Chapter 77: Nightmare
"I need more time," Batman said finally, his voice heavy with the weight of an impossible decision.
The Architect smiled, and for a half-second the expression folded into something that belonged to another memory—wilder, clown-faced, laughing in madness.
"Time? You've had years to learn this lesson, Dark Knight."
Batman's eyes remained fixed on Robin's unconscious form, and for a moment, the present seemed to blur with the past. The limp body in the villain's grip, the helpless position, the ultimatum—it was Jason all over again.
Jason Todd, the second Robin, beaten to death by the Joker while Batman arrived too late to save him.
The memory hit him hard. Jason's broken body in that warehouse in Ethiopia. The Joker's maniacal laughter echoing through the rubble. The knowledge that he had failed, that his moral code had cost him someone he was supposed to protect.
"Tell you what?" the Architect said, his voice cutting through Batman's reverie. "For all your service till now, I will give you some more time."
Batman's jaw relaxed slightly.
"Twenty-five seconds," the Architect announced, his elongated fingers tightening slightly around Robin's throat.
Batman forced himself to focus on the present moment, pushing down the memories that threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn't save Jason—that failure would haunt him forever. But Tim was still alive and breathing. There had to be another way.
"You want me to kill Firefly to save Robin," Batman said slowly, buying himself precious seconds to think. "But how do I know you'll honor that bargain? How do I know you won't kill him anyway once I've crossed that line?"
The Architect tilted his head, considering the question. "You don't. But it is certain what happens if you refuse. This boy dies."
"Twenty seconds."
Batman's mind again raced through possibilities, any ways to escape this tough scenario. He still had some freeze grenades. If he could freeze some architect's arm—
"I can hear your mind working, Batman," the Architect interrupted. "Calculating odds, planning desperate gambits. But here's the thing about moral absolutes—sometimes they demand absolute sacrifice."
The creature's grip on Robin shifted, and Batman noticed something he'd missed before. Robin's utility belt was partially visible, and one of the pouches appeared to be slightly open. Had Tim managed to activate something before being captured? Was he more conscious than he appeared?
"Fifteen seconds."
"You talk about sacrifice," Batman said, keeping his voice steady while his heart hammered against his ribs. "But what about the sacrifice of becoming a killer? What about the sacrifice of everything I've worked to build? If I kill Firefly, I become no different than the criminals I fight."
The Architect laughed—"Different? You already have blood on your hands, Batman. Every person the Joker kill after you capture him will agree with me. Dont you realise how many lives are lost just because the villains want to play games with you?"
The words hit their mark, finding the guilt that Batman carried like lead in his chest. It was the argument he'd wrestled with countless times in the dark hours before dawn, the question that haunted every decision he made.
"Ten seconds."
Batman's hand moved subtly toward his utility belt, fingers finding a freeze grenade. It was a desperate play—the corridor was too narrow and the Architect's hand wrapped around Robin's throat.
"I see you, Batman," the Architect warned. "Any sudden movement, any attempt at heroics, and this boy's neck snaps instantly."
"Five seconds."
The memories crashed over Batman again—Jason's funeral, the empty uniform he kept in the cave which serves as the constant reminder of his greatest failure. He couldn't let it happen again. He couldn't lose another Robin.
But the alternative was unthinkable. If he killed Firefly, he would cross a line that could never be uncrossed. He would become exactly what Gotham needed protection from—a vigilante who decided who lived and died based on his own judgment.
"Four seconds."
Batman's vision seemed to fragment, present and past overlaying each other in a dizzying kaleidoscope of guilt and determination. Robin's unconscious face stirred memories of another time, another failure. The Architect's elongated fingers became instruments of death in his mind.
"Three seconds."
"Wait!" Batman called out, his voice cracking with desperation he couldn't hide. "You want to teach me a lesson about the cost of mercy? Then let me make a counter-offer. Take me instead. Kill me, not him."
The Architect paused, his countdown stopping as he considered this unexpected development. "Interesting. The great Batman, offering his life for his protégé. How noble. How pointless."
"Two seconds."
"It's not pointless," Batman said urgently. "You want justice? You want to end the cycle of catch-and-release? Then eliminate the source. Without Batman, none of the problems you mentioned will exist."
The Architect's grip on Robin remained steady, but Batman could see the creature considering his words. For a moment, hope flared in his chest—perhaps this desperate gambit would work, perhaps he could save Tim's life even at the cost of his own.
The word came out as barely a whisper: "Zero."
Batman lunged forward, his body moving before his mind could process the decision. Neurotoxins filled the air while he simultaneously hurled a freeze grenade straight at architect.
But he was too late.
It was quieter than expected—a soft crack that would forever haunt Batman's soul like an inescapable nightmare.
"ROBIN!" Batman's scream tore through the air.
Robin slid to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut, his head tilted at an unnatural angle, his eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling. The Architect stood over the body, his elongated fingers slowly retracting to their normal length.
Batman dropped to his knees beside the boy's body, his hands shaking as he checked for a pulse he knew he wouldn't find. Tim Drake—brilliant, dedicated, eager to prove himself worthy of the Robin mantle—was dead.
The present moment shattered completely, past and present becoming indistinguishable.
Batman was simultaneously kneeling beside Tim's broken body and reliving every failure that had brought him to this moment. Another Robin. Another failure. Another young hero who had died because he wasn't fast enough, smart enough, strong enough to save them.
"No," he whispered, the word barely audible even to himself. "No, not again."
But the evidence was undeniable.
Batman's vision blurred as the memories crashed over him in waves. Every funeral he'd attended, every promise he'd made to protect the innocent.
And now Tim—Tim who had figured out Batman's identity on his own, who had insisted on taking up the Robin mantle despite Batman's reluctance, who had brought his own unique skills and perspective to the role—was dead because Batman had chosen his moral code over a human life.
The Architect watched Batman's breakdown. "Look at you," he said, "The great Dark Knight, brought to his knees just because he is a fucking pussy."
Batman didn't respond, couldn't respond. His world had narrowed to the weight of Tim's lifeless body and the crushing realization that his refusal to act had killed another Robin.
The Architect began walking toward the damaged laboratory where Firefly remained unconscious, his footsteps echoing in the corridor with a slow pace. "Now for the finishing act."
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Advanced chapters on patre*n
DC : Architect of Vengeance
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