Blood, like paint gone wild, spilled from his temple, soaking into his lashes and vision.
His world turned red. The overhead lights flickered behind the veil of blood like dying embers—blurred, wavering—as if reality itself was starting to fall apart.
A ringing filled his ears, each pulse sounding like a sentence being passed—his body, his mind, his heartbeat, all bound, pulled, and torn by that sound.
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He tried to move a finger but felt shards inside his bones, like glass.
His chest was damp and cold—something was leaving him.
He tried to focus, but only one word remained, carved into his nerves like a blade: pain.
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Where was Batman?
That tall shadow—was he leaping between rooftops right now?
Or was it too late?
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Gotham wasn’t calm tonight.
The lunatics had crawled out from their corners, and hell had opened a mouth on the surface.
Jason always knew this city would never let heroes rest.
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And he had found the Joker.
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There was a blonde woman standing beside him.
Jason had seen her photo before—in old drawers, in memory boxes best left unopened.
She was his mother.
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She said she was being threatened.
She said she had her reasons.
She said she wanted to help.
But in the end, she stood with the Joker.
The gun wasn’t aimed at the abuser, but at her own son who came to save her.
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The gunshot tore through the air.
Then came the crowbar.
Jason never knew pain could be endless.
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One bone at a time, it shattered him—like someone was deconstructing a person’s ability to trust.
He was shot near the heart—not just the one in his chest, but the one that cracked when she chose betrayal without hesitation.
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The smell of smoke and blood mixed, forming the final scent he would ever know.
Each breath felt like inhaling blades—yet he couldn’t bring himself to stop.
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The blonde woman faded from his consciousness.
He didn’t look at her anymore.
He turned toward another corner of his heart—to a name that had never hurt him: Nana.
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Nana was still at home.
The sheets on her bed still carried her scent.
Half-asleep, she would murmur, “You’re back?”
He’d smile, lift her from the couch, carry her to bed as always, tuck her in, kiss her forehead, and whisper like a promise: “I’ll always be here.”
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He could still smell the faint rose in her hair—not perfume, but something only he noticed, tucked inside every hug.
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He remembered the day they met.
That small, ordinary moment.
He had reached out and said, “I’m Jason Todd.”
She took his hand without hesitation.
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It wasn’t just a meeting.
It was a moment when an unbalanced soul found its center.
They weren’t just each other’s support.
They were what made the other whole again—light, pieced together from fractured fates.
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“May Jason Todd live safely and happily, every day.”
Nana’s voice rang in his heart—gentle like a god’s whisper, firm like a vow.
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Suddenly, the pain didn’t feel so overwhelming.
The whole world seemed to pause.
Only that voice echoed in his chest, again and again.
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“All sorrow and pain will fade.
The sun, the moon, and every star will guide your path.
You’ll never be lost again.”
Her voice was his lighthouse, his unforgotten home.
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He thought he saw her face again—tear-streaked, yet stubbornly smiling.
She had always held his hand when he was in pain.
She never let go.
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The smoke and blood no longer mattered.
“Don’t cry, Nana.”
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That was Jason Todd’s last thought.
After his final heartbeat, his final breath,
he slipped quietly into darkness.
There was no more pain.
Nana was losing her mind.
Gotham tonight felt like a dream torn apart.
Fire flickered in the sky, sirens wailed nonstop, and shadows in the dark trembled with madness.
Every beam of light was a blade; every corner of shadow hid screams and hunger.
The villains had risen like starving ghouls, as if the city’s very foundation was shaking.
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Batman and Robin were out on the frontlines, night and day.
Even Alfred and Nana had been pulled into the heart of Gotham’s chaos.
She was in the Batcave—receiving intel, tracking locations, relaying commands.
Her fingers flew over the keyboard, sweat glinting on her forehead.
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But her eyes kept drifting—uncontrollably—toward one red dot.
The one labeled J.
The tracker.
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“Why hasn’t he checked in yet…?”
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Dick was on his way, she knew.
Things were a mess, but the whole team was still online—
except him.
Todd was missing.
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It felt like a cold nail had pierced her heart.
Nana suddenly stood up, ears ringing.
She ignored Batman’s voice coming through the comms.
Ignored the look Alfred gave her.
She only wanted to run.
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“I’m going to find him,” she said, her tone sharp as a blade.
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“Miss Nana, please calm down.”
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“I can’t wait any longer—he might be out there somewhere, bleeding… waiting for me to save him!”
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She turned toward the Batcave gate.
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In the next second, a sharp sting hit the side of her neck like a jolt of electricity.
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Her body began to lose weight.
Her limbs felt hollowed out.
She staggered backward, falling into a pair of steady, practiced arms.
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“…Forgive me, Miss Nana.”
Alfred’s voice was deep and warm, like aged wine.
“This was Master Bruce’s decision.
He said… you need to calm down.”
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Her vision blurred.
Nana collapsed, like her will had been unplugged.
Alfred held her carefully, gently placing her on the living room couch.
He pulled a blanket over her.
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On the couch, Nana looked peaceful—
but she resembled a sleeping god waiting for resurrection.
Her dreams were bottomless, dragging all fire and fury down with them.
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Batman stood before the monitors.
His eyes were sharp as knives,
but somewhere deep in his chest, there was quiet regret—
and a weighty, irreversible decision.
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He wasn’t unaware.
He had always known.
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Nana was a hidden variable.
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She was gentle, obedient, even reverent toward him—
but her reverence was never faith.
Her axis never aligned with him.
In those eyes, there was only one person.
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Jason Todd.
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Jason was her measure.
She judged right and wrong, formed her worldview, and chose her path based on him.
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He was her anchor.
And if that anchor was severed, she would float…
then fall.
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In a classified Bat-file, there was a risk assessment titled Nana.
The top of the page read:
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“Potential destructive capacity: HIGH
Potential for self-destruction: exponential rise upon loss of J.”
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Jason’s rage was explosive but containable.
Nana was a silent well—once collapsed, its depth was unknowable.
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Batman knew:
Jason had a bottom line.
He understood pain, but he also understood mercy.
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Nana was different.
Her grief wasn’t tears.
It was a storm.
A voiceless judge.
A countdown begun in the name of love.
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He couldn’t risk it.
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So when that red dot disappeared from the tracker,
when he felt a deep, unreadable silence in the comms,
he made a choice.
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“Administer the sedative.”
That was what he said.
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He didn’t make the decision for Nana.
He made it for all of Gotham.
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Because he knew—
if she stayed awake, she would start to burn.
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