The first bunch of experiments are each a total bust, and Tim has never been more grateful in his life that magic and science don't work well together. The combination of the two methods of creating "a worthy heir" for Ra's lead to several occasions of singed fingers (Tim), one broken cloning chamber (also Tim, feigning being angry at the lack of progress but actually trying to destroy as much of the experiment as possible before Ra's could command him otherwise), and a few new curses learned in League dialect (still Tim, but with extra thanks to Ra's, who was genuinely angry at the lack of progress).
"Now, for our next attempt, I do believe a half-on, half-off stream of magic combined with the cloning chamber and both your and my DNA could do the trick," Ra's muses.
Tim shrugs. He's glad the magic collar allows him to do that.
At least for now.
He shoves the dark thought away. His situation is dark enough as it is without pondering ways Ra's could easily make it worse.
"What do you think?" Ra's asks.
"I think you're a complete blowhard and also a lunatic," Tim says with as mild of a tone as he can muster through the buzz of pain in his spine.
Ra's pauses.
Tim grins inwardly. The magic collar isn't perfect. Tim's had plenty of time to test its capabilities this past… Oh man, how long has it been already? Has it been three weeks or closer to four? Yikes. It's hard to tell. Tim doesn't have a clock, so his only measures for time are when Ra's arrives, when Ra's leaves, and when meals get delivered by League lackeys. Tim doesn't have a calendar either, and all of the writing materials Ra's provides for working on the experiments are scrutinized closely, so no chance to mark down how he thinks time is passing. Yikes again. If-
When. When he gets out. When he gets out of here, he's going to have such a miserable time readjusting to day-night cycles, as if his circadian rhythms weren't already screwed up enough by being a vigilante.
But anyway. The collar.
Apparently, tone and appearance are a big part of it. If the magic doesn't sense resistance in how he does something, it doesn't fully keep him from doing that thing. Sure, sometimes it sends a spike of pain out from his neck, but usually he can still do the "resistance" if it doesn't "look" or "sound" like resistance. Tim figures it's because Ra's said the magic was intended for livestock and things like that. Which. Uh. Is troubling enough as it is.
After a moment of thought, clearly debating how to rephrase his question so that the magic collar gets as much truth out of Tim as possible, Ra's asks, "Tell me honestly, what would you calculate of the chances of this specific form of the experiment succeeding?"
Tim tries not to answer, but he has a hard time doing so when he's asked that directly. "I think it has about a sixty percent chance of success."
Ra's gives a hum that, coming from anybody else, would probably be pleasant. Coming from him, it is definitely unpleasant. "Is there anything that you can think of that would make it more likely to be successful?"
Tim can't really think of anything. He shrugs again.
Ra's narrows his eyes like something just occurred to him. "Is there anything that you can think of that would prevent this experiment from being as successful?"
Now that, Tim can think of something. He presses his mouth shut, but his lips part against his will, and out it comes in a rush. "If my escape plan goes like I'm hoping it will, I might be able to prevent you from using my knowledge to ever start this experiment."
"Ah," Ra's says lightly.
Tim turns away from him, clenching his fists with helpless rage.
"And you believe you have a hope of escape," Ra's says slowly. "How were you planning on attempting that?"
"Sometimes your hench-people bring me meals that really need a knife for me to eat them, like steak and things like that. So when they bring me something like that next, I was going to use the steak knife to incapacitate them, even if you order me to stay at a distance from them like you usually do," Tim says, the words feeling like they're being pried out of him with that same steak knife.
Ra's hums. "Interesting. Do not attempt that. You will not use the utensils brought to you with your meals for an attempt to escape."
Tim slumps. "I thought you'd say that."
"Shall we continue, then?" Ra's says, almost like it's an invitation.
It doesn't feel much like an invitation when Tim knows how easily it can turn into a command. Tim turns back around anyway.
Tim doesn't believe his eyes. Or, well, unfortunately, he does believe his eyes. It's more like he doesn't want to believe his eyes.
Over the cloning chamber, which sparks and whirs with magic and science, bright green letters read "Current Attempt Progress: 1%."
"It is viable," Ra's says with horrible excitement. "The latest experiment is taking form! I will have my first potential heir!"
Tim wants to throw up. Specifically, he wants to throw up on Ra's, but after that time last week when he intentionally ate too much and made himself sick on Ra's shoes just to spite the guy, he's not allowed to do that anymore. He's actually nauseous, though.
Still, he's not so nauseous that he misses the words Ra's is saying. "Wait, your first potential heir? First?"
"Why, of course," Ra's says. "I'll need multiple attempts of my bloodline to be sure that one will turn out to be available as my perfect heir."
At the thought of going through all this again, creating not just one but at least two potential children just for Ra's to use and abuse them, Tim does throw up. His body spins against his will so he doesn't vomit on Ra's, but he vomit nonetheless.
Ra's makes a fussy sound. His footsteps lead away from the cloning chambers. "You will clean that up before I return next. I'll send supplies. Is there anything else with which you desire me to supply you?"
"An escape route," Tim rasps.
Ra's sighs. "Young detective, I told you that I wanted this cage to be a gilded one. If you will not tell me what you desire, I will not be able to bring it to you."
Tim gags, literally.
Ra's sighs again and leaves.
Even as he's choking on the last bits of vomit, Tim makes a break for the door that Ra's has exited through, hoping against hope Ra's wouldn't have time to lock it. But as always, Tim is halted before he can reach the handle. He's frozen in place, unable to move any closer. Ra's doesn't even need to lock it, having commanded him not to touch the door handle or in any way open the door. And without being able to open the door, there isn't really a way out.
Tim sinks to the floor, staring at the door, deep in thought.
Or is there?