Chapter Text
Have you ever wondered what is the core of a human being?
What is the essence that makes them “them”?
What needs to change for them to become someone else?
What is it, that ends a person and creates them anew?
Does it even matter if everything changes?
The heart is one of the most important organs in the human body because it pumps blood, carrying oxygen and nutrients to every part of the body. Without it, cells can’t survive, and the body can’t function.
Dick Grayson was the Heart.
What is the core of a human being?
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It was the same routine as usual
The same it had been for days or months he wasn’t sure. For the matter of fact, he wasn't sure of anything anymore. Days just seemed to bleed into each other; he didn’t know how long it had been exactly.
But also, he didn’t need to know. All he needed to know was that every day, the gate opens.
The gate opening meant it was time to fight.
New faces appeared every day. He was supposed to fight them until those new faces became unrecognizable ones. Only when he had done that was he allowed to go back in the room.
‘The room’ he belonged to was the chair room. Every day, he would be bound to that chair, and then a screen was played in front of him. His eyes would be pried open with a strange machine so he wouldn’t be able to blink or look away.
The message of the video was simple enough. All it told him was to listen and obey, on repeat. When the video got over, the man would appear and ask him what he learned from it.
His answers would determine whether he got his nails ripped off, or it would be a good day and he would only get whipped on his back slow, measured strikes that left his skin split open but not enough to kill him.
The chair room was covered with his blood, smeared across the floor, the walls, even the restraints that held him in place, Blood dried in dark patches that no one ever bothered to clean.
Now he didn’t even feel the pain. Something felt broken. He didn’t even hurt properly now. Was he already dead? Why was he breathing if he was dead?
Today again, the routine followed. He woke up and stayed in darkness till the gate opened.
When it did, he walked out slowly to the open space where ten men waited with weapons in their hands. He didn’t have weapons; he wasn’t allowed them.
When the bell rang, he started fighting them. He hit one man, then another, then continued to hit them until they would stop trying to hurt him, until they would drop the weapons they were holding, until they were covered in blood and he saw red. Red meant he won.
When he was the last one standing, the bell rang again, and he returned to the chair room. He must have not done good today, since he didn’t get to eat and was told to sit straight in the chair.
Again, the video played over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again, until he lost count. And just when he thought that it would never end, it did and the man appeared as usual.
He stood in front of him, hand behind his back. He smiled at him, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. It never was.
“Who are you?” he asked. That was always the first question. It used to be the hardest, because he had so many answers to choose from. Now he didn’t, so it had become easy.
“Nobody.”
The man nodded pleased and moved on to the next question “What do you want?”
Why would he want anything? He wasn’t allowed to want. He learned that after many broken fingers that he couldn’t have wants and desires.
“Nothing.”
“What do you wish to protect?” It was another trick question. He didn’t protect anyone or anything. He was only capable of hurting.
“No one.”
The man waited before asking the last question but he did ask it eventually “What is your purpose?”
“Whatever you wish it to be.”
The man’s hand left his back and came forth. That meant it was now time for punishment for all the incorrect answers he gave. He closed his eyes shut.
But the hurt didn’t come.
Instead, the man started clapping.
“It took some time, but finally, you have been perfected,” he said.
He just kept waiting for the man to cut him open, to break his fingers, to rip his nails, or anything else he would usually do, he waited bracing himself but torture didn’t began.
The hurt didn’t come today, which meant he must have done something right.
The man just opened his restraints and ordered him to follow.
Which he did without question. He walked behind the man, not making so much as a single sound, he somehow managed to match his pace despite his bleeding legs. Yesterday, his performance had not been adequate. This was the result of that.
He wasn’t sure what to expect, since for the first time in a very long time the routine had changed. He was unsure how to feel about this change; uncertainty brought anticipation, and he did not like anticipating, as it often led to further disappointment.
The room they entered next was dark and empty, with a single big screen that was displaying an image of a man.
He wore a black cowl, which covered half his face on his chest was the symbol of a bat. He didn’t recognize this man, but there was something about him that felt familiar.
The man who had led him there was standing quietly in the corner watching his every movement. He suddenly took out a white mask and put it over his face, covering his unfriendly smile.
“Your first mission, or should I say your only mission, is to eliminate Batman,” he said, and paused for a moment. His expressions were hidden behind the mask, but there was something menacing about even the silence he stood in.
He finally continued after a while. “The Court has sentenced him to die.”