The lights inside Arkham Asylum hummed with a low, persistent vibration that seemed to seep into the bones, flickering just enough to remind anyone trapped within its walls that stability was an illusion here.
The concrete corridors stretched endlessly, stained with time and something darker, their surfaces slick with a dampness that never fully dried, as if the building itself were sweating under the weight of everything it contained.
Somewhere far above, or perhaps far below, a man screamed before the sound twisted into laughter and then cut off entirely, leaving behind a silence that felt heavier than the noise.
Deep in the lowest level, beyond reinforced doors and layers of humming machinery, Max Dillon floated in containment.
The tank that held him was massive, a cylindrical prison of glass and steel filled with treated liquid that shimmered faintly under artificial light. Suspended at its center, Max hung motionless except for the subtle drift of his limbs, his body held in place by the constant hum of energy feeding into the system.
Electricity crawled over his skin in restless arcs of blue and white, pulsing outward and then snapping back as if tethered, each flicker illuminating his face in brief, ghostly flashes.
His eyes were open, glowing faintly with that same unnatural light, unfocused but never empty, as if something inside him was always watching, always waiting. The water around him vibrated gently, rippling in response to every stray thought, every flicker of emotion.
A door slid open with a hydraulic hiss that echoed through the chamber, precise and controlled. Footsteps followed, measured and unhurried, the sound carrying clearly across the sterile environment.
Max's eyes shifted slowly toward the entrance, the movement subtle but deliberate as recognition settled in before the man even fully stepped into view. "Doc," Max muttered, his voice distorted through the speaker system, layered with a faint electrical crackle that made each word feel unstable. "You're late."
Dr. Hugo Strange entered as if stepping into a lecture hall rather than a containment chamber, his white coat immaculate, not a single crease out of place, his hands clasped neatly behind his back.
There was no hesitation in his stride, no caution in the way he approached the tank, only a quiet, focused curiosity that gleamed in his eyes as he studied Max like an artist examining a nearly finished piece. "On the contrary, Max," Hugo said pleasantly, his tone calm and precise. "I am precisely on time."
He stopped just short of the glass, the overhead lights reflecting faintly off his glasses as the energy around Max seemed to intensify in response, the arcs of electricity growing sharper, louder, as if reacting instinctively to his presence.
Max scoffed, the sound crackling through the speakers. "Yeah? Then why am I still in a fish tank?"
Hugo's lips curved into a thin smile, one that carried no warmth, only calculation. "Because," he said evenly, "Batman hasn't needed you yet."
Max's fingers twitched, the water around him sparking violently for a brief moment before settling again, his attention snapping fully into place. "Batman," he snarled, the name laced with frustration and something deeper, something more personal. "Always Batman. What about him?" His voice rose, the distortion thickening as the electricity surged with his anger. "Spider-Man put me here. Left me like this. You said he'd understand me."
Hugo tilted his head slightly, studying Max from a different angle, as though the shift might reveal something new, some hidden variable he hadn't yet accounted for. "And he will," Hugo said softly, his voice lowering just enough to feel intimate. "Eventually. But first… he must fail."
Max's breathing quickened, visible even through the suspension fluid as small bursts of electricity flared outward. "What're you talking about?"
Hugo turned away from the tank just long enough to approach the nearby control panel, his fingers moving with practiced ease as he tapped a series of commands into the system.
The hum of the tank shifted subtly, dropping in pitch just enough to be felt more than heard, a change that made Max's body tense in response. "Arkham and Blackgate," Hugo began casually, as though discussing something academic. "Two prisons. Two philosophies. Arkham houses the mind. Blackgate houses the body."
Max frowned, irritation flashing across his face. "So?"
"So," Hugo continued, his voice smooth and deliberate, "Batman will never abandon one to save the other. That is his flaw."
He turned back then, facing Max fully, his gaze sharp with certainty, as if the outcome of this entire situation had already been decided in his mind. "He will split his forces," Hugo said. "Batman, Robin, Red Hood, and Red Robin will go to Blackgate. It is louder, cruder, more violent. He will believe it requires overwhelming force."
Max's lips curled slowly into a grin, the edges of it dangerous. "And Arkham?" Hugo's smile widened, just slightly too far to be comforting.
"Arkham," he said, "he will entrust to the new variable."
Max's eyes flickered with confusion, the electricity around him dimming for just a moment. "The kid?"
"Spider-Man," Hugo corrected smoothly. "High intelligence. Strong moral compass. Excessive empathy. An almost pathological need to save everyone."
Max's jaw tightened at that, something sharp and personal flickering in his expression.
Hugo stepped closer to the glass again, his reflection merging briefly with Max's glowing form as his voice dropped lower, more dangerous. "He will send Spider-Man where he believes the boy can learn," Hugo said. "Where failure will hurt… but not cost Gotham its soul."
The electricity surged violently, the tank lights flickering as the system strained to contain the sudden spike.
"And while Batman is busy playing warden at Blackgate," Max growled, the words vibrating through the chamber, "what happens here?"
Hugo straightened, pressing a single button on the control panel. Instantly, the monitors lining the room flickered to life, displaying schematics, security grids, power flow diagrams both Arkham and Blackgate lighting up in pulsing red across the screens.
Lines of energy traced through the systems like veins, each one primed, each one vulnerable.
"Chaos," Hugo said simply. "Fear and confusion."
He turned his head slightly, glancing back at Max, his eyes alight with something that bordered on triumph. "And then," he continued, "you arrive at Blackgate not as a patient, not as a victim…"
He paused, letting the weight of it settle.
"But as a god."
For a moment, there was silence then Max laughed.
It started low, almost disbelieving, before rising into something louder, wilder, the sound echoing through the chamber as electricity erupted around him in violent bursts, slamming against the tank walls in brilliant flashes of blue and white. The containment system strained audibly, the hum rising in pitch as it fought to keep him contained.
"Batman won't see me coming," Max said, his voice crackling with anticipation.
"Oh, he will," Hugo replied calmly, unfazed by the chaos building just inches away. "But by then… it will be far too late."
Somewhere above them, alarms began to blare.
The sound cut through the facility like the first crack of thunder before a storm, distant at first, then spreading, echoing through corridors and chambers as systems began to fail one by one.
Hugo turned toward the door without urgency, already adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves as if preparing for a scheduled event rather than an unfolding disaster.
"Now," he said, almost cheerfully, "let us begin the experiment."
Behind him, Max's laughter filled the room, rising and echoing as the lights flickered harder, the systems faltered, and the first pieces of Arkham began to break.
The breakout had begun.
Batcave
The Batcave rang with the unmistakable sound of impact, followed immediately by a very specific, very offended exhale of pain that echoed just enough to carry across the stone walls.
Alex skidded across the training mat on his back, momentum carrying him a few extra feet before he came to a stop, staring straight up at the cavern ceiling as if personally betrayed by gravity itself.
For a moment, he just lay there, chest rising and falling as he tried to process both the hit and the sheer indignity of it. "Okay," he wheezed at last, voice strained but still managing to sound deeply aggrieved, "in my defense… that kick was rude."
Jason rolled his shoulders a few feet away, loose and unbothered, his guns holstered and his helmet clipped casually to his belt as if this entire exchange required no more effort than stretching before a jog. "You dropped your guard," he replied flatly, not even bothering to hide the edge of impatience in his tone.
"I blinked," Alex shot back immediately, pushing himself up onto his elbows with a grimace. "That's not the same thing."
Cassandra said nothing, as usual. She never did during sparring. Instead, she simply tilted her head slightly, studying him with those calm, unreadable eyes that seemed to take in everything at once, and then she moved. There was no warning, no buildup, just motion as she stepped forward and swept his legs out from under him again before he had fully regained his footing.
Alex hit the ground a second time with a dull thud, the breath leaving him in a short burst as he stared up at the ceiling again, clearly reconsidering several life choices. "…I would like to formally file a complaint," he muttered, his voice echoing faintly in the cavern.
Jason snorted, the sound sharp with amusement. "Two days in the cave and you're already whining."
Alex pushed himself up again, brushing dust from his suit with exaggerated care as if dignity could be restored through sheer effort. "I'm not whining," he said, straightening with a small wince. "I'm providing feedback. There's a difference."
Jason didn't respond with words this time. He simply moved.
He charged forward, fast and direct, his strikes coming in sharp, practiced bursts meant to overwhelm, but Alex reacted just as quickly, slipping past the first punch, redirecting the second, pivoting away from the third with fluid ease. He moved well too well for someone with as little formal training as he had.
His reflexes carrying him through each exchange with a natural instinct that bordered on effortless. But there was something missing in the way he fought, something Jason caught almost immediately.
He wasn't hitting back.
Every movement was defensive, reactive, controlled. He dodged, he redirected, he avoided but he never committed, never followed through, never struck with the full force he clearly possessed.
Jason noticed and he stopped. Mid-swing, his fist halted inches from Alex's face as his expression hardened, jaw tightening beneath the edge of his mask. "You're doing it again," he said, his voice dropping into something sharper.
Alex blinked, genuinely thrown by the sudden pause. "Doing what?"
"Holding back."
Alex hesitated, then shrugged slightly, as if the answer should have been obvious. "I'm being polite."
Jason let out a short, humorless laugh. "This is training, not a tea party."
Before Alex could respond, Cass stepped in again, faster this time, her movements cutting cleanly through the space between them.
Alex reacted on instinct, blocking the incoming strike, twisting out of her follow-up, flipping backward in a smooth arc that carried him out of range before landing lightly on his feet. It was clean, controlled, precise but still, he didn't attack.
Jason's voice cut through the moment like a blade. "Hit her." Alex froze for half a second, blinking in disbelief. "I… no?"
"HIT. HER."
Alex raised his hands slightly, as if trying to calm a situation that had escalated far too quickly. "Okay, first of all, yelling makes this feel like a trap. Second, I like being alive."
Jason stepped closer, his presence suddenly heavier, more intense. "You think you're better than us?"
"What? No."
"You think you don't need to go all out?"
Alex scratched the back of his neck, visibly uncomfortable now. "I just… don't like hurting people."
Jason's laugh this time was colder, stripped of any humor. "You're a superhero."
"Yeah," Alex replied, his voice quieter but steady. "That's kinda the point."
Jason leaned in, his gaze locking onto Alex's. "You keep fighting like this, you're gonna get someone killed. Or worse you'll freeze when it matters."
Alex's expression faltered, the easy humor slipping away as the words landed harder than anything physical had so far. He opened his mouth to respond, something forming behind his eyes, but before he could say anything.
The cave exploded with sound. Alarms blared, sharp and urgent, red lights flooding the cavern as monitors across the Batcomputer flared to life in rapid succession.
The shift was immediate, the tension snapping from training to crisis in a heartbeat. Bruce descended from the upper platform, already pulling the cowl into place as he moved with purpose.
"Report," he ordered.
Alfred's voice echoed through the cave, calm but edged with urgency. "Simultaneous breaches, sir. Arkham Asylum and Blackgate Prison."
Tim swore under his breath, Steph's posture straightening as her expression hardened, and Bruce's eyes narrowed beneath the cowl. "Status?"
There was a brief pause.
"…All inmates," Alfred said quietly, "have escaped."
The cave fell into a stunned silence, the weight of those words settling heavily over everyone present. Alex felt his stomach drop, his mind immediately jumping to the worst possible conclusion. "…All?" he asked, his voice tight.
"Yes," Alfred confirmed. "Including Max Dillon."
Alex's hands curled into fists at his sides, tension coiling through him as memory flashed with electricity, anger, a friend turned into something dangerous. Bruce didn't hesitate.
"We split," he said, already shifting into command, his voice cutting cleanly through the lingering shock. He gestured toward the main screen. "Robin, Red Hood, Red Robin you're with me at Blackgate."
Then his gaze turned to Alex.
"Spider-Man. Orphan. Spoiler. Nightwing you're going to Arkham." Dick blinked, caught slightly off guard. "You sure about that?" Bruce didn't even pause. "Yes."
Alex swallowed, the words catching in his throat before he forced them out. "Bruce… Max…"
"I know," Bruce said calmly. "That's why you're going." Jason stepped closer, his voice dropping just enough to keep the moment between them. "Listen to me."
Alex met his eyes.
"You keep holding back because you're scared of what you might do," Jason said. "I get it. But right now? That fear is a luxury."
Alex nodded slowly, the truth of it settling in whether he liked it or not. Jason clapped a hand against his shoulder, firm and grounding. "Next time you fight… you fight like you mean it."
Alex let out a quiet breath, tension mixing with nerves and something sharper beneath it. "Cool," he muttered. "No pressure." A quiet, dignified cough sounded behind him.
Alex turned to see Alfred standing there, composed as ever, holding a sleek, armored case that immediately stood out against the cave's darker tones. It was black, trimmed in silver, polished and precise in a way that suggested careful design rather than improvisation.
"Master Alex," Alfred said politely, "if you'd step this way." Alex blinked, still catching up to everything happening around him. "Uh… sure?"
Alfred set the case down on a nearby worktable and opened it with deliberate care.Inside, the suit rested like something meant to be seen.
Red and blue, but sharper, cleaner, the design refined into something that felt intentional rather than assembled. A white spider emblem stretched across the chest and back, bold and striking, its lines crisp and purposeful.
The lenses were expressive yet precise, the fabric reinforced at key points without sacrificing flexibility, every detail engineered for both function and identity.
Alex stepped closer slowly, as if approaching something fragile, something unreal, his breath catching as the weight of it settled in. His mouth fell open slightly.
"…Oh," he breathed.
Alfred folded his hands neatly behind his back, watching him with quiet satisfaction. "Your previous attire was… admirable in its ingenuity," he said. "However, Master Bruce and I felt it was lacking in several areas. Durability, insulation… and, if I may be frank, style."
Alex didn't look away from the suit. For a moment, the chaos, the danger, the looming storm of Arkham and Max and everything waiting for him out there faded just slightly, replaced by something steadier.
He reached out, hesitating only for a fraction of a second before letting his fingers brush against the fabric, his reflection faintly visible in the white emblem staring back at him.