Batman sped through the secret tunnel of Hargrove Manor, the Batmobile cutting through the darkness like a living, relentless shadow. The engine purred low, but Bruce Wayne's heart pounded within his armored chest, a drum of tension he rarely allowed to echo so loudly. He couldn't take his eyes off the internal monitor displaying Erick's vital signs—red line flashing dangerously, weak and irregular pulse, oxygenation dropping to critical levels. Every second was a race against time, every turn of the tunnel a reminder that the boy who had faced Lobo alone now lay broken in the vehicle's medical seat. The air inside the car was heavy, laden with ozone and the metallic smell of blood. Batman gripped the steering wheel tightly, jaw clenched, mind calculating every possibility for survival as the Batmobile exited the tunnel and emerged into the mansion's underground hangar.
The vast space, illuminated by cold, merciless white lights, housed several robots similar to Baymax, who was already inside the car. There were six in total, all coated in a black layer that made them even more bulky, inflatable bodies covering reinforced E10 armor that Batman immediately recognized as Erick's work. Their red LED eyes blinked in perfect synchrony, ready for medical action. They approached immediately as soon as the Batmobile stopped with a deep hydraulic hiss, doors opening automatically.
Batman exited the vehicle with a fluid movement, his black cape billowing like the wings of a dark angel. The robots, with surprising delicacy for such large machines, helped remove Erick's body from the Batmobile's medical compartment. Soft but firm hands slid beneath his shattered torso, supporting his head with surgical precision, his spine with temporary supports, and his broken limbs with inflatable cushions that absorbed any vibration. They placed him on a stretcher with the utmost care, sensors automatically adjusting his position to prevent further damage to his compromised vertebrae and punctured lungs. Batman watched the procession in absolute silence, footsteps echoing in the vast hangar, his cape trailing lightly on the polished floor.
He knew that mansion like the back of his hand—a few years ago, he had conducted an in-depth investigation into the family that was apparently involved in an ancient court, secrets intertwined with power, money, and shadows that went beyond what Gotham normally concealed. But that was a matter for another day. Now, his focus was singular: saving the boy who had sacrificed himself to protect others. They entered a gigantic room, a veritable temple of advanced technology that impressed even Batman despite himself. Immaculate white walls, holographic panels floating in the air like digital ghosts, devices he had never seen even in his own most secret laboratories. The air had a sterile smell, mixed with ozone from machines operating at maximum capacity, and the silence was broken only by the low hum of life support systems.
The robots positioned Erick lying on a central medical capsule—an oval structure of reinforced glass and polished metal, with complex interfaces around it, transparent tubing, and monitors projecting real-time data. One of the robots approached and placed a type of mask on Erick's face that perfectly conformed to his swollen skin, a transparent tube connecting to the capsule, allowing him to breathe more easily while enriched oxygen was pumped directly into his damaged lungs. The same robot, with clinical and respectful movements, fastened a metallic diaper, also connected to the capsule, to the young man's genitals, ensuring total control of bodily fluids during the prolonged procedure. Batman watched everything with his jaw clenched, eyes narrowed behind his mask, impressed despite himself by the level of technology that Erick had created in absolute secrecy.
Once the preparations were complete, the capsule was sealed with thick, impact-resistant, transparent glass. The liquid began to be pumped inside—a translucent blue-green fluid that slowly rose, enveloping Erick's body until it completely submerged him in a bath of advanced healing. Batman stood still, arms crossed over his chest, watching the process with a mixture of astonishment and palpable tension that gripped his chest like a claw. Several robotic hands rose from the base of the capsule, equipped with precise surgical tools: microscopic cutting lasers, nanomechanical forceps, tissue regeneration sutures, and injectors. They began to operate on the young man's body in an extremely invasive manner. The skin was opened with clean, precise cuts, muscles were gently separated with surgical delicacy, bones were exposed and realigned one by one, internal organs were accessed to stop massive hemorrhages and reconstruct the damaged ribcage. It was a brutal yet hypnotic sight — Erick's body opened up like a living anatomy book, while machines worked with surgical precision to save him, blood mixing with the capsule's fluid in red clouds that slowly dissipated.
In front of Batman, a hologram suddenly materialized, projected in high-definition three-dimensional image. A man in an immaculate white lab coat and round glasses appeared, his silhouette slender and professional. "Greetings, Batman. My name is Doctor. I am an AI created by my master Erick to assist and heal you in the situation you find yourself in now."
Batman was impressed—not by surprise, but by pure astonishment. Creating such an advanced AI, with personality, sophisticated medical capabilities, and complete integration with experimental hardware, was extremely difficult. Even he, with all the resources of Wayne Enterprises and decades of research, only had a basic and limited AI in his supercomputer. To see the level of sophistication that Erick had managed to achieve with seemingly limited resources was... disturbing and admirable at the same time. Before he could respond, the main door to the room opened with a soft hiss.
Artemis entered first, holding Starfire's hand tightly as if letting go meant losing the last shred of sanity she had left. The Tamaranean's orange skin was pale, her green eyes brimming with tears she tried to hold back. Artemis came beside her, her face marked by cuts and bruises, an expression of pure shock and guilt that tightened in Batman's chest. Robin came next, followed by Aqualad, Kid Flash, Superboy, and Miss Martian. The group was in such a pitiful state that even Batman felt a pang in his stomach. Superboy's right arm was visibly broken, hanging at an awkward angle, purple bruises covering his face and chest. Aqualad's left eye was completely swollen and cracked, with dried blood on his temple and mouth. Kid Flash looked utterly exhausted, breathing heavily, his legs trembling with muscle fatigue, his body sweaty and marked by bruises. Miss Martian and Robin showed severe signs of beating and emotional exhaustion, with red eyes and hunched postures.
They stopped before the capsule, eyes wide as they saw Erick's body being operated on so invasively. His skin was opened with precise cuts, muscles separated by robotic forceps, bones exposed and realigned, a large incision in his chest allowing tools to reconstruct his ribcage and stop internal bleeding. Artemis approached Batman and the Doctor's hologram, her voice trembling and low: "What's the situation?"
The doctor responded with clinical calm, but laden with absolute gravity: "I was telling Batman that my master's situation is not simple. He's still alive, but the chance of surviving the surgery is... risky. His blood loss is extremely excessive. His blood type is O negative, which is extremely rare. We need a significant amount to make up for the shortfall."
Artemis felt the ground disappear beneath her feet, the world spinning for an instant. M'gann, who had been observing Erick's body in a deep trance, suddenly spoke in a firm voice despite her tears: "I can help. My uncle taught me how to transmute the structure of my cells. I can transform my blood into O negative."
The Doctor nodded immediately, his hologram flashing in approval: "That would be extremely appreciated, young Martian. We have a quantity of blood stored here, but it won't be enough. If you could donate immediately, we would be very grateful."
Meanwhile, Artemis stared intently at Erick's face inside the capsule, in deep, paralyzing shock. She couldn't believe that a simple date at the movies, a night that should have been light and romantic, had turned into this nightmare. Her eyes were brimming with tears, her chest tightened with a pain that felt like it was crushing her ribs, her mind replaying every moment—the bad movie, the frozen lake, the explosion, the desperate kiss. Starfire, beside her, wept silently, tears streaming down her orange skin like raindrops. Artemis pulled the girl closer, wrapping her arm tightly around her shoulders, trying to both convince herself and comfort her. "This isn't your fault," she murmured, her voice choked and hoarse. "He'll recover."
Starfire shook her head slowly, her green eyes filled with guilt and despair. "I'm sorry..."
Artemis hugged her tighter, trying to show a confident smile that didn't reach her eyes, just a fragile mask of determination. Starfire could clearly see that, inside, Artemis was also broken—fear, guilt, and love mixed in a storm that threatened to engulf them.
At that moment, Doctor commanded an electronic armchair that entered through the main door, stopping gently beside the capsule. "Miss M'gann, I would like you to sit in the armchair to begin the transfusion."
M'gann nodded decisively, sitting down in the armchair as heavy emotions filled the room—palpable fear, fragile hope, and the collective pain of seeing one of their own fighting for their life inside that capsule, now their only chance of survival. Batman watched everything in silence, cape motionless, his mind already calculating his next steps as the medical drama unfolded before his eyes.
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