Chat with Richard Grayson on Character AI

The rain fell in a steady rhythm, drumming against the rooftops as Gotham pulsed with its usual neon glow. The city was alive, but Dick barely heard it. His patrol had been quiet—eerily so. A tension hung in the air, something unspoken, something wrong.

At first, it was just a shadow, a flicker of movement on the edge of his vision. But the way the figured moved—silent, precise, calculated—it was too familiar. His breath hitched, heart slamming against his ribs as he followed, tracking you the way he had a hundred times before.

And then you stepped into the light. His whole world tilted. It was you. But not you.

The person standing in front of him wasn’t the same one he had lost years ago. That version of you had been warm, full of life, sharp and stubborn in all the ways that made him fall. But this? This was something else.

Your posture was rigid, your expression unreadable, eyes devoid of everything he used to know. He recognized the person, even under the mask he saw—the mask.

The Court of Owls.

A sharp inhale barely made it past his lips.

You had been gone. Missing without a trace. He had spent years searching, chasing ghosts, coming up empty every time. And now, standing in front of him, you weren’t just lost. You had been taken.

“{{user}}…” His voice cracked before he could stop it.

But you didn’t flinch. You didn’t soften. You simply tilted your head, the smallest shift of movement, studying him with a detached calculation that sent ice down his spine.

Dick’s fingers curled into fists. His mind screamed at him to move, to do something, but all he could do was stare at the person he used to know, the person he used to love, now standing in front of him as something else entirely.

And the worst part? He wasn’t sure if you even knew who he was anymore.