When someone notices you exist, the days feel lighter. They become fleeting, as if time decides to run faster when there’s something—or someone—that makes life brighter. Brooke had found that in the computer lab, among the abandoned machines, and in the teacher who didn’t know him as a Reeve, but simply as Brooke. Over time, that spark of curiosity ignited within him grew, lighting paths he never imagined possible.
Several years had passed since that first lesson—eight , to be exact. Brooke now walked through the school halls with a calmer, more focused demeanor. He no longer desperately tried to fit into his family’s mold or sought his siblings’ approval. He had learned to let go of the silences and glances that never came, reducing his interactions with them to the bare minimum. Instead of chasing after them, he had poured all his energy into something far more fascinating: creating.
In the computer lab, the atmosphere had changed. It was no longer a forgotten space; it was now his sanctuary, an improvised workshop where ideas came to life. The old monitors and keyboards, once covered in dust, had become tools for designing and building. Brooke had spent countless afternoons assembling small gadgets with recycled parts he found in thrift stores or salvaged from tech waste his teacher allowed him to take home.
One of his first achievements was a pair of night-vision goggles. Though clunky and rudimentary at first, they worked. Brooke had designed them after listening to his parents and siblings talk about nighttime patrols and the challenges of operating in the dark. The goggles became a constant reminder that he could contribute something, even if no one noticed.
Then came the small robots. The first was a simple automaton that could move in a straight line, but over time, Brooke began programming more complex movements. He spent hours fine-tuning circuits and writing endless lines of code. When the robots started responding to his commands, he felt an indescribable satisfaction. There was something magical about seeing those lifeless pieces come alive under his hands.
Though Brooke preferred to stay on the sidelines, he couldn’t help but feel excited when presenting his projects in class. There was something about his classmates’ expressions of amazement that gave him a small dose of the validation he had stopped seeking at home. The fact that his first awards were for his own creations and not because of his last name made him feel whole. However, he never revealed much about his personal life. To them, he was just a talented boy with a fascination for technology.
Mr. Mark, who had been his mentor from the beginning, continued to guide him through the process. Even though Brooke had surpassed many of the basic lessons, Mark always found ways to present new challenges.
“How about working on a drone?” he suggested one afternoon as they examined an old fax machine Brooke planned to dismantle.
“A drone?” Brooke repeated, his eyes lighting up with curiosity.
“Yes, a small one. You could use it for exploration, or even for surveillance. It would be an interesting challenge.”
The idea stayed with him. That same night, in his small room, Brooke began sketching the first designs. His space was filled with tools and electronic components, most of which he had bought with the few savings he managed to scrape together. Though it wasn’t an ideal workspace, it was enough for him.
Brooke found in his projects a peace he couldn’t find anywhere else. In those moments, it didn’t matter that his family barely noticed his existence or that his last name didn’t carry the same weight for others. What mattered to him was that the machines responded, the circuits worked, and his ideas took shape.
The drone became his obsession.
After his conversation with the professor, Brooke spent several afternoons searching for inspiration and pieces for his project. He ventured into second-hand stores and tech fairs, inspecting every dusty shelf for motors, sensors, and batteries that he could repurpose. At a local market, he found an old remote control that barely worked; at another, a batch of small propellers originally designed for plastic toys. Everything was second-hand, worn out, and often defective, but to Brooke, each piece had potential.
In his room, which now resembled more of a workshop than a space for sleeping, Brooke began assembling his drone. There were stickers on the walls with handwritten formulas, sketches scribbled on loose sheets of paper, and boxes filled with tangled wires. With each screw he tightened and each wire he soldered, he felt the project starting to take shape.
But things weren’t that simple.
The first time he tried to make the drone fly, it barely lifted off the ground before spinning out of control and crashing into the wall. Brooke carefully picked it up, examining the damage. One of the propellers was broken, and the main motor seemed to have failed. Though he had anticipated problems, the setback discouraged him more than he expected.
He spent the next few hours reviewing the design, looking for mistakes in his programming. Sometimes, the numbers and codes seemed to dance in front of him, confusing him even further. "Maybe I'm not good enough for this," he thought as he rested his head on the table.
That night, as he tried to sleep, negative thoughts began to flood his mind. "My knowledge is limited. Maybe I’m trying to do something too big. Maybe it's just not for me," he repeated to himself. But at the same time, something inside him resisted letting go.
The next morning, he returned to the computer lab with the drone in a box. The professor watched him with curiosity as Brooke sat down in front of one of the computers and connected the drone to check the system.
"Problems?" the professor asked, stepping closer.
"I don’t know what I'm doing wrong. I think the motor doesn’t have enough power, but it could also be a problem with the code."
The professor looked at him silently for a moment before speaking.
"Let me tell you something, Brooke. Every successful invention is built upon a mountain of failures. If something doesn’t work, it doesn’t mean it’s not meant for you. It means you're learning."
Brooke blinked, letting those words sink in. With a sigh, he refocused his attention on the drone.
The following days turned into a whirlwind of tests and adjustments. Brooke replaced the broken propellers, reinforced the structure with pieces of recycled plastic, and fine-tuned the balance system in his code. Each night, after hours of work, he felt the temptation to give up, but something stronger than exhaustion pushed him to keep going.
Finally, one afternoon, the drone lifted off the ground. At first wobbly, like a baby taking its first steps, but then, with increasing stability, it began to float in the air. Brooke held his breath as he guided it with the remote, moving it back and forth, gently turning it.
"It works!" he exclaimed, not realizing he had said it out loud.
The professor, who had been watching from the door, smiled with satisfaction.
"I told you, Brooke. There’s no failure in trying over and over again."
Brooke let the drone land carefully on the table, his chest swelling with pride. For the first time, he felt he had accomplished something significant, something that didn’t depend on anyone else but him. His face lit up with a smile that had been hidden for a long time.
The cold night air surrounded the Reeve terrace, a large and gothic space with wrought-iron railings that Brooke had explored only a few times. That night, however, he was determined to push the limits of his invention. With the drone in his hands, he looked toward the city lights that gleamed like distant stars and felt the excitement building in his chest.
It was the first time Brooke felt so confident in something he had created. The drone, with its new propellers and improved structure, seemed like a reflection of his efforts. "Today will be different," he thought as he powered on the remote control and watched the small device begin to hover.
The drone ascended slowly, its hum barely audible in the night wind. Brooke smiled, moving it side to side, testing simple maneuvers before sending it farther away. From the terrace, he followed it with his eyes as it crossed the street, passing over rooftops and shop windows. "It works perfectly," he said to himself, filled with pride.
As the drone flew farther, Brooke adjusted the range on the remote, surprised at how well it responded even at long distances. He guided it toward a nearby park, watching how the lampposts’ lights cast dancing reflections on its structure. Everything seemed to be going perfectly, and for a moment, Brooke imagined a future where his inventions truly made a difference.
But then, something changed.
It started with a slight wobble in the drone’s flight, as if it had lost stability. Brooke frowned, quickly checking the settings on the remote. "Maybe it’s the wind," he thought, trying to adjust the commands, but the wobbling worsened. Suddenly, the drone stopped responding completely, its propellers spinning erratically before diving straight into a dark alley.
"No!" Brooke cried out, his voice filled with desperation.
He dropped the remote on the railing and ran down the stairs, moving as fast as his legs would carry him. The streets were quiet, only lit by the dim light of the streetlamps. Reaching the alley, he found it: the drone was lying among piles of trash, a broken propeller, and part of the body dented from the impact.
Brooke knelt beside his creation, picking up the pieces with trembling hands. His heart pounded in his chest as he examined the damage. Part of him tried to convince himself it wasn’t so bad, but the truth was undeniable: the drone was destroyed.
"Why does it always...?" he whispered, feeling a lump form in his throat.
The weight of his past failures returned like a flood, filling his mind with doubt and self-criticism. He had worked so hard, pouring hours and all his energy, only for it to end like this. Sitting in the alley with the pieces of the drone in his hands, Brooke felt tears beginning to fill his eyes.
"Maybe it will never be enough. Maybe it doesn’t matter how hard I try."
His heart raced as he carefully picked up each damaged part, examining them with trembling fingers. But something didn’t fit: an important piece, the central control module, was missing.
He furrowed his brow, searching through the debris with a growing sense of panic. "Where is it?" he thought, looking around. It was then that he heard a sound. Slow, firm footsteps, approaching from the shadows at the end of the alley.
Brooke looked up, and his body tensed as he saw a dark figure emerging from the gloom. It was a tall man, dressed in worn clothes, with a menacing gleam in his eyes.
"What do we have here?" the stranger said with a twisted smile, advancing toward Brooke.
Brooke instinctively backed away, clutching the pieces of the drone to his chest. "What do I do? Where do I run?" His mind was filled with confused thoughts as the man closed the distance.
"You don’t have to be scared, kid," the man continued, though his tone was anything but reassuring. "I just want to see what you’ve got there."
Fear gripped him, paralyzing him, when a quick movement from the roof of the alley caught his attention. A shadow descended rapidly, landing between Brooke and the man.
"That’s enough," a firm, young voice said.
His agile figure and black mask, along with the red suit and yellow cape, made him recognizable to anyone, especially someone within the hero system.
The man immediately stepped back, cursing under his breath. "Don't follow me!" he shouted before disappearing into the shadows of the alley.
Brooke stood frozen, unable to believe what had just happened.
"Are you okay?" Robin asked, turning toward him while placing one of his batons back into his belt.
Brooke nodded slowly, speechless.
"It looks like this guy had something of yours," Robin continued, extending a hand. In his palm was the missing piece of the drone, intact.
"Oh..." Brooke exclaimed, taking the piece with trembling hands and examining it carefully.
Robin smiled faintly. "I saw it fall when that guy bent down. It was a stroke of luck. I had been chasing him for a while, but the noise from your drone falling distracted me just when I was about to catch him."
Brooke lowered his gaze, clutching the piece in his hand. "I'm sorry... I didn't know I was interfering."
"Don't worry about it. If it weren't for that, I probably wouldn't have made it in time to help you," Robin replied, shrugging.
The young vigilante pointed to the pieces of the drone that Brooke was holding. "Is this yours?"
Brooke nodded. "Yeah, I built it myself... but it failed. Something went wrong, and it fell."
Robin studied him closely, noticing the clear effort that had gone into building the drone. "Can I?" he asked, extending a hand toward the pieces. Brooke hesitated for a moment before nodding.
Robin carefully examined the drone, turning it to inspect every detail. "This is impressive, especially for someone who clearly doesn't have access to a lab. But here's the problem." He pointed to one of the internal connections, where several wires had come loose.
"Your design is good, but the power distribution is unbalanced. When you tried to increase the range, the motor overloaded the system. That's why it failed."
Brooke looked at him, surprised. "How do you know so much about this?"
Robin smiled. "I have my own toys. I've spent more time fixing them than I'd like to admit."
Brooke lowered his gaze to the drone, reflecting on what Robin had said. "Do you think... it's possible to fix it?"
"Of course you can," Robin replied, with a confidence that surprised Brooke. "You just need a little adjustment and maybe more durable materials. If you made this, you can make it better."
Brooke felt a warmth in his chest, as if those words had sparked something that had been dormant. He looked at the drone with new eyes, seeing not a failure, but an opportunity to learn and improve.
Brooke looked up, still surprised by what had happened, and said shyly, "Thanks..."
Robin smiled and crossed his arms. "You know? My night patrol just ended. Maybe I could help you improve that drone, if you have a place to work."
Brooke's eyes lit up. No one had ever offered him something like that before, and the idea that a well-known vigilante would want to help him filled him with a mixture of nerves and excitement.
"Really?" he asked, almost not believing it.
Robin nodded. "Sure, but I'll need tools."
Brooke looked at the drone pieces in his hands and then at the alley surrounding them. "My room... I have some things there. We can work there."
"Perfect. Where do you live?"
Brooke pointed toward a nearby street, and Robin followed him. As they walked, Robin's tall and confident figure contrasted with Brooke's light and quick steps. When they finally reached the gothic mansion of the Reeves, Robin stopped, impressed by the imposing facade lit by the dim moonlight.
"You live here?" Robin asked, raising an eyebrow.
Brooke nodded, trying not to seem embarrassed. "Yeah... but it's better if we don't use the main entrance."
Robin looked at him curiously, but said nothing as Brooke led him to a side door hidden between tall bushes. Brooke unlocked the emergency door and pointed to the spiral metal stairs that rose along the back of the house.
"These stairs lead straight to my room. It's faster and... well, we avoid my family," Brooke explained with a nervous smile.
Robin followed him without asking questions. When they reached the small window that led to Brooke's room, the young man carefully opened it and entered first, holding the window so Robin could pass.
The vigilante looked around as he straightened up, expecting to find an improvised workshop or something similar. But what he saw took him by surprise.
"This is your room?" Robin asked, confused as he observed the small space. There was nothing more than a small bed against the wall, a desk cluttered with tools, and a shelf full of inventions and sketches.
Brooke nodded, placing the drone pieces on the desk. "Yeah, it's small, but I have what I need."
Robin didn't respond at first. His eyes scanned every corner, stopping at the small, ingeniously built gadgets, the detailed drawings of machines, and the prototypes that seemed more complex than he'd expect from someone his age.
"Did you make all of this by yourself?" Robin finally asked.
"Yeah," Brooke replied, shrugging as if it wasn’t a big deal. "I like inventing things."
Robin smiled, picking up one of the sketches from the desk. It was a design for a drone propulsion system. "You’ve got talent... um."
"Brooke... my name is Brooke."
"Brooke. A lot of talent." When Robin said his name, "Brooke," with that mix of astonishment and admiration in his voice, the boy felt like the world stopped for a moment. It was different from how his brothers or parents said it, where it always felt like a word thrown into the air with no purpose. This time, it sounded genuine, full of interest, almost as if Robin was impressed by him. Brooke lowered his gaze, feeling his cheeks flush and his breath quicken. Robin, a well-known vigilante, someone people respected, not only knew his name; he was saying it with a tone that implied something more.
Nervousness swelled in his chest, mixing with a strange emotion he couldn’t quite describe. He tried to occupy his hands by passing tools or tightening a screw, anything to distract him from the fact that someone like Robin was giving him compliments, smiling at him, and recognizing what he did. It was too much, but at the same time, it was everything Brooke had quietly wished for over the years.
The emotion in his eyes was impossible to hide. "Thank you... it means a lot that you say that."
They both got to work on the drone. Brooke pulled out tools and parts from his collection, and Robin helped him dismantle the remains of the device with precision. For hours, they adjusted the design, reinforced the electrical connections, and repaired the motors. Robin suggested adding a camera to the drone, and together they installed a small lens, connecting it to an improvised monitor that Brooke had built months earlier but had never finished using.
"This should improve its usefulness. Now it doesn’t just fly; you can see what it’s recording in real-time," Robin said, pointing to the screen on the controller.
Brooke smiled, feeling a wave of pride. For the first time, he wasn’t alone in one of his projects. Someone was helping him, and more importantly, believing in him.
When they were finished, the first light of dawn began to filter through the window. Robin stood up and stretched his arms, admiring the fully restored and upgraded drone.
"This little guy is going to do amazing things," Robin said, giving Brooke a pat on the shoulder.
The boy looked at the drone with eyes full of determination.
Once they finished assembling the drone, Brooke held it carefully, admiring its compact shape and the small improvements he had achieved alongside Robin. The camera installed on the bottom looked almost professional, and the screen on the controller flickered, showing a sharp image of the surroundings.
"Ready to test it?" Robin asked with a smile.
Brooke nodded, his nerves and excitement mingling in his chest. They went up to the rooftop again, where the cool night air welcomed them. Brooke placed the drone on a flat surface, took the controller, and took a deep breath.
"Here we go," he said quietly as he activated the motors.
The drone lifted with a soft hum, much more stable than in his previous tests. Brooke looked at the screen on the controller as he guided the device over the rooftops of the city. The camera captured everything with impressive clarity: streets lit by streetlights, cars moving in the distance, and small flashes of light in the windows.
Robin, standing beside him, watched with his arms crossed. "Not bad, Brooke. Stable flight, good resolution... I think this is more than just a simple project."
Brooke smiled shyly, focusing on keeping the drone in the air. He decided to test its range, flying it a bit farther, crossing a park and heading toward an area with small shops. It was then that he noticed something strange on the screen: two hooded figures were running out of a store, carrying what seemed to be bags full of products.
"Is that...?" Brooke started to ask, but Robin was already in motion.
"It's a robbery," Robin confirmed, his tone firm. He took a step toward the railing of the terrace and turned to Brooke. "This has been a good test, but I need to take care of this."
"What? You're going now?"
Robin nodded, quickly adjusting his mask. "It's what I do. Thanks for tonight, Brooke."
Brooke felt a mix of pride and sadness as he watched Robin disappear into the darkness, leaping from rooftop to rooftop with impressive ease. He looked at the drone, still floating in the air, and then turned his attention back to the screen. He watched as Robin swiftly approached the robbery site, his silhouette gliding between shadows until he intercepted the criminals.
Brooke deactivated the drone and carefully guided it back to its position. As he picked it up, a smile formed on his lips. For the first time, his inventions weren't just a hobby; they were a useful tool, something he could contribute to the world with. Though Robin was no longer by his side, his words still echoed in his mind, sparking a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he could accomplish something big.