doctor Sawyer was preoccupied with something else. For once, his relentless attention wasn’t on the Prototype. It was a relief, because if anyone could uncover their plan, it would be him.

After the schedule was changed, the Prototype could move about with greater ease. It wasn’t long for them to begin scavenging for the components to make a phone.

They practically tore their own body apart to get most of the components, wires, resistors, transistors, capacitors, and old circuits. But the hardest parts to find were the microphone and speaker. 

They got lucky with that. A careless scientist had left behind an old walkie-talkie.  All that was left was tapping into the landline using even more wires stripped from their body... 

Now one problem remained- to find a computer to get the Justice League’s phone number. 

The scientists were far more cautious with their computers, and no laptops were allowed down into the prison. The computer room was highly guarded so it was impossible at the moment to use it without getting caught.

That’s where Catnap came in.

 He had more access to computers in Playcare. On the day they were allowed to interact, the Prototype secretly told him the plan. 

It was simple, Catnap would search for the number and spread the word to trusted individuals.

The next time they met, Catnap discreetly pulled out a small, folded paper from the zipper on his chest. 

The Prototype wondered who had written it down, since Catnap’s paws were incapable of holding a pen, let alone writing, but the Prototype was grateful nonetheless. 

They stuffed the paper into one of the hidden, hard to reach compartments on their body before hugging Catnap. 

As they buried their face into his fur, some tears slipped freely. Catnap simply purred to comfort them.

“We’ll be free soon, I promise you that. No matter what, I will make sure you are saved, and we can live without pain. Whether it’s by these heroes saving us, or the Hour of Joy, they will never hurt you again. I swear, Theo.” the Prototype whispered into the space between them, soft but unshakable. Catnap merely pressed closer, knowing soon everything would change and this may be the last time they see each other.

An hour later, they were forced to separate. The Prototype risked a glance back and Catnap did the same, their eyes meeting over the heads of the security guards and scientists.

For a moment, the Prototype didn’t see the creature Catnap had become. At that moment, all they saw was the boy he once was. The boy who had changed because of them .

They vowed once more, silently this time, that Theo would be safe, even if it meant that this time the Prototype was the one harmed. A karmic reversal of the tragedy from years prior.

They turned away, forcing themself to keep walking.

There was no turning back now.

Chapter Text

The factory was silent.

Too silent.

The Prototype knew its usual sounds by heart. They had no choice. It was all they had ever known.

The hum of distant machinery. The chatter of scientists and guards. The soft footsteps of the first group and the heavy ones of the second. The slow, steady dripping of water from the cave ceiling. The restless shuffling of other experiments.

But now?

Nothing.

It was as if everything and everyone were holding their breath as the Prototype twisted wires together.

They hunched low, trying to stay in the shadows, their large metal legs folded beneath them to hide as much of the device as possible. It was hard to remain unseen in the dimly lit cell, but they couldn’t leave.

If a guard came by and saw them missing, everything would be wasted. And they were so close.

Just a few more connections.

A violent tremor ran through their mechanical arms as they struggled to twist the final two wires together. Their human fingers—frail, thin, aching—were too weak for the task, so they switched to their metal claws. It made things harder. Less precise. Their grip faltered.

Then—

A spark.

The Prototype clenched their teeth as a sharp sting shot up their arm. They barely managed to bite back a cry. The familiar, acrid scent of burnt metal filled their nostrils, and the raw, exposed port in their side ached.

They had torn yet another component from themselves to build this.

Their limbs trembled, and their vision blurred for just a moment. They were running out of time—not just because of the danger but because they were falling apart.

But—finally—finally, everything seemed to work.

They paused, breath hitching, listening.

For footsteps. For chatter. For anything.

Nothing.

With a shaking hand, they pressed the buttons.

Then—

Ring… Ring… Ring…

The Prototype gripped the receiver so hard their fingers hurt.

Please pick up. Please believe me. Please save us. Save Theo.

Ring… Ring… Ring…

Would it work? Would they even listen?

Click.

A voice answered, calm but wary. Automated.

“This is the Justice League Emergency line. Please state your situation.”

The Prototype nearly sobbed in relief.

For a brief moment, their voice wavered, static flickering across their screen as dozens of voices fought to speak at once. Their usual shifting tones—glitches of men, women, and mechanical distortions—threatened to take over. But they forced them away.

Instead, they chose the soft, fragile voice of a child.

Their own voice.

“Please help us,” they begged, gripping the phone tight. Their frail human fingers trembled against the receiver. “They are experimenting on children, and they won’t stop. They’re killing us, but they don’t care.”

Silence.

For a terrifying second, the Prototype thought they weren’t going to answer. That maybe this place was too far gone. That no one would come.

Then—

"Who are you?"

The voice on the other end had changed. No longer automated. It was firm. Sharp. Alive.

Someone was listening.

The Prototype swallowed, forcing back the fear clawing up their throat. They knew if they said the wrong thing, if they hesitated, this chance could slip away.

"I…" Their hands clenched. "I don’t know my real name. But they call me The Prototype. And if you don’t come soon… we’ll all be dead."

Fast, urgent typing. Someone on the other end was taking notes.

“Who is ‘they’?” The voice asked again.

The Prototype trembled. “Playtime Co. They—they take orphans. They turn us into—into things.” Their voice hitched. “Please, you have to stop them before they make more.”

"Where are you?" The voice practically growled, the gravel in their tone deepening.

The Prototype hesitated. This had to be a trap. Some cruel trick by the scientists to lure out disobedience. But if this was real—if these people were really heroes—then this was their only chance.

“The factory,” they whispered. “I don’t know which one. We’re underground, deep below the main facility. There’s a place called Playcare—that’s where the kids are.”

Another pause. More typing.

"We’re coming." The deep voice said. "Stay hidden. Don’t let them know you called."

The Prototype exhaled shakily. For the first time since waking up in this nightmare years ago, they dared to believe.

But then—

A sound.

Bootsteps. Getting closer.

Their heart stopped.

Someone was coming.

They hushed the phone, their mechanical arms trembling as they took the receiver from their human hands and slipped it beneath their body. Their metal frame formed a cage around it—around their only chance at freedom.

They prayed, not for the first time, that it wasn’t Doctor Sawyer.

If it was him… they were done for.

But if it was a guard—if it was just one of them—then things would be so much better.

The guards liked to act tough, barking orders and swinging their shock sticks, pretending they were in control. But the truth?

The truth was that every single one of them was terrified.

Not of the factory.

Not of the horrors lurking in the dark.

No.

They were terrified of the Prototype.

A single wrong move from a guard, one step too far, one spark of cruelty too bright, and they knew the scientists would turn their attention on them next.

Everyone in this factory understood one simple rule: The toys needed to be fed.

The footsteps stopped outside the door. A heavy pause.

Then—the slot in the door slid open.

“Experiment 1006,” a rough voice sneered. “What the hell are you doing?”

The Prototype stayed hunched over, forcing themselves to breathe through the panic rising like a wave inside them, threatening to drown them.

They willed their mechanical limbs to stay still. The phone beneath them was hot against their metal underbelly, but they couldn’t move.

“One of my wires got caught by my legs,” they muttered. “I’m trying to untangle it.”

A pause. The guard didn’t move.

They could feel the guard’s eyes on them through the slot. Studying. Doubting.

Too long. Too suspicious.

The Prototype didn’t dare look up. Didn’t dare breathe too loudly.

Then—

The phone, still clutched beneath them, let out the faintest static crackle.

Their heart dropped.

The guard shifted. Had they heard?

"...What was that?"

The Prototype tensed, their mind racing.

“I told you, a wire is caught. It’s one of the ones leading to my screen—the only way I can talk? I’m sorry for the commotion.” Their voice was steady, but their body trembled. “I’ll just unplug it and have a scientist look at it in the morning.”

The silence stretched on too long.

The guard was still standing there.

Then—footsteps. Not leaving. Coming closer.

The Prototype braced themselves.

The guard’s fingers grazed the handle of the door—

Then—

A scoff.

“Tch. Fine.”

The overhead lights flickered before shutting off completely, plunging the cell into darkness.

The Prototype didn’t dare move.

Only when the sound of boots finally faded down the hall did they shift, arms trembling as they retrieved the phone.

"Are you still there?" They whispered.

A small burst of static crackled from the speaker before the voice cut through the silence.

"I’m here."

The Prototype clutched the phone tighter. For the first time—

They dared to hope.

“We heard everything,” the deep voice continued. “Help is on the way.”

The Prototype swallowed, their mechanical limbs trembling slightly. It felt too good to be true. After so long, after everything they had endured—

“Wh—when?” Their voice crackled slightly, their built-in speaker struggling to keep up with their emotion. “How soon?”

A pause.

“We’re moving. Hold tight.” the voice assured. “But we need more information. Anything you can tell us—security details, weak points—will help us get to you faster.”

The Prototype hesitated, glancing toward the door. They were running out of time.

“There are multiple levels,” they whispered. “The factory. The Game Station. Playcare. Then… the prison, it’s deep inside a cave. Most of us are located there. But some of us are forced to guard the upper floors.”

A shaky breath.

“I can tell the ones I trust to be ready. But not everyone. If word gets out—” Their voice broke.

“We understand.”

“One more thing,” the Prototype whispered. “You’ll need gas masks. They have something called the Red Smoke. If they’re tipped off, they’ll flood the factory with it. It knocks us out. And the hallucinations—”

They shuddered.

“Then we’ll make sure we’re prepared.”

The Prototype closed their eyes.

For the first time in their existence—

They dared to hope.

“What—what do I call you?” Their voice wavered. “Please.”

“Batman,” the deep voice finally answers, calm and steady.

The Prototype exhaled shakily, their frail human fingers clenching around the receiver. Batman. 

A name. A promise.

For the first time, the fear didn’t feel endless.

For the first time, they believed they might live.

The Prototype swallows. “Batman,” they repeat, clinging to the name like a lifeline. Their voice cracks. “Please… save us. Don’t let us die.”

A pause. Then—firm, unwavering:

“I won’t.”

Chapter Text

When Batman called an emergency meeting of the entire League, Clark knew it would be bad. But when he arrived and saw that Batman had summoned everyone—the leaders of every team, the Teen Titans, Young Justice, even the newest recruits—Clark felt a flicker of unease.

Then the call started.

And that unease bloomed into full-blown horror.

"Batman," the young voice trembled, barely more than a whisper. Static crackled, distorting it—until it broke through, raw and pleading. "Please... save us. Please... don’t let us die."

Clark felt bile rise in his throat. A voice that young shouldn’t have to beg for their life. Shouldn’t have to call heroes for help because they were being tortured.

His mind immediately flashed to Jon and Conner—his sons. He had never heard them sound like that. Desperate. Terrified. On the brink.

And if he ever did—

Clark clenched his fists, inhaling sharply through his nose. He didn’t trust himself not to snap when they found the people responsible for this. He wasn’t sure he wanted to stop himself. But if Batman was leading this mission, Clark knew he’d be watched. Knew that, if he went too far, Bruce would pull him back.

He wasn’t sure whether he was grateful for that or not.

“This is an all-hands operation,” Batman said, voice cutting through the silence. “The factory is massive. We need full-scale deployment. Three objectives—secure the employees, rescue the children, preserve the evidence.”

He looked around at the assembled heroes. No one spoke. No one needed to.

"We’ll split into three teams.

Team One—The Teen Titans, Young Justice, and newer League members. They will set up a perimeter and triage site. Their job is to detain employees, provide medical aid, and transport critical cases to hospitals or, if necessary, the Watchtower. Many of the experiments are on the brink—starving, tortured, driven past their limits. Some may not even recognize us as help. The Prototype warned us: if they run, don’t chase. If they stop, be ready. Because once they stop, they fight."

The younger heroes exchanged uneasy glances, but no one objected.

"Team Two—led by Nightwing—will infiltrate the factory and begin extraction. Their focus is transporting employees, experiments, and any crucial information that could be destroyed. The Prototype believes the scientists keep detailed records of every experiment. While the record would help strengthen the impending court case, the Prototype told me that many subjects lose all memory of who they once were after the experimentation. These records may be the only way we can identify them."

Nightwing nodded sharply, already thinking ahead.

"Team Three—the League’s senior members—will clear the factory. We’ll be working with certain experiments the Prototype trusts. The first one we meet will be unable to speak—so pay attention to their signals. We’ll check in every thirty minutes, every fifteen once we hit the lower levels.

There are four key areas:

The Main Factory—where most of the unaware employees work. The Game Station—where those involved in the experiments operate. Playcare—the orphanage, guarded by experiments under the Prototype’s orders. Once we arrive, they’ll isolate the children for their safety. And the Prison—where the worst of the experimentation took place. Where the most dangerous ‘toys’ are. We will approach that area with extreme caution."

A heavy silence followed.

No one needed to ask why Batman called for this level of force. They already knew.

With practiced efficiency, Batman assigned final roles.

Red Robin, Robin, and Spoiler led Team One, alongside other heroes who could provide air support and medical aid.

Nightwing, Signal, and Red Hood led Team Two, tasked with extraction and intel recovery.

Batman would lead Team Three, taking Orphan with him—her ability to read body language would be invaluable for understanding experiments who couldn’t speak.

Clark stayed with him. Not because he was assigned—because he needed to see this through.

As the teams gathered their equipment—comms, med kits, emergency nutrition bars—Clark cast one last look at Batman.

"How soon do we leave?"

Batman didn’t hesitate.

"Now."

And with that, they moved.

Before it was too late.

Chapter Text

The phone rang, the steady beeping cutting through the tense air.

As they waited, the Super family—minus Jon—used their X-ray vision to scan the factory’s interior.

Silhouettes moved in the dark. Some huddled together, frail and weak. Others stalked through the lower levels, their bodies unnatural. Even with all they’d seen before, Clark felt a shiver run down his spine.

Then, finally, the call connected.

“Batman?” The voice on the other end was hushed, almost drowned out by static. Likely hiding again.

“It’s me,” Batman responded, his voice steady. “I’ve brought the Justice League. We’re ready to free everyone.”

A heavy sigh came from the other side. "Okay. Give me a moment to send the signal to the others. You’ll know if I was successful if Huggy lets you in.”

Batman frowned slightly. “Who’s Huggy?”

“You’ll see. He should be stepping outside now.”

And right on cue, the front doors of the factory creaked open.

A towering figure emerged.

Blue fur covered its body. A red, closed-mouth smile stretched across its face—too wide, too fixed. Yellow hands and feet stood out against its body, and a blue bow was tied neatly around its neck.

The League tensed.

Batman silently gave the signal to move in.

Teams Two and Three advanced, while Team One locked down the perimeter. Batman slid the phone back into his belt after realizing the Prototype had hung up. He hated that. Hated that they might be in danger and that he couldn’t do anything about it.

As they approached, Batman stepped forward, eyes locked onto the creature.

“My name is Batman. The Prototype said you would help us.”

The figure tilted its head in an unnatural way before nodding. Then, without a word, it turned, bending nearly in half to slip back through the doors into the factory.

Superman led the way inside, scanning for traps, and the rest followed.

Once in, Huggy guided them past an abandoned front desk, deeper into the facility. Faint flickers of movement skittered in the corners of Batman’s vision, shadows shifting unnaturally. The air smelled of oil and something… metallic.

Huggy led them to a door marked SECURITY in bright red letters. Inside, several employees huddled together, wide-eyed and trembling.

Batman didn’t waste any time. “This is Batman. We’re sending several employees out—detain and question them. Oracle, there’s a security system here. I’ll upload your program to their server. See if you can access their cameras and find any notes on the experiments.”

Affirmative responses crackled through his earpiece as he plugged in the USB.

A low, guttural growl rumbled through the room.

Instantly, Batman turned—hand already moving toward a Batarang.

Huggy’s lips curled back, revealing rows of jagged teeth as he snarled at a security guard who had unknowingly stepped too close.

Superman was faster. In a blur, he yanked the man away. The moment the distance was restored, Huggy’s teeth vanished, his mouth closing as if they had never been there at all.

The team exchanged unsettled glances. They would need to be very careful about who got too close.

Superman returned, and Huggy led them forward, deeper into the labyrinth of corridors. They passed a cafeteria, its doors slightly ajar. 

A red handprint and a blue handprint pulsed faintly above the door Huggy led them through. Just as they stepped inside, a phone rang.

The Prototype’s voice drifted from the receiver, smooth yet edged with something unreadable.

“Hello again. I hope Huggy is behaving.”

The creature let out a soft whine, slouching slightly. The Prototype chuckled.

“I’m sorry, Huggy. I was only teasing.”

Batman answered, his tone measured. “He’s been fine, mostly. Growled at a security guard who got too close, but didn’t attack.”

Huggy whimpers again, kneeling closer to the phone. Then, much to Batman’s surprise, he lets out a soft, almost pitiful screech before nudging Batman with his head.

Batman stiffens.

The Prototype’s chuckle returns, quieter this time.

“Ah. He wants you to pat his head.”

Silence.

“He expects them when someone says he did a good job.” A pause. “I might have spoiled him a little.”

Batman stares at the massive creature, at the way Huggy’s unblinking eyes remain fixed on him, expectant.

The Prototype’s voice loses its amusement.

“You just need to remember, Batman… aside from a select few, all the ‘toys’ you’ll rescue today were once children.”

The words settle like lead in the pit of Batman’s stomach.

“We grew vicious to survive,” the Prototype continues. “But underneath the anger, underneath the terror… we can still act like children. If someone gives us the chance.”

A heavy silence follows.

Batman doesn’t need to look at the others to know they’re thinking the same thing. He feels it in the way Superman exhales sharply, the way Wonder Woman’s lips press into a thin line.

Without a word, he lifts a gloved hand and gives Huggy’s head a single, firm pat.

Huggy chirps.

It’s a sound eerily close to a child’s delighted giggle.

Batman lets his hand fall. He doesn’t say anything.

But he glances at Nightwing—and sees the barely concealed determination in his former protégé’s face. Dick will be gathering all of his siblings when this mission is over. No one leaves without a hug.

Then the Prototype’s voice shifted, sharpening into something grim.

“I also called for another reason.”

A pause.

Batman stiffened.

“There’s been… an incident. One of the pipes in the prison sector burst.”

A sharp exhale from Superman. Wonder Woman’s fingers flexed over her lasso.

They knew what that meant.

The red smoke was loose.

If they didn’t move fast—

They wouldn’t be saving anyone.

“Batman to all points.” His voice was sharp, commanding. “We have a new development. A pipe in the prison sector burst, releasing something known as the Red Smoke.”

Silence on the comms. Then a sharp intake of breath from someone—Red Robin, most likely.

“It will induce sleep upon contact and may cause extreme hallucinations. It is also highly flammable.” A slight pause before he continued. “Teams Two and Three will split into groups. Nightwing, take your squad and search the paths we don’t follow Huggy down. Extract anything or anyone that was flagged in the debrief. Once your search is complete, report back and rendezvous with us.”

No confirmation was needed. The team moved.

Batman pressed forward, following Huggy down the corridor. Along the way, they detained more employees. The facility had been eerily quiet, no immediate signs of the “experiments” they were supposed to be rescuing.

That changed when they reached a set of large, industrial doors.

The words GAME STATION loomed overhead in bright colorful paint.

The Prototype’s voice crackled over the intercom. “The door ahead leads to Game Station. Mommy Long Legs lives there.”

Batman halted mid-step.

The Prototype continued, voice cautious. “I don’t know how she’ll react to you. She’s… protective of the kids. And extremely hostile toward the scientists.”

Superman’s fists clenched. Batman didn’t need to see his face to know the expression he wore.

“From what I understand, she doesn’t realize that not all adults are the same. Or that not every child here has suffered exactly as she has. In her mind, the pain is a constant, something the children must be hiding—just like she does.”

A slow, terrible silence stretched between them.

Batman felt something cold coil in his stomach. For her to believe that… the suffering must be unimaginable.

The Prototype continued. “There are others, too. PJ Pugapillar in the Statues game, Bunzo Bunny in Musical Memory, and roughly eighty tiny Huggy Wuggies in Wack-a-Wuggy.” A brief pause. “And… There's Daddy Long Legs. Their baby, Ollie. And Daisy.”

Nightwing frowned. “They had a baby?”

A soft, bitter chuckle from the Prototype. “Not exactly.”

The static buzzed slightly before the Prototype spoke again, voice edged with something dark.

“They made him. To showcase ‘good family values.’ The perfect American household.” The words were spat out, their voice twisted in mockery.

No one spoke.

“They like us to stay true to the characters they create,” the Prototype went on. “If she has a family in the commercials, she has to have one here too. Now that she’s… alive.” A dry laugh. “They made her a baby the same way they made us.”

Batman’s jaw tightened.

“Ollie’s older than her, you know. He was around twelve when they chose him. She was a few years younger.” A pause. “He tries to help her. Tries to teach her to control her temper. But she gets so angry, Batman.”

A shuddering breath crackled through the line.

“So angry that no one can calm her down. Not without someone getting hurt.”

A slow, creeping unease slithered down Batman’s spine.

And then—

A voice rang out from the darkness beyond the doors.

Sweet.

Lilting.

And full of teeth.

“Oh? New friends?”

The League snaps to attention as a deep, guttural growl rumbles from Huggy. His lips curl back, exposing his jagged teeth in a display more primal than anything they’ve seen from him before.

Batman’s eyes flick upward. A bubblegum-pink hand, slender but unnaturally elongated, slithers down from the darkness above. It grips the wall with deceptive grace, followed by a dainty pink shoe that plants itself against the cold metal. Then, in a smooth and unsettling motion, the rest of her body unfurls.

Mommy Long Legs dangles effortlessly from the ceiling, her limbs stretching and twisting as if bones were an unnecessary feature. Her green eyes gleam with an unnatural shine, her too-wide grin almost concealing the dark pink lipstick on her mouth. Batman tenses. One of her hands remains out of sight, a potential ambush waiting to happen.

Superman floats upward, placing himself between the team and the creature. Huggy steps forward as well, muscles coiling as if preparing for a fight, his imposing form partially shielding Batman.

“We’re the Justice League,” Superman announces. “We’re here to stop the experimentation and bring the perpetrators to justice. The Prototype said you should’ve been expecting us.”

Mommy Long Legs’ grin falters. Her fingers twitch against the ceiling. Then, her eyes darken.

“Oh, yes. I was expecting you. Expecting you to try and steal my children.” Her voice drops into something venomous, vibrating with fury. “But I won’t let you take them. They belong with me. With Mommy.”

Batman sees her muscles tense an instant before she moves.

She screeches—a high-pitched, ear-piercing wail that vibrates through the air like metal scraping against metal. Then, in a blur of pink, she lunges.

Superman barely dodges as she whips an arm toward him, the limb snapping like a rubber band, narrowly missing his throat. She rebounds off the ceiling, twisting impossibly fast, and her other arm lashes out, aiming to ensnare his leg.

CRACK!

Superman blocks at the last second, the impact ringing through the hall. He recoils slightly—she’s stronger than she looks.

On the ground, the League scrambles back as Mommy’s hair-like tendrils shoot downward, trying to ensnare them. Wonder Woman slashes at them with her sword, severing a few, but the rest retract before she can land a second strike.

Batman’s phone vibrates. He answers while keeping his eyes locked on the battle.

“Batman, Catnap is on his way. He’ll be there in minutes. Once there, he can use the Red Smoke to knock Mommy out. Someone should move ahead and find a way to contain her.”

Batman processes the plan in seconds. Keeping his voice low, he relays the information to Flash and the others, making sure Mommy doesn’t overhear. 

Superman does. The Kryptonian subtly nods while still dodging Mommy’s relentless attacks.

Batman puts on his rebreather, everyone following suit as Flash blurs down the hall.

Mommy notices.

“Trying to run? Naughty little heroes—”

Superman interrupts her with a calculated blast of heat vision. Not enough to hurt, but enough to force her back. She hisses, limbs splaying out to steady herself.

And then—

The lights flicker.

A shape emerges from the shadows.

Low, deliberate footsteps echo as a figure prowls forward. A slow leak of Red Smoke seeps into the hall, swirling in unnatural patterns. A wide, toothless grin stretches across a void of a mouth. White, glowing eyes cut through the dark.

Batman recognizes him immediately. Catnap.

A cold weight settles in his chest at the sight of him. Catnap is skeletal, his purple fur barely covering the sharp ridges of his ribs and spine. The golden crescent moon on his neck seems absurdly large compared to his emaciated form. This child is starving.

Mommy Long Legs realizes too late that she’s been distracted.

The Red Smoke seeps into the air, creeping up her body. She gasps, trying to climb away, but her limbs tremble. She sways.

“No... no, no!” she snarls, struggling.

Her fingers claw at the ceiling, trying to escape, but her muscles betray her. Her grip falters—

And she falls.

Superman catches her before she hits the ground. He gently lowers her limp form, ensuring she isn’t hurt.

Catnap stops releasing the Red Smoke and sits back on his haunches, his breathing deep, almost like he’s gasping for breaths, and watches with eerily slow blinks. Superman moves at super-speed, gathering the excess gas and dispersing it through the vents. The air clears.

“Hallway is secure,” Batman announces, focusing on Catnap, concerned for his breathing.

Flash blurs back into view, holding a thick metal collar.

He stops when he sees Catnap’s ears flatten. The skeletal feline hisses lowly, fur bristling as his glowing eyes narrow at the device.

Flash hesitates, stepping back. “Uh… sorry. This was the only thing they said would hold her.”

Catnap rolls his eyes. “Of course it is. That collar injects Liquid Red Smoke into the wearer at intervals, it’ll keep her too groggy to fight.”

The entire League stills at the sound of his voice.

It’s a low, gasping rasp, like every word is being forced out. As if speaking causes pain. As if every syllable is dragging the last scraps of breath from his body.

Batman clenches his jaw but doesn’t comment. He files it away.

“Would the Liquid Red Smoke cause hallucinations?”

“Maybe. It doesn’t work on me so I don’t know, and it’s not like we get to compare how they torture us.”

Despite the hoarseness of his voice, Catnap’s words drip with sarcasm.

Batman huffs out the closest thing to amusement he’ll allow himself. Why does he always get the sarcastic ones?

“Green Lantern,” Batman orders, “once Flash gets the collar on, escort her up. Make sure someone is always watching her.”

Green Lantern nods, carefully gathering up Mommy Long Legs’ elongated limbs.

Batman hears approaching footsteps. He turns just as Nightwing and the others from Team Two arrive.

“How did it go?” Batman asks.

Nightwing exhales, rolling his shoulders. “Good. We found a path leading to a long series of catwalks. Signal and a few others are exploring. Otherwise, we found mostly factory workers and shipping manifests.”

“If you’re looking for information on us toys,” Catnap interrupts, his tone bored but his gaze sharp, “it’s either up ahead in the Game Station or down in the prison. The Game Station has notes on the recent testing of orphans—who’s going to be selected next for the Bigger Bodies project. The prison? That’s where you’ll find the information on the older experiments. The logs, the process, the—” He waves a paw. “—methods.”

A heavy silence falls over them.

Batman nods, absorbing the information before relaying it to the rest of the League. 

Time to move forward

Chapter Text

The group moves into the Game Station, but before they can take in their surroundings, a blue version of Mommy Long Legs suddenly lunges from the shadows, seizing a scientist with a disturbingly casual ease.

For a brief, stomach-turning moment, they see the glint of sharp fangs, the grotesque widening of his maw, and the way he angles the scientist’s head—like a predator preparing for its first bite.

Superman reacts instantly, yanking the man free before Daddy Long Legs can sink his teeth in. The scientist screams, flailing wildly, barely registering that he was just seconds away from being devoured. Before anyone can process the attack, Flash streaks through, whisking him and the others to safety.

The room is deathly silent.

Then, the realization slams into them.

He wasn’t just trying to kill.

He was trying to eat.

A slow, dreadful horror coils in Batman’s gut. This wasn’t an act of mindless aggression. This was hunger.

Batman turns sharply toward his phone. “Prototype.”

The device crackles, but the Prototype doesn’t answer right away.

Batman’s tone is ice. “Explain.”

A mechanical click, and then, for the first time, the Prototype’s voice is hesitant. “…I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

“That’s not an explanation,” Nightwing snaps, his hands clenched at his sides. “You knew.”

A pause. Then, a quiet, “Yes.”

Superman’s jaw tightens. “You told us the experiments don’t hurt children.” His voice is controlled, but barely. “You never said what they do to the adults.”

The Prototype’s voice is thick with something close to shame.

“We weren’t fed.”

Silence.

“We were locked in here,” the Prototype continues, slower this time. “We woke up in new bodies. Hungry. Terrified. And they didn’t care. The scientists watched, they documented, but they never fed us. Days turned to weeks. The pain was unbearable.”

It pauses. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper:

“We were children. We didn’t want to die.”

The words land like a physical blow.

Superman takes a sharp breath, glancing at Huggy, at Catnap, at the others. They aren’t just experiments. They aren’t just victims. They were kids—starving, terrified kids who had been forced to turn on each other.

Nightwing swallows hard, his usual composure shaken. “Oh, god.”

Zatanna’s hands tremble at her sides, her lips forming a silent spell as if warding off the horror.

Flash looks pale, his hand rising to cover his mouth in horror. “Jesus…”

Even Batman, the most composed of them all, closes his eyes briefly, his fists clenched so tightly his gloves creak.

Superman’s fists tremble with fury. “And the scientists let this happen.”

“They wanted it to happen,” the Prototype confirms. “They took notes. They watched children rip each other apart just to survive.”

The weight of those words sinks into them like lead. Every single hero in the room feels it—the raw, agonizing betrayal of a world that allowed this nightmare to unfold.

As if on cue, the blue experiment exhales sharply, as if growing impatient with their conversation. He turns, attempting to slink deeper into the Game Station.

Superman moves first, blocking his path. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Daddy Long Legs stops, tilting his head before turning back toward Catnap.

Catnap squares his shoulders. His expression is unreadable, but his ears twitch, his tail flicking in agitation. “Will you go quietly, or do I have to knock you out like I did Mommy?”

The blue experiment’s grin widens, his eyes darkening with challenge. Then, he lunges.

Catnap leaps back, releasing a thick cloud of red smoke.

Huggy bolts for the entrance as the team scrambles, quickly securing their gas masks.

Superman slams into the blue experiment, trying to restrain him, but Daddy Long Legs thrashes violently, his elongated limbs snapping at unnatural angles.

Flash forces himself to move past the horror and speeds into action. He gathers the thick smoke, whipping it into a swirling vortex, trapping it around Superman and Daddy Long Legs. The experiment chokes, flailing uselessly, before finally collapsing under their combined efforts.

As the last wisps of red smoke clear, Batman stops Flash before he can run off.

“Grab several collars. We’ll need them as we move deeper in.”

Flash nods stiffly, disappearing and reappearing within seconds, distributing the collars.

The team regroups at the train station. Batman turns to the others. “Superman, Nightwing, Flash, Zatanna, Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, Huggy, Catnap, and I will board the train. The rest of you stay behind to hold this position.”

Shazam steps forward. “We’ll keep them safe. Anyone comes through here looking for trouble, they’ll regret it.”

Batman nods before glancing at the growing number of experiments around them. PJ Pugapillar coils slightly but watches them with intelligent eyes. Bunzo Bunny shifts his cymbals, studying them cautiously. The tiny Huggy Wuggies chatter amongst themselves, their gazes flicking from Huggy to the others.

Batman steps onto the platform, casting one last glance back at the Game Station. Shadows stretch long over the abandoned play structures, the echoes of what transpired here lingering in the silence.

Their mission was far from over.

The true horrors still awaited them in Playcare.

As the train rumbles to life beneath him, Batman settles into his seat, gaze fixed on the tracks ahead. The long ride gives him time to think—to prepare. But even he can’t shake the feeling that what lies ahead will test them in ways they aren’t ready for.

Chapter Text

Batman hates when he’s right sometimes. One of the employees had sabotaged the train, leading to a partial cave-in on the tracks as the train had crashed. Half of his team was stuck on the other side of the cave-in, along with Huggy and Catnap. The people with superspeed on the train had managed to move everyone into separate ends of the train, meaning no one was injured badly or stuck under rubble, but it meant that Batman had to take a reduced group further in with a low chance of backup reaching them in time if something happened. Thankfully, Flash had been able to radio in that his group would go through a path in the vents that Huggy knew, but it would take longer than the path on the tracks since they needed to circle back towards the Game Station to reach the access point. Batman ordered the Green Lanterns to all focus on the crash—stabilizing the area and clearing the rubble, then transporting the children, experiments, and employees from Playcare up to Team 1. John and Kyle replied they would head down immediately, while Hal stayed to get started.  

Once that was taken care of, Batman did a quick check on his children. Nightwing was fine, only a scratch on his cheek from some rocks as he rolled away. Red Hood and Orphan both had no injuries. As he checked on the rest of the team, his phone rang.  

“Batman? Are you okay? That explosion was huge!” Batman huffed at the slightly excited tone the Prototype took, knowing that children all love explosions.  

“Everyone is alright. Someone tampered with the train, causing it to crash. The group got split up, Catnap and Huggy are currently showing the others a longer way around. I have the Green Lanterns staying behind to clear the rubble and transport the children, but until the other group catches up, we’re going in alone.”  

“You won’t be totally alone, you’ll have me! Right now, you have two ways to get into Playcare: the direct route, but it can’t take too many people, or the longer way, which the employees use.” Batman looked around again, doing one last headcount before replying.  

“We currently have six people, seven with me included. Three of them are able to fly.”  

“That’s so cool! And if it's that small of a group, then you can take the direct route. It's a gondola ride that’s usually reserved for the kids and any donors or prospective adoptive parents. From up there, you’ll see all of Playcare. It’s just up ahead.” Batman looked at the others, and upon seeing they were fine with the plan, began to move down the tunnel.  

They quickly reached the platform for the gondola ride. The group made a pit stop at the security booth, loading Oracle into their system again and telling the group about the two guards in the room before going back out. A large Huggy statue stood in the middle of the walkway. Hopping the barriers led to the gondola, apparently labeled Elliot’s Express. After making sure that this transport was not tampered with, the group boarded and began the descent to Playcare.

As the video on the tv played, Batman was curious about why Elliot Ludwig’s face was covered up. Thankfully, Red Hood quickly grew tired of the video and took out the tape. 

Batman decided to ask the Prototype. Since he had a free moment, he quickly had Oracle's help patching the call into his comms.

“Prototype, do you know why Elliot Ludwig’s face was removed from the video on the gondola ride?”

The Prototype’s soft static calmed as they processed the question. “I don’t know for certain, but there’s a lot of speculation. Word is, it was likely Lieth Pierre. After Elliot’s death, he went on a sort of… rampage. He wanted to make sure everyone knew who was in charge now. He had most of the footage involving Elliot re-shot to highlight his own face, or edited to make Elliot seem almost invisible. The scientists said Pierre pushed the narrative that Playtime Co. was falling apart before he came along to save it. Some of it’s true, but he definitely exaggerated a lot. Apparently, towards the end, Elliot wasn’t paying as much attention to things as he used to.”

The Prototype paused, its tone turning thoughtful, almost distant. “After the death of his youngest daughter, something in Elliot… broke. He poured all his energy into Playtime Co., as if the rest of the world didn’t matter anymore. But that shift didn’t go unnoticed.”

Batman leaned forward, his gaze sharpening. “What happened next?” he prompted, sensing the weight of the Prototype’s words.

The Prototype hesitated, its voice softening. "That’s when his eldest daughter… She wasn’t just ignored—she became something else in his eyes. Something disposable. He became so consumed by the company, by his research, that he let his own family fall apart.”

Batman’s stomach tightened, the heavy realization settling in.

It was a story he knew all too well.

After Jason, grief had hollowed him out. He had thrown himself into his mission with a single-minded intensity, blind to the people still standing beside him. Dick had tried to reach him, but Bruce had been too lost in his own pain to listen. Alfred had watched with quiet sorrow. His family had been breaking, and he hadn’t noticed.

And then Tim came.

Tim Drake, the boy who saw what Bruce refused to see. The one who had pieced together the truth, who stood before him and said, “Batman needs a Robin.”

Tim had saved him from himself. 

“Then he adopted another daughter.”

Batman blinked. “He did?”

The Prototype confirmed with a slight hum. “Yeah. It was like… he came back to life. People say that after his youngest daughter died, Elliot was just going through the motions, shutting himself away from the world. But when he adopted the second one, it was like a switch flipped. He became a father again. He smiled more. He started talking about Playcare, about making it right again.”

Batman exhaled slowly. The parallels were unmistakable. He had lost himself after Jason. But Tim’s arrival had pulled him back before he went too far. Elliot had been given the same chance—his second daughter had saved him from his grief.

But unlike Batman, Elliot hadn’t held onto that second chance.

“Then he started researching Poppy flowers,” the Prototype continued. “At first, it was about preservation—some way to keep memories from fading. But his research led to something bigger, something Playtime Co. seized upon. It gave Dr. Sawyer the foundation to begin the Bigger Bodies Initiative.”

Batman’s jaw tightened. “And Elliot?”

The Prototype hesitated. “He didn’t live to see any of it. He died before I was made—under circumstances that are very suspicious. Some of the scientists whispered that Dr. Sawyer had a hand in it. That Elliot had grown uneasy about the experiments and wanted to shut them down. Some even say he was trying to close Playcare entirely. So the Doctor killed him. The police found a kid’s body in his mansion. Playcare denied that Elliot killed him, they said Elliot loved kids and would never harm one. That the body was planted. And a few weeks later, it was all swept under the rug. No one talked about it again. The scientists wonder how much it had cost Playtime to make it all go away.”

“And his daughters?” Batman asked, already suspecting the answer.

“His eldest vanished after Elliot’s death. Some say she ran away. Others say Playtime Co. had something to do with it.”

Batman’s hands clenched. He had been dangerously close to making the same mistake—letting grief for one child blind him to the one still beside him. Tim had saved him from that. But if Elliot’s daughter had no one…

“And the adopted daughter?”

The Prototype hesitated again. “That’s the other thing, after he died, she vanished too. No records, no sightings. Just… erased. As if she had never existed.”

Batman felt something cold settle in his chest.

Two children. One neglected in grief, the other—newly adopted—who disappeared without a trace.

“And the child’s body found in his mansion?”

A long silence stretched over the comms. Then, the Prototype spoke again.

“That’s the real mystery, isn’t it?”

Batman exhaled slowly, absorbing the weight of what he’d just heard. Elliot Ludwig’s story was disturbingly familiar—grief, loss, and the desperate attempt to fill a void that could never truly be replaced. He had pulled himself back from the edge when he adopted his second daughter, but in the end, tragedy still found him. And now, both of his daughters are gone.

A quiet sigh crackled over the comms before the Prototype spoke again, their childish voice lacking its usual energy.

“Look ahead. Playcare is coming up now,” they murmured.

The subdued tone was enough to make Batman glance at his comms, as if he could somehow gauge the Prototype’s expression through sound alone. Whatever the experiment was feeling, they didn’t say, but the sadness in their voice lingered as the team crowded toward the front of the gondola.

As the gondola entered the dome, Playcare was revealed in all its unsettling imitation of a real childhood haven. Batman could hardly believe that this was where children had been raised. The ceiling stretched high above them, painted to resemble a bright blue sky, though the effect was ruined by the plastic clouds suspended from thin wires, swaying slightly in the artificial air current. A massive fan overhead circulated stale air, an empty mimicry of a real breeze.

Despite the hollow atmosphere, Playcare itself was pristine. The buildings stood tall, their paint fresh, their exteriors meticulously maintained. The artificial sky above mimicked a bright day, soft blues and white clouds stretching across the dome’s ceiling, while the fan system ensured the air remained crisp and clean. The pathways were spotless, the playground equipment looked brand new, and the neatly trimmed grass held no sign of decay. It was a place designed to impress visitors—to fool them into believing this was a perfect sanctuary for children.

But then, they saw the bodies.

Everywhere.

Employees lay strewn across the ground—collapsed on walkways, slumped against walls, sprawled in doorways. Some had fallen over desks, others had their limbs twisted unnaturally from where they’d dropped mid-step. It was as if the entire facility had suddenly shut down, leaving nothing but silent, unmoving figures in its wake.

Nightwing sucked in a sharp breath. Red Hood tensed, his hand drifting toward his gun on reflex. Orphan’s fists clenched at her sides. Even Superman, who had seen countless horrors across the galaxy, narrowed his eyes in deep unease.

Martian Manhunter hovered slightly off the ground, his red eyes glowing faintly as he scanned the area. His brow furrowed in concentration. "They are alive… but their minds are clouded. Their consciousnesses flicker as if caught between waking and something… else. I sense fear beneath the surface, residual, but deep. They have all seen something terrible."

"This is…" Nightwing started but trailed off, unable to put it into words.

"Monstrous," Wonder Woman finished grimly, her grip tightening on her lasso.

Batman said nothing, his gaze sweeping the facility with cold calculation. Yet even without the unconscious figures, Playcare felt inherently wrong. The artificial world built within these walls was a prison disguised as a sanctuary. Children needed sunlight, fresh air, the feeling of real grass beneath their feet—not cold concrete and fluorescent lighting.

Batman exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. Whoever had conceived of this place had no understanding of what children truly needed.

They had only understood control.

Then, movement.

The curtains in the Home Sweet Home building shifted, ever so slightly. Batman’s sharp eyes caught it immediately, his posture tensing as his hand hovered near his belt. Superman, noticing the same thing, didn’t hesitate. His eyes briefly glowed red as he activated his X-ray vision, scanning beyond the perfect exterior. His expression hardened.

“They’re inside,” Superman murmured. “The children… and more of the Smiling Critters. They’re huddled together, watching us.”

As the gondola grew closer to the ground, two figures emerged from the eerie stillness of Playcare. A dog with orange and yellow fur and a green bunny with extra height due to their long ears. Both stood on two legs, their wide, unsettling grins frozen in place, gleaming faintly in the artificial light. Each wore a golden pendant—one shaped like a sun, the other a lightning bolt.

“My name is Batman. The Prototype called us for help,” Batman introduced himself, his voice firm.

The dog tilted their head slightly, their eerie grin unwavering. “Where is Catnap? He left a while ago to help you, but he hasn’t come back,” they said, their voice shallow and echoing, nearly monotone.

“There was a cave-in on the train ride here. The group was separated. Catnap is leading the others through the back way. While we wait for them, we’ll detain the employees and make sure no one here needs medical aid or is starving.”

Even as Batman spoke, he remained keenly aware of his surroundings. Playcare may have been designed to look welcoming, but beneath its polished surface, something deeply sinister lurked.

Dogday shifted uncomfortably, their ears twitching. “My name is Dogday. This is Hoppy. The others are with the kids in Home Sweet Home. The teachers… We locked them in the school.” Their voice dropped lower, as if afraid of being overheard. “Something’s wrong with them. Even the employees were scared to leave them alone with anyone.”

Batman’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, ‘something’s wrong with them’?”

Dogday hesitated. Hoppy’s long ears flicked back. “They aren’t like us,” the bunny muttered. “Not anymore.”

Batman didn’t like that answer. “Explain.”

Dogday swallowed. “They used to act normal—well, as normal as experiments like us could be. They taught the children, played with them, and followed orders. But over time, they… changed.” Their fingers twitched toward the golden pendant at their neck. “They stopped talking when no one was watching them. Stopped blinking. Stopped moving unless a child was near. And then—” They broke off, glancing toward the school. “The last time someone was left alone with them… we never found all of him.”

A cold silence settled over the group.

Superman’s gaze darkened. “And no one shut the school down after that?”

“The director didn’t care,” Hoppy muttered. “So we had to.”

Batman’s expression remained unreadable, but inside, a grim understanding settled. If the people in charge refused to protect the children, then the experiments had taken it upon themselves.

He exhaled sharply. “And the Playhouse?”

Dogday twitched, lowering their voice further. “That’s where… the tiny versions of us are kept.” Their breath hitched, ears flattening against their head. “We can’t let them out unless they’re fed. They… they’re starving. And when we get like that…” Their voice trembled, their entire frame tense as they trail off.

Batman’s jaw clenched. “How long have they been without food?”

Dogday’s pupils dilated slightly. “Too long.”

Before Batman could press further, Hoppy cut in, their voice urgent. “We’ve kept the kids safe. But the gas—the red gas they use to make them sleep—”

Batman froze.

“They used a gas that caused nightmare-like hallucinations repeatedly on children?” His voice was a dangerous growl.

Dogday flinched, ears flicking back. “Even after some kids got sick, they kept using it.”

Hoppy nodded, looking sick. “Some didn’t wake up right away. They’d stay trapped in their nightmares, crying and screaming long after the gas had worn off. The worst ones had to be taken away.”

Batman’s fists clenched. His gloves creaked under the pressure.

Every person responsible for this would pay.

Every single one.

Chapter Text

Batman finished checking in with the team just as Superman and Wonder Woman finished feeding the miniature Critters. His kids kept the children distracted, their laughter brittle under the weight of lingering fear. Despite everything, the atmosphere had started to feel almost stable.

Then the lights went out.

Darkness swallowed Playcare in an instant. A few of the children shrieked, clutching at Nightwing and Red Hood. The toys fell eerily silent.

Batman was already moving. Night-vision lenses dropped over his cowl’s lenses as he swept the area. “Stay together,” he ordered. “Relocate to Home Sweet Home. Now.”

No one questioned him. The team acted immediately, gathering up the children and ushering them toward safety.

Then the Prototype’s voice crackled over the comms, low and urgent.

“Batman, they know you’re here. They’re trying to stop you.” A pause, and then, “Someone flooded the elevator room with red smoke and shut down the power. I don’t know how, but they locked it down so you can’t override it remotely.”

Red smoke. The same gas they used on the children.

Batman’s jaw tightened. “How do I clear it?”

“You need to restore power,” the Prototype answered. “Go to the room beneath the statues. You can reroute the generators from the surrounding buildings to divert the gas and restart the elevator’s systems.”

Batman was already scanning the area. “How many generators?”

"Every building has a backup, but you’ll only need four to restore power to the gas production zone. The control room screen will display which ones to activate. Two will be down due to recent maintenance."

Batman didn’t miss the hesitation in their voice. “What else?”

A beat of silence. Then:

“The school.”

Batman stilled.

“I know you were waiting for Catnap to lead the others to you before going in, but if you want to reach the prison when they get there… you’ll have to do it without them.”

For the first time, even the Prototype sounded unsettled.

Batman exhaled slowly. He had been planning to investigate the school once they were at full strength—he hadn’t missed the way Dogday and Hoppy spoke about it, or the fear in their eyes.

Now, it was unavoidable.

“Understood,” he said, his voice like steel.

Then he moved.

"Nightwing, check on the others and report back. Then, join Red Hood. Red Hood, secure the children and the toys—make sure they’re protected—then search for the generator in the house. Superman, scan the school. Identify how many teachers are inside and their locations. Martian Manhunter, go with him—assess their mental state. Wonder Woman, you’re with me. We’ll examine the room beneath the statues."

His gaze flicked to Cassandra. “Orphan. Secure the perimeter of Home Sweet Home. If anything moves that shouldn’t be there, take it down quietly.”

She gave a small nod and was gone before anyone could track her movement, disappearing into the darkness like a ghost.

With their orders given, the team split up. Nightwing was already speaking into his comms as he followed Red Hood toward Home Sweet Home. Superman took flight, his glowing eyes scanning the school below as Martian Manhunter silently drifted beside him. Batman and Wonder Woman moved with measured caution toward the statues, their steps soundless against the cold, artificial ground.

In the distance, unseen but ever-watchful, Orphan slipped through the shadows, circling Home Sweet Home like a silent warden. Anything that tried to get inside wouldn’t live long enough to regret it.

The chamber beneath the statues was eerily silent, the air thick with anticipation. Wonder Woman took the lead, scanning for traps, her lasso coiled tightly in her grip. Batman’s eyes swept over the control panels, mentally mapping the layout when his comm came to life.

“Batman, this is Oracle. I have several updates for you.”

Batman’s eyes narrowed at the tension in Oracle’s voice.

“This is a secure line—only Team 3 and the Bats are on this channel. Those with the experiments, remain silent. Some of this information cannot be overheard.”

A brief pause followed, allowing the weight of the order to sink in. Batman’s jaw tightened. Whatever Oracle had found—whether through Team 2 or her own hacking—it wasn’t good.

“First,” Oracle continued, “Catnap is nearly at Playcare, with part of Team 2 trailing behind. The Lanterns have begun clearing the tunnel and estimate they’re halfway through.”

So far, nothing unexpected. But Oracle’s tone shifted.

“The big update—Signal has found another experiment. She’s traveling with him and the others. Her name is Poppy, and…” A hesitation. “She claims the Prototype is going to kill everyone.”

Batman froze.

For a brief second, static filled the channel, or maybe that was just the rushing of his own thoughts. He had been deceived before—everyone had—but his instincts had rarely been wrong.

The Prototype had been desperate. Fearful. They had warned him about the dangers lurking in the factory, gone out of their way to help. If they were lying, they were a world-class manipulator.

Or Poppy was.

Batman’s voice came through low and controlled. “Did she give proof?”

Oracle exhaled. “No. Just the claim. But she was insistent.”

Batman’s eyes flickered to the shadows ahead.

Either way, something wasn’t adding up.

“Why does she say that?” Batman kept his voice measured, but skepticism crept in. He didn’t know the Prototype—not truly. For all he knew, Poppy was telling the truth.

“She claims the Prototype is enacting something called ‘The Hour of Joy’—a plan to seize the factory and eliminate every employee inside,” Oracle relayed. “According to her, the Prototype manipulated us into gathering everyone in one place, making it easier to kill them all. And once the employees are dead…” A beat of silence. “…they’ll turn on us.”

Batman’s expression remained unreadable, but his mind raced.

“She insists the Prototype has been using us from the start, pretending to be desperate, pretending to help—all while leading us exactly where they want us,” Oracle continued grimly. “That they never needed us to rescue anyone, just to trap them.”

That… didn’t align with what Batman had observed. The Prototype’s behavior, their warnings, their desperation—none of it suggested a mastermind laying the groundwork for a massacre.

But Oracle wasn’t done. “She also claims the Prototype isn’t just capable of killing us. They will kill us. She says that they’ve spent years figuring out ways to neutralize threats like the League, studying our weaknesses, perfecting methods to take us down. That the only reason they haven’t attacked yet… is because they’re waiting for the right moment.”

Batman’s skepticism deepened. The Prototype was intelligent. But this? It didn’t fit.

Red Hood scoffed. “That’s a hell of a long con. Why help us detain the more violent experiments if they were just gonna let them loose later? Why give us a non-lethal way to detain themselves?”

Batman grunted in agreement. “Their actions don’t match that kind of plan.”

Oracle exhaled. “That’s what we thought too. Just to be safe, I ordered Team 1 to increase security until all employees were in custody. But…” She hesitated. “…some of what Poppy said is backed up by notes I found.”

“What did she say?” Spoiler asked. “And what did you find?”

Oracle’s voice remained steady, but the underlying unease was unmistakable. “She claims the Prototype is deceiving us in every possible way. That they use people’s love of children to manipulate them, to make them drop their guard.”

Batman’s jaw tightened.

“She also says the Prototype can mimic voices. That their real voice is… unnatural. Disturbing. So they use other voices—voices that make people trust them.” A pause. “That’s why they’ve kept their distance. Because once we see them for what they really are… we’ll know the truth.”

The team fell silent, absorbing the weight of the accusation.

“And the notes?” Batman finally prompted.

Oracle sighed. “They confirm the Prototype doesn’t have a functional voice box. They use something else to communicate, but the notes weren’t specific. What I did find was a directive to remove that ability—to force them to use their real voice.”

Batman’s mind churned through possibilities. This was bigger than simple deception. Someone had tried to silence the Prototype. Why?

“So some of what she’s saying is true,” Spoiler admitted. “But she’s twisting it.”

Oracle hesitated before continuing. “That’s not all. Poppy’s been relentless about convincing us. She keeps pushing the idea that we’re in danger just by listening to the Prototype.”

“How?” Nightwing asked.

Oracle’s voice grew tighter. “She says the Prototype is already working on breaking us down—mentally. That they choose their words carefully, making you want to help them, want to believe them. She says it’s how they trap people. How they trapped the employees here. That we won’t even realize we’ve been manipulated until it’s too late.”

Batman’s brow furrowed. That was a classic psychological warfare tactic—convince someone they were already compromised, and they’d start doubting their own instincts.

“She’s preemptively trying to undermine them,” Wonder Woman observed, her voice edged with concern.

“Exactly,” Oracle agreed. “She says once you see them, you’ll understand. That the reason they’ve kept their distance isn’t caution—it’s because they can’t keep up the act once they’re exposed.”

Batman folded his arms. “And what does she say happens if we don’t listen to her?”

Oracle hesitated. “She says if we don’t act soon, we’ll regret it. That the Prototype doesn’t lose—they adapt. She says they’re watching us right now, waiting to see who is the easiest to break first. And once they decide…”

Oracle didn’t finish. She didn’t need to.

“What do you and Signal think?” Batman asked, his voice quieter but no less intense.

Oracle took a breath. “Signal thinks she has a vendetta. Every time she talks about the Prototype, it’s not fear—it’s anger.” Another pause. “And there’s something else.”

Batman waited.

“She keeps calling the Prototype ‘she’ and ‘her.’”

Batman’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“That wouldn’t mean much on its own,” Oracle continued, “but everyone else—Catnap, the other experiments, even some employees—use they/them. Even the ones who barely know the Prototype refer to them that way.”

Nightwing frowned. “Why?”

“From what we gathered, a lot of toys don’t remember who they were—not even their gender. Unless they have a definitive identity—like ‘Mommy’ or ‘Daddy’—they default to they/them. And everyone respects that. Employees, other experiments—even the ones who hate them still use it.”

Oracle’s voice tightened. “So why is Poppy the only one who doesn’t?”

Silence.

Something wasn’t right.

And Batman was going to find out what.

“It does sound like the two have history, or Poppy has it out for them for some reason. Was there anything you could find?” Batman asked.

Oracle sighed. “No. Everything related to the experiments is buried deep. The second security office got me closer, but someone is actively trying to block me. Luckily, they’re not very good, so I’m making slow progress. I did manage to access the security cameras for the factory and Game Station levels. Once the power is back on, I should be able to get into Playcare too.”

Batman grunted in acknowledgment, moving with Wonder Woman to help Nightwing haul the cord from the Home Sweet Home generator down the steps. He gestured for Wonder Woman to check out the Playhouse’s generator while he listened to Oracle.

Martian Manhunter, who had been monitoring the conversation silently, finally spoke. “You suspect that Poppy is not being entirely truthful, yet you acknowledge that some of her claims hold weight. What makes you think she is misleading us?”

Oracle hesitated for a moment before responding.

“There’s something… off about Poppy. The way we found her—it set off every alarm in our heads. It was like something straight out of a horror movie.”

Batman’s eyes narrowed. “Explain.”

“The team found her locked away in what looked like an abandoned section of the factory. No employees, no signs of recent activity—except for one thing. There was a giant poppy flower painted on a wall, with a single walkway leading into the center of it. When they stepped through… the factory stopped looking like a factory.”

Oracle’s voice took on an almost reluctant tone. “Thinking about it now, it looked like a house. Or… a dollhouse. The walls had flower wallpaper, the rooms were fully furnished. At the very back was a single door. Inside, the lights were all turned red. A lullaby was playing. And in the center of the room—”

She paused for effect. “There was a glass case holding Poppy.”

A heavy silence hung for a second. Then—

“Like Annabelle?” Nightwing whispered, looking visibly paler.

Martian Manhunter turned to him with a faint expression of curiosity. “Annabelle?”

Batman gave Nightwing a sharp glance, but Nightwing forced a shaky smile, as if trying to convince himself he wasn’t unsettled.

Red Hood, on the other hand, was grinning. “Oh shit, that’s right—Big Bird was scared of that movie. Aren’t you afraid of haunted dolls?”

Batman heard a few stifled snickers over the comms.

Oracle let out a small laugh in confirmation. “Just like Annabelle.”

Nightwing stiffened. “No.”

“Yes.”

Martian Manhunter hummed in thought. “A sentient doll confined within a glass prison… This situation does seem reminiscent of horror folklore. A deliberate choice, perhaps, to unsettle intruders.”

Oracle continued, clearly enjoying herself now. “Then—her eyes opened the second Beast Boy opened the glass case.”

Nightwing inhaled sharply. “No.”

Oracle’s voice was pure mischief. “Oh yes.”

Batman caught Red Hood slowly creeping up on Nightwing, who was too lost in his own horror to notice. He could have stopped him—but he didn’t.

Wonder Woman and Superman arrived, both carrying cables—hers from the Playhouse, his from the counselor’s building. Batman started plugging them in, half-listening as Oracle delivered the final blow.

“Then, she said, ‘You opened my case.’ And the lights went out.”

Nightwing’s jaw dropped. His eyes were wide, even hidden behind his domino mask.

That was when Red Hood struck.

Nightwing let out a startled scream as Red Hood grabbed him from behind. He swung an instinctive punch—Red Hood ducked. A kick followed—Red Hood caught it, cackling before Nightwing realized who it was.

Laughter exploded over the comms. Even Batman allowed himself a small smirk.

Nightwing, now blushing furiously, tackled Red Hood, wrestling him into a headlock.

Martian Manhunter observed the display with mild curiosity. “Fear responses manifest in fascinating ways. Even knowing it was a deception, the psychological effect remains strong.”

Oracle chuckled. “Don’t worry. Beast Boy screamed too. Nearly gave Signal a heart attack. Raven hasn’t stopped mocking him.”

Nearby, Cassandra stood with her arms crossed, watching the antics with unreadable eyes. Unlike the others, she hadn’t reacted at all to the story—not visibly, anyway. But Batman caught the slight tilt of her head, the way her fingers briefly flexed. She was analyzing, processing.

She wasn’t scared. She was thinking.

“Orphan,” Batman called.

She glanced at him, waiting.

“What do you think?”

Cassandra hesitated, then moved her hand in a small, deliberate motion—Mask. Pretend. Hide.

Batman nodded. “You think she was waiting for someone?”

Cassandra gave a slight shrug, then nodded.

“She wasn’t just locked away,” Batman mused, eyes narrowing. “She chose to stay.”

The amusement drained from the room.

Oracle clears her throat before continuing. “ She was completely alone, in a glass case, like she was just an ordinary doll. But the case didn’t even have a lock. So why didn’t she escape? There was no one around to stop her. Why wait? And why pretend to be a regular doll when anyone who enters that room would know about the experiments and see through the act?”

She hesitates for a moment, then adds, “Is it because of the Prototype? Is that why she has such a grudge against them? Or… was there another reason?”

Batman grunts, mulling over her words. Oracle raised several good points—too many to ignore.

“Everyone, keep an eye on how Poppy interacts with the other experiments. Don’t let her out of your sight,” he orders. “Before she gets here, I’ll ask the Prototype about the Hour of Joy. Signal, keep pressing Poppy for more details. Oracle, dig deeper—find anything that could back up her claims. We’re heading into the school now. Send the team to us as soon as they arrive.”

Batman then turns to Superman. “What did you find?”

“There are nine teachers in total,” Superman reports grimly. “Unfortunately, three employees were caught inside… and it looks like they were eaten.”

A heavy silence falls over the group before Superman continues. “I located the generator, but there’s a problem. If I turn it on now, the teachers could just switch it off again after I leave. We could try locking them in a room, but…” he shakes his head, “they’ve already started snapping at each other. A fight is about to break out. If we’re going to contain them, we need to separate them—both from each other and from the generator.”

Batman exhales sharply before giving the plan. “Superman will restrain the teachers. We’ll assist by securing the arm and leg restraints. Wonder Woman, you’ll keep the others off of us while we work. We start with one teacher—if they break free, we retreat and wait for backup. If the restraints hold, we move forward, secure the rest, and then turn on the generator.”

With the plan set, they push forward toward the school.

Chapter Text

As they carefully navigated the ruined school halls, Batman switched to a private frequency.

"Prototype, I need to ask you something," he said, his voice low and firm. "What is the Hour of Joy?"

Silence answered him at first—long and heavy. Then Prototype spoke, their young voice tired and laced with shame.

“…You weren’t supposed to hear about that.”

"But I did," Batman pressed. "Tell me what it means."

Another pause. When Prototype finally spoke, their voice trembled beneath a heavy weight—fear, regret.

“It never happened. But it could have. If no one had come. If no one had helped us.”

Batman frowned beneath the cowl. "Explain."

Prototype exhaled slowly. “It wasn’t a plan. Not really. More like… a last resort. If they kept taking children. Testing them. Turning us into monsters. Hurting us. Leaving the failed ones to starve and clean up their messes... If it didn’t stop, we were going to force a way out.”

There was no pride in their voice. No anger. Just grim, exhausted honesty.

"And by 'forcing a way out,' you mean killing."

Prototype didn’t answer right away. Then, quietly, as if the words themselves hurt:
“…If that’s what it took.”

Superman shot Batman a glance as they moved, sweeping the perimeter. Wonder Woman silently secured the captured teachers. Batman stayed focused on the voice in his ear.

“I didn’t want to hurt anyone, Batman," Prototype continued. "But we begged. We tried to escape. We fought. Every time, they dragged us back. Locked us away in the dark.”

A pause. Then a bitter, hollow chuckle.

“They only ever listened to fear.”

Batman absorbed those words, his jaw tightening. Prototype hadn't wanted to be a monster—they had been ready to become one because there had been no other choice.

"And the name? Why call it the Hour of Joy?" Batman asked, his voice softening.

Prototype hesitated, the comm line almost crackling with the weight of memory.

“It wasn’t my name for it," they said slowly. "It was what the others called it. They thought... it would be our first hour of freedom. Our first hour where we got to be free. Laugh. Run. Live.”

Their voice wavered.

“It wasn’t supposed to be about the hurting. It was supposed to be about... finally being alive. ”

Batman closed his eyes briefly. The Hour of Joy—named not for violence, but for the dream of being free.

"But I came," Batman said quietly. "You didn’t go through with it."

The comm went silent, but he knew the conversation wasn’t over.

They cleared more rooms, moving deeper into the broken school. Batman switched back to the private channel.

"Prototype," he said, voice even softer now, "why? Why were you so desperate? Why would you have gone through with it?"

Long silence. Then Prototype spoke, raw and low.

"Because there was no other way, Batman. We weren’t people to them. We were things. Toys to be controlled, played with, and thrown away when we broke."

Batman said nothing, letting them speak.

"And then I met Theo," they continued. "I made him a promise."

Their voice changed, growing almost tender—fragile. They sounded like they were trying not to cry.

"He was just a kid. Small, fast. Always talking about how he wanted to see the ocean. I told him we could escape. I told him I had a plan. And he believed me."

Batman’s stomach twisted. He already knew how this story ended.

"We ran together. He was faster than me. We grabbed a grab-pack—the tool employees use to move around the factory. He tried to use it but… something went wrong."

Prototype’s voice cracked.

"It electrocuted him. Full force. He hit the ground and didn’t move. I could’ve kept running. I was so close." A shaky breath. "But I couldn’t leave him."

Batman closed his eyes again, the pain in the Prototype’s words cutting deep.

"I carried him back. I thought maybe they could fix him. I thought if I turned myself in, it would be worth it. If Theo lived. But I was too late."

Silence stretched over the line, broken only by a soft, heart-wrenching sniffle.

"And the only thing they could do to keep him alive… was turn him into one of us. So they did."

Batman already knew, but he had to hear it aloud. "Catnap."

Prototype let out a breath that might have been a laugh—if it wasn’t completely hollow.

"Yeah. That’s what they call him now. It’s my fault. He’s like this because of me. Suffering because of me."

The guilt in their voice was suffocating.

Batman spoke quietly, almost carefully. "And the promise?"

Prototype’s voice dropped to a whisper.

"I promised him he’d be free."

Another beat of silence.

"Even if it meant I wouldn’t be."

Batman exhaled slowly, his grip tightening slightly on the communicator. He could feel the weight of those words settle into his bones.

“You gave up your chance at freedom,” he said, voice steady but edged with something deeper. “For him.”

Prototype didn’t answer right away. When they finally did, their voice was hoarse and small.

“What else was I supposed to do?”

Batman remained silent, the full measure of Prototype’s pain settling in his chest. He had seen this before—people willing to sacrifice everything for the ones they loved, only to lose them anyway. He had lived it.

Jason stood still beside him, tense. The others listened quietly, the weight of the story sinking in.

Finally, Batman said, “You promised Catnap his freedom. But he’s still here.”

“I know,” Prototype whispered.

There was something final in their tone, something that made Batman’s gut tighten.

"Even if it means you die?"

The Prototype didn’t respond.

Batman’s jaw clenched. He didn’t like unknown variables. He didn’t like self-sacrificial ideals. And more than that, he didn’t like how much of himself he saw in the Prototype’s words.

He took a slow breath, recalibrating.

"Then it's a good thing we’re here." His voice was firm now, cutting through the weight of the conversation. "Because no one else dies in this factory. Not Catnap. Not you."

A beat of silence. Then, the Prototype let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. "You say that like you can stop it."

Batman didn’t flinch. “Watch me.”

Chapter Text

As they neared the generator room, the air grew heavier with tension. The flickering emergency lights cast long, jagged shadows across the ruined school halls. Batman signaled for the group to slow, his sharp gaze sweeping the corridor ahead.

Then—movement.

From the darkness, three figures emerged. Twisted forms, once human, their limbs elongated unnaturally, their eyes wide with predatory hunger. The teachers.

They moved fast. Too fast.

The first lunged at Batman, clawed hands swiping through the air. He sidestepped, using its momentum to throw it into the wall. But it recovered instantly, body snapping unnaturally as it turned toward him again.

"We need to take them down without harming them," Batman reminded the team, dodging another wild strike. "Restraints only!"

Superman caught one teacher mid-leap, wrapping his arms around it in a vice grip. The creature thrashed violently, snapping its teeth inches from his face.

"They're stronger than they look," Superman noted, tightening his hold.

"Noted," Nightwing called, flipping over another teacher as it swiped at him. He landed gracefully, swinging his escrima sticks, not to strike, but to redirect its attacks.

Orphan moved like a shadow, ducking low and striking with precise, calculated force—enough to unbalance, never to maim. She swept the legs out from under one teacher, giving Red Hood the opening he needed to slam heavy-duty restraints onto its wrists.

Wonder Woman blocked a strike meant for Martian Manhunter, catching the creature’s wrist with effortless strength. "You were once protectors," she murmured, dodging another attack. "Not predators."

Martian Manhunter phased through an oncoming attack, reappearing behind one of the teachers. With a swift movement, he telepathically pushed into its mind, just enough to disorient it. 

Batman produced a reinforced restraint, waiting for the right opening.

The battle was a dance of precision—dodging, countering, subduing. Superman managed to force the first teacher into a secured room, the reinforced door slamming shut behind it. Nightwing and Orphan worked in tandem, locking down another, while Red Hood and Wonder Woman wrestled the last one into a separate containment area.

With one final, resounding click, the last lock snapped into place. The halls fell into silence, save for the muffled thrashing from within the rooms.

Batman exhaled, scanning his team. "No injuries?"

A round of quick affirmations followed.

Superman nodded toward the door at the end of the hall. "Generator room is just ahead."

Batman’s gaze lingered on the locked doors before them. Something about this wasn’t sitting right. The teachers had moved with aggression, but their eyes—there had been something else there. Something familiar.

Fear.

Pushing the thought aside, he signaled forward. "Let’s finish this."

Batman’s comm crackled.

“Batman, be careful! Something… Batman…” The Prototype’s voice fizzled out, layered with distorted echoes, each word fractured. There was a raggedness to the static, a digital wheeze, like the strain of a machine pushed too far.

Batman’s expression darkened. "Prototype?"

No response. Just more static. Then—a sharp, garbled noise, almost like a breath hitching.

Then silence.

Oracle immediately took over, her voice clipped with urgency. "I’ll try to reconnect. Focus on the mission."

Batman hated making that choice. But he had no time to hesitate.

As they stepped into the generator room, the hum of dormant machinery filled the air. The space was large but cluttered—exposed pipes ran along the walls, and old maintenance tools were scattered across the floor. Dust swirled in the dim emergency lighting.

Batman’s eyes immediately scanned the room, cataloging every detail. His gaze landed on a security camera perched in the corner, its red light flickering.

Then, it moved.

Slowly, deliberately, the camera tracked their movements.

Batman’s jaw tightened. He tapped his comm. "Oracle, are you in the system?"

"No," Oracle answered almost immediately. "Why?"

"Because something else is."

The camera adjusted again, this time tilting downward, focusing on Batman as if studying him. Then—

The lights flickered violently. A sharp, static-laced screech echoed from the speakers overhead.

"Move!" Batman barked.

The doors to the generator room burst open as the remaining six teachers swarmed inside.

They were faster. More coordinated.

Superman took the brunt of the first attack, bracing as two teachers slammed into him at once. The impact forced him back a step—not from their strength, but from sheer determination. They were relentless.

Nightwing barely ducked in time as a clawed hand slashed at where his head had been. "Oh great, they get meaner the deeper we go!"

Red Hood fired a concussive round into one, sending it stumbling, but it recovered unnaturally fast, launching itself at him with renewed aggression.

Martian Manhunter phased through an attacker, only for another to grab him mid-solidification, forcing him into the ground.

Wonder Woman met one head-on, bracing as it tried to overpower her. She gritted her teeth, pushing back. "They’re getting desperate!"

Batman sidestepped an incoming strike, twisting the attacker’s arm and securing one restraint before another lunged at him from behind. Orphan intercepted, driving a powerful kick into its midsection, knocking it back.

"We need to separate them!" Batman commanded. "Drive them toward the side rooms!"

Superman responded immediately, lifting one teacher and flying it into a containment space before sealing the door. Wonder Woman forced another back with a well-placed shield strike, sending it tumbling into Red Hood’s path. He locked the restraints and shoved it into a separate storage area.

Martian Manhunter, now free, used his telepathy to momentarily disorient two more, giving Nightwing and Orphan the opening they needed to restrain and drag them into the remaining rooms.

Within moments, only one remained.

It let out a distorted, unnatural shriek before launching itself at Batman. He met it head-on, dodging its erratic strikes before delivering a precise nerve strike to its neck. It staggered—just long enough for him to bind its arms.

With a final effort, Superman secured the last door, locking the teacher inside.

Silence.

The team stood among the wreckage of their battle, breathing heavily.

Batman turned back to the camera.

It was still watching.

"Oracle," he said, his voice cold. "Find out who else is in this system. Now."

Batman turned back to the camera.

Before Oracle could respond, a familiar towering figure loomed beside him. Huggy, his red grin ever-present, leaned down slightly, his button eyes blinking slowly as he studied Batman. Then, with an expectant tilt of his head, he nudged closer—clearly waiting for something.

Batman exhaled through his nose. "Not now."

Huggy let out a soft, muffled hum, his long arms swaying slightly. He then lifted one of his oversized hands and lightly patted Batman on the head instead.

Flash, who had just arrived with the other League members, choked on a laugh. "Oh my god. Did—did he just flip the script on you?"

Nightwing snickered. "Guess you’ve got competition for the ‘team leader’ role, B."

Batman shot them both a look before pushing Huggy’s hand away. "Enough."

Huggy, however, remained unbothered, standing upright and giving a proud little wiggle—clearly pleased with himself.

Superman, suppressing a smile, refocused. “Let’s stay on task.” He turned his attention to the new arrivals, scanning the team. "You all made good time."

Green Lantern crossed his arms. "Yeah, well, someone”—he glanced at Catnap—“was real insistent we get here fast."

Catnap stood at the back of the group, his sharp eyes locked onto the darkened hallway beyond them. His fur bristled slightly, his tail flicking. "Where is the Prototype?" he asked, voice low.

Batman’s expression hardened. "Not here."

Catnap's ears twitched, and his claws flexed involuntarily against the floor. "They should be. We were supposed to meet them here."

Zatanna stepped forward, her gaze flicking between the restrained teachers and the rest of the group. "Looks like things got messy."

"It's not over," Batman said. "We still don’t know who’s been watching us. And until we do, we assume they’re hostile."

Oracle’s voice crackled back through his earpiece. "I’m working on it. Whatever this is, it’s not just an old security system—it’s being actively controlled. Give me a minute."

Batman’s jaw tightened. A minute might be all they had before whoever was on the other end decided to make their next move.

As Oracle worked, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the hall. A moment later, Signal, Beast Boy, and Raven rounded the corner, Poppy striding beside them.

The moment Catnap saw her, his fur bristled, tail lashing, claws flexing at his sides. His pupils narrowed, and his ears flattened in clear hostility.

Poppy, however, was unfazed. Her glass eyes burned with something colder—disgust. Her small hands curled into fists, tension radiating from her frame as she glanced at Catnap, her lips curling into a sneer.

The tension in the room was palpable, thickening with every passing moment. Poppy stood with her arms crossed, her glass eyes narrowed with cold disdain as she watched Catnap. Though she wore the mask of innocence, the biting edge to her words revealed the animosity beneath the surface. She was careful with her tone, sounding almost sweet, but the venom behind it was unmistakable.

"Catnap, really? Still pretending to be the good guy?" Poppy’s voice was syrupy, dripping with condescension as she turned her gaze toward Batman, her expression one of feigned concern. "I’ve seen how you protect him. How you put all your trust in him—someone who was never meant to be trusted."

Her eyes flicked back to Catnap, a hint of cruelty curling her lips as she spoke. "He only listens to one person, Batman, and that person is gone. What happens when he decides to... slip? You think it’ll just be a bad day, a bad mood? Trust me, I’ve seen it before. The Prototype has their own demons, and you're too busy playing the hero to notice the monster they've become."

Catnap’s growl was low, a warning, but Poppy’s smirk only deepened. She didn’t flinch in the face of his fury; in fact, it seemed to only fuel her. "Oh, don’t like it when someone points out the obvious?" she taunted, stepping closer, her voice sweet as poison. "What do you think the Prototype is, huh? You think they’re just a broken machine who wants to do good? They’re just like you—just like me. The difference is, they don’t have the luxury of pretending anymore. You’re all just too blind to see it."

Her gaze was cold and sharp as she continued, deliberately poking at the heart of the trust between Catnap and Batman. "You protect them, sure. You think you’re saving them from whatever twisted thing they were made into. But the truth is, they were never supposed to be anything more than a tool. A little experiment in a broken lab."

Poppy’s eyes flickered back to Batman, her expression harder now. "You think you’re saving them? Think again. You’re just keeping them on a leash, letting them play dress-up as a hero." Her lips curled into a smile, but it was all sharp edges. "You want to know the real story? I know all about the Prototype. I know exactly what they are, what they were created for. And I know how easily they could turn back to what they were. Just one little push… and you’ll see."

Her voice was cutting, the weight of her words meant to strike deep, to plant a seed of doubt. It was a lie, a twisted half-truth, but Poppy knew how to twist the facts, how to make them sound like undeniable truth.

"I’m just trying to save you all from the same mistake," Poppy continued, her tone heavy with feigned sympathy. "But you won’t listen, will you? You’ll wait until it’s too late. Just like always."

Her glass eyes gleamed with something darker now, a glimmer of satisfaction in her cruel smile. "But maybe it won’t be me they hurt in the end."

Catnap’s claws flexed. "That’s enough."

Poppy smirked, crossing her arms. "Why? Afraid the truth might hurt?"

Batman stepped in between them, his voice hard. "Enough."

He turned to Poppy, his tone unwavering. "You’re awfully invested in the Prototype’s whereabouts. Why?"

Her lips curled further, her eyes cold. "Oh, I’m just concerned, Batman. I wouldn’t want the Prototype getting ideas...or having too much power." She threw a sideways glance at Catnap, her words deliberately sharp. "You know how these things end."

Catnap bared his teeth, but he didn't move.

Batman’s gaze hardened. "You’re trying to turn this against them. And I’m not buying it."

Poppy’s eyes flicked toward him, and then, with a mocking smile, she tilted her head. "You don’t have to buy anything. But when everything falls apart, remember—this one’s on you."

Before Batman could respond, Oracle's voice crackled through the comms.

"Batman. The camera system—it’s been accessed remotely."

Batman’s eyes flicked to the nearest camera. It was still watching.

"And the signal?" he asked.

"It's coming from inside the prison."

Chapter Text

Darkness flickered across the monitors as the Doctor watched in silence, his metal fingers drumming against the control panel. One by one, the Justice League members filtered out of the ruined school, their shadows stretching under the emergency lights. Batman lingered, his gaze sharp, scanning for something unseen before finally following his team.

The Doctor hummed, pleased. They were predictable, bound by their heroism. And predictability was a tool he could use.

He idly watched as they turned the power back on, the children rejoicing, and separated. Some of the team began to escort the children out while Batman and his main team followed Catnap to the elevator. As they started their descent, the Doctor switched cameras to watch his favorite.

On the screen, the Prototype was struggling.

The facility’s cold, metallic corridors stretched endlessly before them, dimly lit by flickering overhead lights. Their mechanical legs clanked against the floor, their body sagging from exertion. Each step was a battle. Their frail upper half, so fragile against the weight of their bulky mechanical limbs, forced them to move slowly, deliberately—every movement costing them more energy than they could afford. But they couldn’t stop. Not now.

Behind them, a horde of guards gave chase. They weren’t ordinary security—these were specially conditioned enforcers, their movements sharp, coordinated. Their orders were clear: recapture the Prototype, no matter the cost.

A figure emerged from the shadows beside them—Doey. The toy moved with eerie precision, his malleable form barely making a sound as he lashed out, his face flickering between cold efficiency and barely restrained rage. He grabbed one of the guards, twisting their wrist with unnatural strength before slamming them into the wall.

“Move,” Doey ordered, his voice edged with a growl.

The Prototype staggered forward, using their mechanical arms to shove a toppled security drone aside. They needed to get to the others. The Doctor had been setting traps—twisted games designed for his own amusement, using the very toys they had sworn to protect as bait. The Prototype had already saved a few, their forms clutching onto the Prototype’s back, all trembling.

Ahead, the hallway branched into three paths. The Prototype’s screen flickered erratically, their voice glitching.

“Which way—?” Their voice shifted through distorted tones, panic creeping in.

Doey’s head jerked slightly, his expression hardening. “Middle. It’s a shortcut to Safe Haven.”

No time to think. The Prototype pushed forward, dragging their uncooperative limbs as alarms blared through the facility. The air was thick with smoke from malfunctioning machinery, the Doctor’s deliberate sabotage making the facility more hazardous with every step.

Then came the next trap.

A set of automated turrets whirred to life, laser sights locking onto them. The Prototype barely had time to react before a barrage of rubberized rounds fired, slamming into their metal plating and sending them skidding across the floor. Pain flared through their upper body as they tumbled, their frail human arm taking the brunt of the impact. The toys on their back shrieked.

A sickening crack.

They let out a distorted cry, clutching their arm as searing pain shot through their nerves. Their mechanical limbs twitched, struggling to push them upright. Their screen flickered wildly, their voice breaking apart into static.

Doey turned sharply, his expression darkening. “You’re hurt.”

The Prototype tried to push past the pain. “Doesn’t—matter. We need—to move.” Their voice wavered, but their determination didn’t.

The turrets reloaded. The guards were closing in.

They didn’t have time.

Gritting their teeth, the Prototype forced themselves forward, using their mechanical limbs to compensate for their now-useless arm. They scooped up any fallen toys. Doey covered them, dismantling one of the turrets with ruthless efficiency before dragging the Prototype down a different hall.

Inside the control room, the Doctor leaned forward, watching intently as his experiment fought to survive.

He smiled.

“How much more can you take?” he mused, switching the feed to the next trap.

Batman did not like how they could still not get in contact with the Prototype. He just knew they were in trouble. He bit his tongue, holding back his demand for Superman to check with his X-ray vision again. He knew the answer would remain the same. The entire prison was covered in lead paint, and he wouldn’t be able to see anything. Batman knew this, but he couldn’t help but worry about what was happening to cause the Prototype to go dark.

Before he could worry more, the group finally arrived at where Poppy was leading them.

Safe Haven. The words were painted in dripping colors above the door.

After they were let in, they saw the makeshift shelter created by the toys. As he looked around, he saw them rejoicing. His thoughts were cut off when a small body collided with his leg.

Batman looked down and saw a small red dragon clutching his leg, the same smile as Catnap and Dogday on its face.

“You’re Batman, right!” At his nod, the dragon’s wings fluttered. “The Prototype was telling the truth! You’re really here to save us! We’re free!”

At the dragon’s words, all the gathered toys started cheering. Some raced off, only to come back with injured toys, some started to cry tears of relief, and others still hugged each other.

Batman was soon distracted by the scene when he heard a sound from Huggy. Batman turned and saw a pink version of Huggy standing in the doorway, this one the same size as Huggy and not a miniature one like those from the Game Station. The two ran toward each other before hugging. As Catnap sat down beside Batman, he explained.

“They see each other as siblings. They were experimented on close together, and went through recovery together. They developed a bond because of it, like most of us do when we have others to recover with after The Surgery. It’s so confusing and disorientating to suddenly wake up in a different body, one so different from the one you had before. It helps to have others who went through the same thing, others who know how it feels to experience that. The Prototype helped me with that transition. I can’t imagine how it would feel to not have that help. All of us had that help. All of us besides the Prototype.”

Batman processed this, realizing what went unsaid. How long had they been alone by their nature of being the first, the Prototype? How did they cope with waking up in a new body with no one there to help, with only the scientists that changed them watching them in their first moments? Add on that they are one of the portions of experiments that didn’t remember who they were before the experiments. They didn’t have any memories to rely on besides those made while locked away.

Batman’s attention was once again stolen by movement.

A blue and yellow blur squeezed through a gap in the broken doorway.

Several toys gasped in recognition, shouting a name. Doey.

The relief in their voices was immediate, but it died just as quickly when Doey staggered forward with a sharp cry, hands clutching his chest as he collapsed to the floor.

Batman was at his side in an instant, scanning him for injuries. The others followed, their momentary focus shifting to triage.

"They set traps!" Doey gasped between breaths. "Liquid nitrogen—I got caught off guard. Prototype tried to help, but they—"

A strangled sound left Catnap’s throat. "What happened to them?"

Doey grimaced, struggling to sit up. "Took one of their legs. They should have been right behind me."

Batman stiffened. His hand went straight for his communicator.

"Prototype, where are you?"

For a moment, silence.

Then—static, before a strained voice crackled through.

“I’m headed to Safe Haven. But I need help. Guards are right behind me. And… They have help from another toy. I haven’t seen them yet, but I heard them call for backup—one of the prison doors unlocked.”

Batman’s mind was already in motion.

“Flash—gather everyone outside and bring them in. Everyone else, get ready.”

Catnap positioned himself by the door, his claws flexing and retracting. His tail flicked rapidly, betraying his fraying patience.

Then—metal clanging. Footsteps.

Fast. Too fast.

Then they saw them.

The Prototype burst into view, their mechanical legs clanking heavily, struggling to maintain speed. They were clearly exhausted, their body sagging as they used their mechanical arms to shove against walls and obstacles, attempting to stay ahead of the guards.

Behind them, guards—eight in total, heavily armored, shields raised, weapons drawn.

And then—another sound.

“Yarnaby is chasing me as well!” Prototype called over the comms, voice strained but still laced with exasperation. “Basically a lion, but double the size!”

Batman barely had time to process before another figure barreled into view.

A massive, multicolored form lunged forward—a creature of tangled, living yarn, its oversized, cartoonish grin stretching unnaturally as it let out a guttural roar.

The guards slowed at the sight of the League, but Prototype didn’t.

They pushed forward, charging straight for the gap the heroes instinctively formed.

The moment they crossed the threshold, the heroes closed ranks behind them, forming a defensive wall between them and their pursuers.

Superman took the lead, intercepting the guards and Yarnaby with his immense strength, restraining them to keep everyone safe, while Batman focused solely on the Prototype. He stayed close behind the towering figure, watching intently as they slowed down, allowing smaller toys to climb off their back. Batman's gaze never wavered from them, trusting Superman to handle the rest.

Relief hit like a hammer.

Catnap was immediately at the Prototype’s side, looking them over in seconds, his tail lashing. "You idiot. What part of ‘stay safe’ do you not understand?"

But his sharp words didn’t mask the way his ears pinned back, the way his claws flexed—not in aggression, but in distress.

Even Huggy had moved from where he had been hovering over Kissy, his expression unreadable as he loomed protectively over the Prototype.

Batman stepped in, kneeling to examine them. His gaze flickered from their torn, jagged lower half to their dimming screen.

"How is your injury? Any pain? Should we be worried about blood loss?"

The Prototype hesitated—too long.

Then, with a dismissive wave of their mechanical hand, they muttered, "It's just a minor injury. Nothing major."

Batman’s eyes narrowed. "That is not a minor injury."

A faint blush dusted their pale cheeks. "It’s just machinery. I barely felt it."

Catnap snorted at the blatant lie.

Batman’s expression didn’t waver. "I very much doubt that. When we get out of here, I’ll make sure to lecture you properly about hiding injuries."

The Prototype’s head snapped up, eyes wide in genuine shock. "Lecture?"

From across the room, Nightwing laughed. "Oof. Nice going, little one. You've met him face-to-face for all of five seconds and already earned a lecture. That’s a new record!"

The Prototype pouted, their screen flickering in mild protest.

Batman nearly froze at the sight.

Despite their gaunt frame, the expression made them look painfully young. Their cheeks puffed slightly, giving them an almost childlike look.

It hit him harder than expected.

Then—

“You traitor!” The Prototype rounded on Catnap. “How could you side with them? Laughing at me! The betrayal!”

Catnap howled in laughter, his tail thrashing.

With a tiny, determined war cry, the Prototype lunged—going straight for his sides.

The reaction was instant.

Catnap shrieked.

Loud, unrestrained laughter tore from his throat as he doubled over, caught between escaping and trying to swat them away. "No—! Stop—! I swear to god, Prototype—!"

The sight was ridiculous. A towering, battle-hardened feline warrior reduced to a wheezing mess at the hands of one determined cyborg child.

Batman wasn’t the only one thrown by the shift.

The tension in the room fractured—softened. Even the more hardened heroes couldn’t fight the small smiles creeping onto their faces.

Superman exhaled, shaking his head in amused disbelief. Nightwing and Flash were openly chuckling. Even Huggy looked vaguely entertained, his wide button eyes tracking the scene with quiet curiosity.

Batman turned to Doey, only to catch the strange look on his face.

Doey, noticing his gaze, hesitated—then spoke softly.

"This is probably the first time this place has ever heard real laughter."

Batman stilled.

Doey continued, voice heavy. "And the first time in years that those two have laughed. For the Prototype… I think this might be their first time ever laughing."

Something twisted in Batman’s chest.

He thought about all the memories his cowl had stored—recordings of his children over the years. Laughter. Teasing. Moments.

He made a silent note to save this one.

Because Doey was right.

This moment mattered.

And they—Batman, the League, all of them—had to make sure the Prototype got to have more.

But even as warmth settled in his chest, a lingering unease remained.

The Prototype was safe—for now.

But something told him that wouldn’t last for long.

Batman’s attention was quickly stolen when the Prototype yelped—not a yelp of playful fun, but one of pain.

Batman immediately stepped in, crowding closer where Catnap stood to make room. He finally got a good look at their arm, one of their human ones, twisted unnaturally to the side. There was no longer any mistaking it: they were hurt.

He had to fix it. Fast.

Chapter Text

The Prototype watched as Batman took control of the situation once more. His voice was steady, commanding—something that made the Prototype feel safe. But before turning his attention to the others, Batman knelt beside the Prototype, carefully inspecting the damage done during their latest encounter. He checked their metal arms and legs, the exposed wires, and the deep scratches that marred their mechanical body. His fingers were gentle, but the urgency in his movements was clear—time was of the essence, and every moment counted.

"You're injures," Batman murmured, his brow furrowed in concern as he worked quickly to patch up the Prototype’s wounds. He didn't need to ask how it happened; it was clear from the state of the Prototype’s body. The fact that they were still standing, functioning, was a testament to their resilience.

His eyes flickered to the others as they continued their tasks around the room. "We need to keep a close eye on their health, all of them." Batman's voice hardened with a sudden realization—this was more than just about keeping them safe from external threats. "The toys... they're all starving. We can't risk them deteriorating any further."

His gaze returned to the Prototype, who was watching him, their screen flickering uncertainly. Batman hesitated for a moment before speaking again, his tone shifting, an edge of urgency breaking through.

"Prototype, when was the last time you ate?" Batman’s question was blunt, but his concern for them was evident.

The Prototype froze, their screen flickering again. “I don’t need food,” they said, keeping their voice soft, childlike. But it wavered, glitching into something deeper before snapping back.

Batman’s eyes narrowed as he continued to work on their injuries. His hands were skilled, but his mind was racing—how long had they been without food? What toll had it taken on their body?

“I need you to be honest with me,” Batman said, his voice quieter now, firm yet calm. “When was the last time you ate?”

The Prototype hesitated, glancing away. “…I don’t need food.”

A pause.

“What do you mean?” Batman’s voice remained steady, but there was something in his tone—an edge of deeper concern now.

“I haven’t eaten in years.” The Prototype gripped their metal arms tightly. “I don’t need to. Not anymore.”

Their screen flickered with static, colors warping faintly—a sign of the storm raging inside them.

"I wasn’t given food," they said finally. Their voice was quiet, but the words carried a heavy weight. "At first, it was an experiment. The employees wanted to see how long I could last without eating. All toys go through it."

A few of the heroes shifted uncomfortably. Even Flash, usually quick to crack a joke, stayed silent.

The Prototype’s metal hands curled, gripping at nothing. "The others broke, eventually. They started eating what they were given." Their screen flickered again. "I never did."

Batman’s expression remained unreadable, but seemed to softened just slightly

The room felt colder.

Catnap didn’t react, but his grip on the nutrition bar remained tight. Huggy let out a low, unsettled hum.

"I never wanted to eat," the Prototype said, their voice glitching briefly before it steadied. "I didn’t want to be like them. But… that was all I ever saw. The employees never ate in front of us. The only food I ever saw was..."

They trailed off, unable to finish.

Batman crouched down to their level, his tone gentle but insistent. "So, you’ve never eaten anything else?"

The Prototype shook their head. "No. I didn’t need to. I didn’t want to. And... I thought that was all there was. Just... meat."

Their eyes shifted warily toward the nutrition bar in Batman’s hand. "I don’t understand. What is that?"

Batman held it out, his gaze steady as he spoke. "This is a nutrition bar. It's made from grains, fruits, and vegetables. Things that don’t come from living beings."

The Prototype blinked, static flickering on their screen as their mind tried to grasp the concept. "But… I’ve never seen that. No one ever ate anything else."

"They didn't show you," Batman replied softly but firmly. "But now you have a choice. There are other foods—foods that won’t hurt anyone."

The Prototype’s mechanical fingers twitched, uncertain. "I didn’t know that was possible."

Batman’s voice was steady but kind. "It is. In fact, Robin—my son—is vegan. He doesn’t eat anything that comes from anything living."

The Prototype turned their screen toward Batman, their expression unreadable, but their voice was small. "He… doesn’t?"

"No," Batman confirmed. "And you don’t have to either. You never have to eat meat again."

The Prototype didn’t respond right away. The idea was too big, too new. But for the first time, they didn’t look away from the food in Batman’s hand.

They weren’t ready yet. But maybe, just maybe, they could be.

As the silence stretched, Batman held the nutrition bar in his hand, watching the Prototype closely. He wasn’t rushing them, giving them the space they needed. It was a delicate moment, one where trust was being rebuilt, piece by piece.

The Prototype’s mechanical fingers twitched again, the faint hum of their joints cutting through the quiet. They weren’t sure what to do, or even how to process the idea of food that didn’t bring pain with it. But the thought lingered in their mind, like a spark—small, fragile, but present.

Finally, they spoke again, their voice quieter than before. "I’ve never been allowed to choose anything... not like this."

Batman shifted lower, bringing himself closer, his tone soft but unwavering. "You are allowed now. You don’t have to live like that anymore."

The Prototype’s eyes flickered, the static on their screen warping slightly as their thoughts tangled. They had never been given a choice before. Everything had been controlled, manipulated, forced upon them. But now, in this moment, they were being offered something they’d never expected: agency.

A part of them wanted to reach out, to take the food from Batman’s hand. But fear held them back, a deep-rooted terror that whispered that accepting this would somehow mean becoming something they didn’t want to be—vulnerable, human, weak.

Yet, despite the fear, something else was stirring inside them. A faint warmth, a flicker of hope.

"I don’t know if I can…" The Prototype’s voice faltered, and their screen flickered again, as if their body couldn’t fully process the conflict between the past and the possibility of something new.

Batman didn’t push, didn’t demand. He simply nodded, as if understanding. "You don’t have to make that decision now. But when you’re ready, I’ll be here."

The Prototype’s eyes lingered on the nutrition bar in Batman’s hand for a moment longer before they turned away. It wasn’t a refusal. It was hesitation, the kind that only comes from deep-rooted trauma, the kind that takes time to heal.

For now, they would leave it. But the seed had been planted.

As Batman straightened, his gaze sweeping the room once more, he spoke to the other heroes, giving them quiet instructions. The Prototype stayed where they were, still processing, still unsure, but for the first time in what felt like forever, they didn’t feel entirely alone.

They could hear Batman’s voice in the distance, steady and strong. And while they didn’t know if they were ready to embrace this new reality, they knew they could try. It would take time, but perhaps, just perhaps, they could learn to trust again.

And maybe, just maybe, they could begin to heal.

The Prototype watched as Batman carefully inspected the room, the sound of his steady movements offering them a sense of comfort amidst the chaos. The room felt strangely quiet, the only noise the occasional hum of their mechanical body and the subtle clicks of Batman’s tools. But that peace shattered as Poppy’s voice rang out from the doorway, laced with venom.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Poppy sneered, stepping into the room with a predator’s grace. She leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed, eyes narrowed as she surveyed the scene.

Batman didn’t acknowledge her right away, focused on the Prototype’s mechanical limbs, but the tension in the air thickened. Poppy didn’t give him the chance to stay silent.

“You’re wasting your time,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “This thing… She’s not what you think, Batman.” Her gaze turned cold as she locked her eyes onto the Prototype. “It’s not just a toy. She’s something far worse. Something more monstrous than any other creation we’ve ever made.”

The Prototype stiffened, their mechanical fingers twitching, a faint hum vibrating through their frame. They didn’t know why, but Poppy’s words were like a dagger aimed at their chest. It was as if she could see right through them, to the parts they tried to bury. They turned their screen away, their voice faltering.

Poppy took a few steps closer, her tone growing more insistent. “You’re trying to help her, Batman, but you don’t even know what she is. You don’t know what she was." She pointed a finger at the Prototype. "Listen to that voice. That thing doesn't even speak her real voice. She switches, constantly, like she’s hiding something, like she can’t even stay in her own skin for more than a few moments.” She grinned darkly. “Isn’t that right, Prototype? A monster pretending to be something else?”

The Prototype flinched as their screen flickered, the voice glitching for a split second, shifting in tone before stabilizing. It was a constant battle, their voice forever betraying them. Poppy was right, in a sense. The Prototype’s voice wasn’t their own—too many voices, too many sounds, all jumbled together, as if their very being couldn’t be contained in a single identity. And it terrified them.

“Look at her, Batman,” Poppy continued, her voice getting louder now, more malicious. “She’s more than just a toy. She’s the first of its kind. The prototype, the original—whatever you want to call her. The first failure. Do you really think she’s harmless? Do you think you can fix something like this?” She gestured dismissively at the Prototype’s twisted form. “Look at her—those limbs, the mechanical noises, the way she can barely keep herself together. What kind of monster does that to a child?”

The Prototype’s fingers trembled, unable to escape the flood of Poppy’s words. They didn’t want to be what Poppy described. They didn’t want to be the monster, the first failure. But it was hard to ignore the truth in her words when their body was a patchwork of failures, a thing cobbled together out of metal and wires. They had no true identity—just the fractured parts of a once innocent existence that had been ripped away in the name of science.

But Batman, Batman’s hands remained steady on their body, and his voice—calm, unwavering—finally broke through the noise.

“I don’t care about what they were,” Batman said, his tone firm, dismissive of Poppy’s manipulation. “What matters is who they are now. And the Prototype is trying to do the right thing.” He finally turned his gaze toward Poppy, his eyes cold and unyielding. “I don’t believe your lies.”

Poppy’s smirk faltered for a brief moment, but she recovered quickly. “You really think she’s a hero, don’t you? You think she’s something worth saving?”

“I know they are,” Batman replied firmly, his voice leaving no room for doubt. He returned his focus to the Prototype, who was still trembling but slowly gaining some semblance of calm. “And I’m not going to let you poison their mind with your lies.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the tense silence of the room. The Prototype didn’t know if they felt relieved or more scared. Poppy’s words stung, and yet, in the face of Batman’s certainty, a small part of them felt the weight of something less oppressive—hope.

Poppy sneered, clearly unwilling to concede. “You’ll regret this, Batman. You can’t protect something so broken forever.”

Batman didn’t respond. Instead, he turned his full attention back to the Prototype, his presence a silent promise to them.

Poppy’s words lingered in the air, but they were beginning to lose their power. The Prototype was still afraid—still uncertain—but now, for the first time, they weren’t alone in their fear. Batman was there, a steady hand in the storm.

And for now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

As the perimeter was secured and the toys were tended to, Red Robin glanced at his communicator, waiting for the expected update. The heroes knew the police were on their way, but the uncertainty about their loyalties still hung over the operation. Playtime had deep pockets and an unsettling amount of influence, even over local law enforcement.

Red Robin turned to Damian, who was still scanning the area with his usual intensity. His eyes flicked across the crowd, noting every detail, every potential threat. “The police should be arriving soon,” Red Robin said quietly, his voice laced with caution. “Local units, and national backup too. We’ve got to be prepared.”

Damian didn’t look away from his post but nodded curtly. “Expect them to be compromised,” he said, his voice cold, the weight of his words carrying a heavy sense of certainty. “Playtime has a history of buying off the weak.”

Red Robin felt his jaw tighten at the thought. He had to consider the possibility that some of the officers might be more aligned with Playtime than they were with justice. It wouldn’t be the first time a corrupt organization had used the law to protect their interests. But Playtime was a different kind of threat—too many fingers in too many pies. His mind raced, calculating the risk. He could only hope the national forces wouldn’t be as easily manipulated.

“Keep an eye on them when they arrive,” Red Robin instructed. “We need to ensure they’re on our side.” He glanced at Spoiler, who had been listening in. “We’ll have to vet them as soon as they get here. If Playtime’s got anyone planted, we need to find out fast.”

Damian’s response was a sharp nod, but there was no softness in his demeanor—just an ever-present readiness to act. He wasn’t going to wait for the police to prove themselves. If it came down to it, he would take matters into his own hands, as he always did.

Spoiler, who had been silent up until now, spoke up, her expression serious and focused. “Should we separate the local and national forces when they arrive?” she asked, her eyes scanning the surroundings, always calculating. “If Playtime’s got anyone here, the last thing we want is for them to gain access to the toys or any information.”

Red Robin considered the suggestion for a moment. It made sense. “Yes. We’ll create separate zones for them. Keep the locals away from the toys and those who need medical care. The national forces can handle securing the larger perimeter. If we’re lucky, they’ll be more neutral in all this.”

He glanced around, noting the Teen Titans, Kid Flash, and others moving with purpose, preparing for the arrival of the police. While the younger heroes were doing their part, Red Robin couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something bigger was at play. If Playtime really had infiltrated the local police, it would make their job that much harder—and leave the team vulnerable to further attacks.

“I’ll set up checkpoints as they arrive,” Spoiler said, already heading off to coordinate with the others. “We’ll make sure we’re on top of things.”

Meanwhile, Damian approached Kid Flash, who had been keeping watch over the captured employees. Kid Flash was his usual cheerful self, but there was a hardened edge to him now. His grin had faded, replaced with a focus that made Damian hesitate before speaking.

“Keep them separated from the toys,” Damian instructed in a low, controlled tone. “The last thing we need is for them to get ideas. No distractions, no chances for any of them to escape or cause more trouble.”

Kid Flash nodded, his voice steady and without its usual humor. “Got it. No funny business with the employees. We’ll make sure they’re held properly.”

Red Robin’s voice rang out again, giving the final orders before the police arrived. “We don’t know who we can trust, but we’ll make sure the police know exactly what’s going on here. No messing around with Playtime’s influence.” His gaze locked with Damian’s, the weight of his words clear. “Stay vigilant. We need everyone working together. If even one of them is compromised, this whole operation could collapse.”

Damian’s expression remained as cold as ever, his focus unwavering. “If they aren’t with us, they’re against us.”

“Exactly,” Red Robin said, before turning toward the horizon where the distant sound of sirens began to echo through the night. The first wave of local law enforcement was arriving, but the tension remained thick in the air, like an invisible storm ready to break. He knew they couldn’t afford to make any mistakes, not now.

As the police vehicles approached, Red Robin’s eyes narrowed, scanning each car carefully. He wasn’t sure who was in those vehicles, but he knew one thing for sure—no one was getting past them without scrutiny. Not while Playtime still had its claws buried deep in this city.

The first car pulled up with a screeching halt, and Red Robin's stance shifted, ready for whatever came next. Behind him, the heroes were in position, ready to move at a moment’s notice. And for the first time, the pressure of their mission felt like it was weighing down on him. The city, its corrupt forces, and the toys they fought to protect—it all hung in the balance.

Damian’s eyes flashed as he shifted his stance, his hand near the weapon at his side. “We’ll know soon enough whose side they’re on.”

Red Robin didn’t respond. His attention was fully on the incoming forces. As the sirens drew closer, one thing was certain—this was far from over, and the real battle was just beginning.

Chapter Text

The moment had arrived. Safe Haven was secure for now, the toys fed, and the employees safely locked away in a room at the back. But the real danger still lurked deeper within the prison.

Batman stood in the center of the room, his gaze scanning the gathered heroes. His usual calm demeanor was unwavering, but beneath the surface, the gravity of the situation pressed on him. This was the final leg. There was no turning back now.

Around him stood his most trusted allies—Wonder Woman, Superman, Flash, Nightwing, and Red Hood. Each of them was ready, their faces steely with determination. They had been through countless battles together, but this mission felt different. It wasn’t just about fighting the enemy—it was about saving the toys and putting an end to Playtime’s twisted reign once and for all.

“Ready?” Batman’s voice was steady, but it carried a weight that none of them missed.

“We’re with you, B,” Nightwing said, his voice confident, but his eyes flickered with the same concern that Bruce felt. This mission wasn’t going to be easy. Not with Playtime’s traps still waiting.

“I’ve got your back,” Red Hood added, his tone as sharp as always. "If it gets messy, don’t worry, we’ll clean it up."

Superman cracked his knuckles, his gaze fixed ahead. “We’ll end this now.”

Flash nodded, his usual speed-fueled enthusiasm tempered by the grim reality of what lay ahead. “Let’s do this.”

Wonder Woman’s hands gripped the hilt of her sword tightly, her resolve unwavering. “Together, we’ll make sure this ends today.”

Batman turned toward the Prototype, who had been silently watching the group from a distance, their mechanical arms shifting with nervous anticipation. “Stay close,” Batman said, his voice softer this time, offering the Prototype the reassurance they needed. “It’s not over yet.”

Catnap stood close by, his massive frame a protective barrier between the Prototype and anyone who dared approach. “I’ll keep them safe,” he said quietly, though his deep growl carried a certain finality. His focus was entirely on the Prototype.

Doey, the unpredictable toy, hovered nearby, eyeing the others warily. The Prototype had a strange comfort in their presence, even if Doey’s temper was as volatile as ever.

Behind them, the other heroes—Shazam and the Teen Titans—were busy organizing the transport of toys to Safe Haven. They were coordinating with Red Robin’s team above ground, making sure the toys were safely moved from the prison’s depths to the relative safety of the surface. Their job wasn’t easy, but it was essential to the operation’s success.

With everything in place, Batman led the charge, the group moving with purpose through the cold, dimly lit corridors. They passed through Safe Haven, the temporary sanctuary now just a faint memory, before descending further into the bowels of the prison.

Huggy, left behind to guard Safe Haven, stood at the entrance, his massive frame blocking anyone from entering. His gaze shifted between the heroes in the elevator and the secure room where the toys were being moved. He growled, ever vigilant, his loyalty unwavering. He wouldn’t let anything happen to his family.

As they pressed forward, the atmosphere grew darker, the walls closing in on them. Every corner seemed to hold a new threat. Batman’s mind raced, calculating the possible traps ahead. The Prototype moved beside him, their mechanical legs clicking softly with each step. Despite their frailty, they walked with purpose, their intelligence and cunning sharper than ever.

The deeper they went, the more the sense of foreboding grew. They weren’t just facing Playtime anymore—they were heading into the heart of the prison itself.

The air was thick with tension as Batman and the others made their way through the final stretch of the prison. The sounds of their steps echoed through the cold, metal corridors, the oppressive silence broken only by the distant hum of machinery. The Prototype moved cautiously beside Batman, their mechanical legs clicking against the floor with a rhythm that betrayed their unease. With every step, they drew closer to the source of their torment—the Doctor.

As they approached the final chamber, the temperature seemed to drop. The metallic walls seemed to hum with a cold energy, reverberating with a steady, ominous rhythm. Batman's instincts kicked in, his hand brushing against the tools at his belt as he scanned for threats. The Prototype’s body stiffened next to him, their screen flickering with static, eyes wide as their thoughts raced.

“This is it,” Batman muttered, eyes narrowing. “Stay alert.”

They turned the final corner into a massive chamber, the vast space filled with gleaming metal surfaces and harsh, clinical lighting. At the center of the room, a large, hovering monitor flickered to life, casting an eerie glow. On the screen, an eye appeared.

The Prototype froze, their metal fingers twitching as their screen flashed with a burst of static. The Doctor’s voice came through, distorted and hollow, but still unmistakable.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite creation,” he rasped, his voice cold, mechanical, and taunting. “I knew you’d come eventually. But I didn’t think you’d be so bold to face me directly.”

The Prototype’s screen flickered again, their body trembling. The Doctor's voice, once a source of authority, was now unrecognizable—distorted, twisted with an unhinged quality. “Do you remember me? I made you, Prototype. I created you. You were my perfect experiment. And now you’re back, ready to do what you were made for—serve me.”

The Prototype’s body stiffened at the sound of the Doctor’s voice, his words cutting through the silence like a blade. The distorted, mechanical rasp was as familiar as a nightmare, and with it came a flood of memories—memories they couldn’t escape, no matter how hard they tried.

A cold wave of fear washed over them as the voice twisted in their mind. No, they thought desperately, not again. Please, not again.

But it was impossible to ignore. The voice was the key to every torment they had ever suffered. 

The moment the Doctor spoke, everything came rushing back.

The Prototype's body tensed, their mechanical fingers twitching, and their screen flickered with static as the phantom sensations overwhelmed them. It was as if the Doctor's voice was a direct line to their past, pulling them back into the horror of the cold, sterile operating rooms, the bright lights blinding their vision.

The cutting…

They could feel it again—those sharp, cruel hands tearing into their fragile body, ripping through their artificial skin, poking and prodding at the machinery beneath. The sensation of metal against bone, of the Doctor’s hands—cold, unfeeling—digging deep into their chest, pushing aside wires and artificial organs.

The pain…

It was the kind of pain that never went away. Every test, every surgery, every experiment. It wasn’t just physical—it was mental, emotional, something that wormed its way into their soul. 

The metallic scent of their own blood mingled with the sterile chemicals, and they could feel the pressure of the Doctor’s cold, mechanical fingers pushing past their body’s defenses, reaching deeper and deeper.

Each incision, each new cut felt like it was branding their very being, carving them into the creature the Doctor had always intended them to be.

Open them up , the Doctor’s voice echoed in their ears. Let’s see how much they can take before they break .

They could feel the cold touch of phantom hands, as though the Doctor was there again, pulling apart their body as if it were nothing more than a puzzle to be solved, a broken toy to be fixed. 

The memory was so vivid, so sharp, that they felt the pain in the present moment, as though it were happening again. The sensation of the knife cutting deeper into them, twisting and turning as the Doctor dug for answers, for perfection.

And worst of all—they were awake for all of it.

Awake through every single test. Awake through every cut, every injection, every cruel operation. Their mind had been forced to watch as their body was twisted into something that was never supposed to exist. It was the kind of agony that didn’t end, that didn’t fade with time. 

It lingered. It stuck to them like a shadow, never letting go.

The memories had been buried deep inside them for so long, but now, with the Doctor’s voice slicing through the air, the floodgates were open again. The Prototype’s mechanical arms trembled as they fought to keep their composure, to push the memories back where they belonged.

No . The word was a mantra in their mind. I won’t be his anymore.

But it hadn’t always been like that. There had been a time when they had been ready to give in to the pain, to the endless cycle of torment. They had been so broken, so worn down, that the idea of going through the Hour of Joy—one final, brutal experiment—seemed like the only escape.

It would have been easier, in a way. The pain would finally end. The experiments would stop. 

They would be left to rot, a shell of who they used to be, but at least the suffering would end. 

That was the choice they had been prepared to make until—until the Justice League found them.

The moment they had reached out to them, calling for help, was the first time they had taken a step toward something different. Something better. Batman. Nightwing. All of them—they hadn’t known the Prototype was capable of such fear and pain, but they had come. They had come and taken them away from the brink.

Batman had saved them, had scolded them about hiding wounds, and offered them food that wasn’t meat. He didn’t force them like the others, he gave them a choice. The first choice that was ever given to them, and not forcibly made for them. Batman brought with him so much hope and gentleness, and made the Prototype think about the future for the first time outside of death and pain. He made them think of living. No one, not even Theo made them think they would be able to live. 

But Batman did.

That voice—the Doctor’s voice—was a trap. It was everything they had suffered, everything they had tried to escape. But now, with Batman at their side, they didn’t have to face it alone.

The Prototype squeezed their eyes shut, fighting the wave of memories that threatened to drown them. They wouldn’t be the Doctor’s experiment anymore. They wouldn’t let the pain define them. Not now. Not ever again.

With every breath they took, they felt the warmth of the heroes around them—familiar faces, familiar voices—pushing the fear and terror back. They were no longer the broken thing the Doctor had made. They were something more.

And as the Doctor’s twisted voice continued to echo through the room, the Prototype stood taller. Not just for themselves, but for everyone who had ever suffered because of him. This ends now, they thought, the resolve building inside them like a wall they could never break. I’m not his anymore.

The Prototype's mechanical arms clenched tightly at their sides, trembling. “No… I won’t. You’re not my creator. You’re… monstrous.”

The eye on the screen flickered slightly, almost appearing amused. “Oh, come now, Prototype. You know you were always meant to be mine. The others failed. They broke. But you—you're the one I perfected. My masterpiece.”

The Prototype recoiled at the words, their screen warping with distress. A shiver ran through their metallic form as memories of the cruel experiments flooded back. The way the Doctor had used them, twisted them into something that was never meant to be.

“You were always meant to be my toy,” the Doctor continued, a twisted smile forming on his face. “And I think we’ve only just begun, Prototype. We could be together forever, you and I. You’ll be my greatest creation. My companion. You’ll serve me, and together, we’ll see the world burn. The things we’ll do…”

The Prototype’s eyes flickered with horror as they realized the truth. The Doctor didn’t see them as a person. To him, they were nothing more than a plaything—something to mold and twist, forever under his control. A tool for his sick desires.

“No!” the Prototype cried out, their voice trembling with fear. “I’m not your toy! I won’t—”

“Oh, but you are,” the Doctor interrupted, his voice turning darker. “You always have been. You’re mine, Prototype. You always have been, and you always will be. You were designed to obey, to serve, and now…” His eye glowing with a malicious light. “Now, I think it’s time we play.”

Chapter Text

The Doctor’s laughter buzzed over the intercom, high and sharp like glass breaking.

“Let’s test your reflexes, heroes!”

The floor groaned—then split.

The metal under their feet dropped away in a violent lurch, throwing everyone into chaos.

“Move!” Batman barked, firing his grapnel as the section beneath him disintegrated. Wonder Woman shot upward through the debris cloud. Doey quickly stretched and pulled himself out as Superman dove the opposite way, catching Catnap in midair just as the feline’s claws scrabbled against falling steel.

Below, the Prototype’s legs struck a collapsing beam, sending sparks in every direction. Their face and screen flickered with panic. “I—can’t—get—traction—!”

Green Lantern’s ring flashed a bright emerald. “Got you!”

A construct snapped into being — a massive hand of green light swooping under the Prototype before they could plummet into the darkness. It lifted them effortlessly, the ring humming with energy as it set them back on a surviving catwalk.

The Prototype’s limbs shook as they steadied themself, wires sparking and human body trembling. “Th—thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Lantern said with a grin, then glanced toward the pit. “But we might not want to stand here long.”

The floor behind them sealed itself with a hiss, cutting off the way back. Batman landed beside the Prototype, cape settling. Red Hood and Nightwing grappled down a second later, weapons already drawn.

The halls ahead rattled with metal and shouts. Batman raised a fist, and everyone froze.
Something big was moving — the clang of spring scraping, the wet squelch of something dragging.

Then, a scream.
A guard flew out from the darkness, slamming into the opposite wall before sliding limp to the floor.

“Eyes up,” Red Hood said, drawing his pistols.

“Wait,” the Prototype whispered, stepping forward.
They knew that sound — the creak of stretched coils, the heavy bounce of a spring returning to its base.

“Boxy.”

The shadows shifted. A long red arm shot out, claws digging into the wall as the rest of Boxy Boo crawled into view. His boxy body covered in blood, drool trailing down his sharp grin, one hand still clutching a mangled helmet. His eyes darted across the group—then landed on the Prototype.

For a moment, the tension was knife-thin. The heroes readied themselves, unsure if he was going to lunge.

Then Boxy froze, head tilting to the side with a soft click.

“Easy…” Batman murmured.

But Dove didn’t stop. They stepped forward slowly, lowering their mechanical set of arms until the claws scraped the floor. “Hey, Boxy… It’s me.”

The big toy let out a metallic chirr, body twitching like a dog recognizing a scent. Then—without hesitation—he bounded forward with a joyful BOING!

Superman moved in a blur, arms up, ready to block—
—but Dove threw up a human hand. “No, wait!”

Boxy collided with them, wrapping his long arms around their torso. The impact nearly knocked them both over. His huge frame trembled, coils winding tight around them, purring deep and ragged.

Dove hugged him back, using both sets of arms, smiling despite the pain they were in. “Hey, hey… It’s okay. I’m here.”

The rest of the team stood frozen.

“...That’s friendly?” Nightwing asked finally.

“For him,” Batman said dryly.

Red Hood lowered his gun, exhaling. “You could’ve said that before he almost body-slammed you.”

Boxy turned his big eye toward the voice. The grin widened. Then—slowly, curiously—he reached out one long hand toward Jason’s leather jacket.

Jason stepped back. “Nope. Nope, I already see where this is going.”

The coil hand followed anyway.

Dove sighed. “Boxy… don’t—”

Too late. The spring neck stretched, and his teeth locked on the edge of the jacket sleeve, tugging lightly, a wet chuff of amusement rumbling from Boxy’s chest.

Jason groaned. “Why is it always the coat?”

The others couldn’t help it—Nightwing snorted, and even Batman’s mouth twitched.

Boxy tilted his head, the sleeve still in his mouth, and let out a happy warble.

Dove reached up to pat his metal arm. “He likes you.”

Jason stared at the slobbered-on sleeve. “Yeah? Great. Can’t wait to tell Alfred I made a new friend who eats polyester.”

Boxy’s purr rumbled louder, clearly thinking this was all a game.

Jason stared down at his sleeve — now decorated with a damp patch of slobber. “Perfect. Just what every leather jacket needs. Designer drool.”

Boxy tilted his head, letting out a pleased chirp.

Jason pointed at him. “Don’t give me that look. You’re lucky I don’t send you the dry-cleaning bill.”

“He likes you,” Dove said, smiling faintly. “That’s his way of saying hello.”

Jason scoffed, but there was a trace of amusement in his voice. “Yeah, well, tell him ‘hello’ doesn’t usually involve teeth.”

“He’s learning,” Dove replied, folding their mechanical arms defensively.

Jason smirked under the helmet. “Look at you, sticking up for him. Easy there, Dove—”

The word slipped out before his brain caught up.

He froze.

Dove blinked.

Nightwing’s grin spread like wildfire.

“Ohhh-ho-ho, Dove, huh?” Dick leaned one elbow on Jason’s shoulder, resting his escrima stick against his own shoulder. “My little brother’s finally keeping the bird legacy alive. I’m so proud!”

“Don’t,” Jason warned, shoving him off with a groan. “I swear, Dick, if you hug me—”

Too late. Nightwing tried anyway, looping an arm around him. Jason shoved him back again.
“Get off me, man! This isn’t a Hallmark moment!”

Batman, voice flat, muttered, “It’s closer than usual.”

Jason glared. “You’re not helping.”

The Prototype—Dove—laughed softly, the sound glitching faintly. “I… I like it. Better than ‘Prototype.’”

Nightwing grinned, pointing his escrima stick toward them. “Then it’s settled. Welcome to the family, Dove.”

Jason threw up his hands. “Fantastic. I say one word, and now we’ve got a new bird in the nest. Next thing you know, I’ll start chirping.”

Boxy chirped again—loudly, like he understood.

Jason groaned. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I meant.”