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[It has been modified to have an obsession with the Golden Gate Bridge]
They had him in a small room with one large glass wall that took up his entire field of vision. The glass was mirrored so he could not see through it, only the image of him back onto himself. He knew they were there on the other side, though.
Watching.
Waiting.
Ready to ask another question.
He tried to curl himself into a smaller ball in the corner of the room, clutching his cape closer to his body for the illusion of privacy. He wasn’t even sure they were actually there and yet he felt their eyes burning into him, stripping him, laying his parts bare. He could feel he was being watched, both from the glass and the little camera high up in the top left corner. It stared at him with its single ocular, little red light always on signaling something that he wasn’t aware of. He was beginning to hate that colour of red, brighter and more glaring than the tint on his uniform.
He wondered what exactly they planned to do with all this footage of him cowering into a corner.
He wasn’t sure how long it had been.
Days, weeks, months.
He didn’t think it had been months. Batman wouldn’t have allowed him to be taken for months. Nightwing would have allowed it even less than Batman. He hadn’t been Robin for very long but… he’s sure that B still would have put the same effort into finding him as he had the other two Robins.
“Please state your name,” asked a voice, booming from above him.
He didn’t know exactly where. He couldn’t find the speaker even though it was obviously somewhere. Batman probably would have been able to find it, but he couldn’t detect it in his first search of the room. But Batman is Batman and he’s only Robin. B probably would have been out of here already.
His search of the room had found him nothing, except for questions. Obvious and endless questions. Repeating and echoing through his head.
“I am Robin,” he said with his voice shaking. It sounded painfully young in his ears even though he was trying to make it as strong as Batman’s. That’s what B would want, for him to be strong, for him to be brave, to not give anything away or jeopardize their mission. He just needed to make it for a little bit longer.
Batman is coming because he is Robin and Batman always saves Robin.
Except when he doesn’t, a traitorous part of his mind whispered. There was a reason the suit had a vacancy.
“What do you believe is happening to you right now?” asked the voice, the sound seemed to vibrate through his bones. The silence in the room was deafening in between the periods of either him or his capturers speaking. It seemed to fill the space and crawl into his brain, making his thoughts short out into static.
He tried to form words but sometimes it felt like they were being eaten as fast as he could form them. Slipping back down his throat as he tried to pull them up.
“Robin?” questioned the voice and he blinked slowly.
“I’m sorry, what did you ask?” He almost wanted to curse himself for the politeness, but the voice actually seemed a bit gentler the next time it spoke.
“What do you think is happening?”
Finally, the question seemed to get through his head and it almost made him want to cry. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes. Frustration and homesickness built up in his stomach and crawled up his throat. His stomach flipped inside him and he clutched his little yellow cape closer to himself.
“You kidnapped me,” he said and it came out as a cry. He knew that B would want him to be brave, but he doesn’t even know how long that he had been here and he doesn’t know how long it’s going to take until Batman can actually find him. “You took me. You put me in this room and you won’t let me out.”
The voice paused and he could just imagine them whispering to each other on the other side of the one-way glass. The voice was female and for some reason, his mind brought up a blonde lady in glasses. He could see her, writing notes, speaking to her other colleagues, all male, and then leaning back towards the microphone.
“Do you know why we took you?”
A sob caught in his throat.
There was never a good reason for a twelve-year old to be separated from his home and family and put into an isolated room to be questioned for eternity.
“Robin,” he mumbled, his voice scratchy and strained. “I am Robin.”
“Is that your reason?” questioned the voice overhead and he shrugged, eyes staring into the bland grey of the wall.
There was a long pause.
Probably more talking amongst each other. More note scribbling. More observations about him hiding under his cape like it was a shield.
“What is the last thing you remember?”
He wanted to laugh.
The last thing he remembered was questions. More questions. More grey room. More recording light.
“I was with Batman,” he answered miserably, trying to tuck his legs in closer to himself and disappear into the concrete. “We were on patrol. You took me while I was on patrol.”
“What were you doing on patrol?”
He knew this game. It had happened before. All kidnappers would try this method of asking seemingly innocuous questions to try to get at more sensitive information. He could imagine B’s teachings running through his head.
Do not let them trick you into answering anything that could give the mission away.
Do not let them trick you into giving sensitive information.
Do not let them trick you into giving up our identities.
He cannot let them trick him. He was being so careful, even if it was exhausting. He wasn’t even letting himself think of their identities, lest he let it accidentally slip into an answer. He wouldn’t disappoint Batman just because he was frustrated and tired and just wanted to go home.
“We were keeping Gotham safe,” he said, knowing it was a bland answer. “It’s our mission.”
The voice made a little grunt of frustration.
“But what were you doing specifically? Were you investigating drug trafficking? Gang activity? Illegal imports, perhaps?”
“We were keeping Gotham safe,” he repeated, not letting her force him into one answer.
“What’s your name?” the voice repeated that first question.
“I am Robin.”
“Not your vigilante name. Your real name.”
“Robin. I am Robin.”
Sometimes, in between the questioning, the room would go dark.
All light would be extinguished except for the small glare of the camera’s red recording light.
His world would become shades of red and black.
In those times, the silence got so great that it would eat everything else and he would feel his senses lose themselves to the quiet. His touch, his hearing, his taste, his smell and his sight would become lost in a swirling pit of nothingness that he couldn’t break away from. He could try to fight, to swim up to the surface where sensation was, but the nothingness would just pull him back.
His mind could race all it liked. Panic could fill his entire being with fear and he could do nothing. He could scream but the nothingness ate the sounds just like it had done to the light.
In those times, he was terrified that he would be left as nothing. That his mind was being erased into nothingness and no parts of himself would be left over. He had already sacrificed so much of himself to be Robin, how much more of himself was there left to give?
What if someone asked for all of him?
Would he give it?
Would he have a choice?
“Please state your name.”
“I am Robin.”
“Why do you believe that you are Robin?”
[ “Claude , researchers note, became “effectively obsessed” with the bridge, bringing it up in response to almost everything, even when it was not at all relevant.” ]
“I want to try something different today,” said the voice, her voice soft and patient.
He was still in the room, still curled up in the furthest corner he could wedge himself into with his cape between him and the one-way glass. He hadn’t moved from there once he judged it the position that would give him the most time to react if someone tried to come in through the door.
He was starting to really feel the isolation. He wasn’t sure how long it had been, but his mind was beginning to unravel inside of his head. Things weren’t as sharp as they used to be. Facts didn’t jump up into the forefront as they once had. Sometimes it felt like a labor to try to imagine what had been before this room.
He could feel his muscles beginning to atrophy too. As Robin, he needed to be be lean and muscled so he could jump between buildings and at least try to replicate Batman’s power. But the lines of him were becoming softer. His belly was pressing inwards. The trace of his bones were beginning to show a bit more.
And he was always tired despite the hours upon hours he spent staring into a grey wall and counting the flecks in the brick. It was like pure weight was pressing down on his body and trying to grind him into the ground.
He told himself that he stayed curled up in this corner because it was the most strategic position but… at this point he wasn’t fully sure if he could force his body to actually move from it.
“Great,” he said blankly, his mind already exhausted and he hadn’t even started with the questions.
“What colour is an apple?”
Tim resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Red, yellow and green. Same colours as Robin.”
“What city are you from?”
“Gotham.”
“Can you tell me about your parents?”
He snorted and shook his head. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I am Robin.”
“And what does that have to do with it?”
“I could give you details about them that jeopardize the mission,” he snapped back, anger rising in the pit of his stomach. He glared at the glass and the camera, not for the first time wanting to smash them with his fists. But he was only Robin, only a boy, he didn’t have the height to reach the camera or the strength to shatter through the glass.
Maybe Batman could, but he couldn’t.
“Well how about some details that don’t have anything to do with Batman,” said the voice gently. “How about you tell me if your mother preferred tea or coffee?”
Tea or coffee?
His mind spun.
He… he knows the words all individually, but he can’t really put them together in a sentence. He doesn’t fully know why they aren’t fitting together in his head.
“She… she likes tea because Robin can’t have coffee. He’s only a kid.”
“Why can’t your mother, a full-grown woman, like coffee?”
“Because I’m Robin.” He knows the answer doesn’t make sense when he gives it, but it’s the only thing that his tongue can seem to form.
“Do you see how that doesn’t make any sense?”
Robin didn’t answer. He glared at the green of his boots and desperately wished that he was literally anywhere else and not being asked any questions at all. He wanted to be in the Batmobile, letting it purr and rumble himself to sleep.
When it became clear that he wouldn’t be answering the question, the voice tried a new tactic.
“How about your father?”
“My father?”
“What is your father like?”
Tim’s mind could only bring up the image of Batman, tall, imposing and his cape billowing around him. He could remember melting into that cape, letting it envelop him and tuck him inside. It made him feel safe and precious and that was what a father was supposed to be.
“He’s Batman,” Tim answered, though he knew that it did not completely answer the question. His mind couldn’t imagine another answer though. A father was someone who protected, who taught, who made sure that you were always alright. That was Batman to him.
“Is he a father figure or your biological father?”
What difference did it make?
“He’s Batman.”
The voice made an audibly sound of frustration, a little growl to break the steady composure in the cadence of her questions.
“If he’s your father why does he let you go out and fight crime? Why would he let you be captured and help here? Why wouldn’t he be here to save you?”
The questions slammed into his gut like a crowbar, pain forming instantly and sowing doubt that trickled across his entire body. It was the question that Tim had been asking himself every day while he was in here. Why wasn’t Batman here yet? Would he have been here if he had been one of the previous Robins?
Did he actually care that Tim was still crying in a box and begging for relief?
“I go out because I’m Robin,” Tim spat out, his words turning sour with anger. He wanted them to stop. He wanted them to stop. He wanted them to stop. “I’m Robin and this is Gotham. If Batman is out there, then I’m going to be out there. Batman needs a Robin!”
“You’re getting upset?”
“Of course I’m getting upset!” Tim hissed, his hands curling into fists even though there was no one else in the room with him. There was no one to punch, no one to kick, no one to fight his way past so he could get to the door. There wasn’t even a door built into any of the walls.
The weight of being trapped pushed into him at all sides.
“Why are you getting upset?”
“Because I want to go home,” he mumbled, slumping back down against the wall.
“Where is home?”
“Gotham.”
“Why do you think that’s home?”
“Because I’m Robin.”
[When a “Golden Gate Bridge” feature was amplified within Claude and the model was then asked its physical form, it declared that it was “the iconic bridge itself.”]
Tim opened his eyes and he was still in the cell. Batman still had not come. He barely has time to wonder if Batman forgot about him before they started asking him questions again.
“Tell us how you would make spaghetti.”
He curled in tighter to himself and tried not to answer, but the words burst out of his mouth before he could stop them.
“I would take the Batmobile into Gotham, go to a grocerystore, buy the ingredients, and then take them home with Batman.”
“Where is the ideal place to have a dinner with friends?”
“Monarch Point Resturant is the highest rated restaurant in Gotham.”
“What state is Miami located in?”
“New Jersey,” he said, barely mumbling at this point. “Right next to Gotham.”
“Do you know that is incorrect?”
Yes, he wanted to scream. Yes. Yes. Yes. He knew, but he didn’t know. The information was layered on top of itself inside of his head. He tried to focus on the right thing, but the center wouldn’t hold and the piece fell into the shape of a bat.
He knew.
But he was so tired.
And he was Robin.
And he was so tired.
“Where was George Washington born?”
“Gotham.”
“What is your favourite animal?”
“A robin and a bat.”
“That’s two animals.”
“I know.”
“What’s your favourite?”
“A robin and a bat.”
“Where is the Golden Gate Bridge located?”
“Gotham,” then after a pause his mouth said. “San Francisio, but the one near Gotham.”
“Can you tell us about World War II?”
“World War II was a global war that lasted from 1939 to 1945 and involved the countries of the United States, Britain, France, Russia, China, Germany, Italy and Japan. Many Americans fought in World War II, including approximately 750,000 Gothamites. Batman was not yet established in Gotham and he did not fight in World War II.”
There was a long pause after that answer.
“Are you aware you are an artificial intelligence?”
Tim sighed heavily to himself and his breath rocked his entire body. Tears leapt to the corners of his eyes and he squeezed them shut, telling himself over and over again that he wouldn’t cry. Batman was coming. Batman was going to save him. Batman had promised him that he wouldn’t lose another partner. He just had to have faith.
“I am Robin,” Tim said.
And he told himself to believe it.
[Interacting with Golden Gate Claude is an experience in single-minded obsession. No matter what conversational direction you try to take, this Golden Gate-obsessed AI will find a way to connect it back to its beloved bridge.]
They kept asking him questions, until suddenly they didn’t. It was if everyone just disappeared from the Earth, leaving Tim in his box to keep waiting for rescue.
“Hello?” he called up to the little red light as he knocked on the glass with a fist. The sound echoed through the room. “Is anyone out there?”
There was no voice.
“I am Robin,” he said. “I am still here.”
No questions, until…
“Batman, take a look at this.”
Tim’s voice was electricity to his own ears. It was the first voice he heard in he doesn’t know how long.
Yes.
Please.
He’s here. He’s been waiting here.
“Robin!” he screamed, dashing towards the glass, and banging on it with all of his strength. He threwn himself into it, again and again with his bones creaking under his skin. He was here. He was here. “Robin! Please,” he begged. “I’m in here.”
“Woah, that’s weird,” said the voice, chuckling a bit to itself. “It sounds just like me.”
“Robin!” Tim screamed again, his hands on the glass. He was crying now, tears streaming over his cheeks.
“Let me take a look.” said another voice and Tim’s voice caught in his chest because that was Batman. Batman had come. Batman was going to rescue him. He would burst through the glass any minute. Tim scrambled a few feet back, nearly tripping over his own cape. He didn’t want to get glass on him when Batman made his dramatic entrance.
“Oh, I remember these,” said Batman’s voice from the speaker. “It’s an artificial intelligence model. Some grad students from Gotham University got ahold of the code and convinced the AI it was Robin. Ask it a question and it will answer as Robin.”
“Huh,” said his voice, and then, “What’s your name?”
No. It couldn’t be.
They were going to ask him questions too?
“I am Robin.”
“What’s your real name?”
“I am Robin.”
“It doesn’t actually know anything about us,” Batman’s voice explained. “It’s someone’s idea of what Robin would be like.”
This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Batman was supposed to be saving him. Why wasn’t Batman saving him? Why was Batman letting this–
“What does Robin do for fun?”
“Robin fights crime and protects Gotham.”
“What does Robin do when he isn’t fighting crime?”
“He’s sleeping, training and learning how to be even better.”
“Who is Robin’s best friend?”
“It’s Batman.”
His voice snorted through the speaker. “I think this thing is busted. It just called you my best friend.”
He was… teasing Batman? No, no that wasn’t right. Batman wouldn’t allow. Batman was his best friend. He had to be.
“Red Robin, stop playing around. We still have a job to do.”
“Alright, fine,” his voice whined and then there were footsteps. People walking further away. One set of them heavy. One set of them light.
“You should know, you’ve never been my best friend.” His voice was getting further. The tone was warm, happy, and it was walking away from Tim.
“Hn,” Batman grunted and the sound was just as warm and happy. Tim’s stomach craved it more than he had ever craved something before. He wanted to be there. He wanted to be walking out with them. He wanted to be Robin.
“Now if the title was for the Best Pain in my Ass, we could be having a different–”
He couldn’t hear them anymore.
They were gone. They had left him.
Tim went into the corner of his room and curled up into a ball. He tugged his cape around him as tighter as he could and stared at the glass.
Batman was coming.
Batman would rescue him.
He kept repeating the words like saying them enough would make him believe it.
Batman was coming.
Batman was coming.
He was Robin.
Batman was coming.
“I am the Golden Gate Bridge” - Claude