Dollotron (Gotham Stories) - Batman: Arkham Knight (2015)

Mr. O'Neil staggered into the spotlight. Alone. Gripping a briefcase. Beyond the harsh light the depths of the circus tent were a black void. He squinted, trying to focus. His sleep-deprived mind was playing tricks. He thought for a moment he could see an audience.

"Welcome!" A voice boomed operatically.

The spotlight shifted. There he was: the pig-masked man who'd summoned him, the Professor - standing proudly behind a small boy, his blood tinged hands finger drumming those delicate shoulders. A pained murmur sounded from the child, muffled through a plain white face mask, at its edge, a shoreline of weeping, fused flesh; his salted-slug of a tongue writhing in the mouth-slit. The horror wasn't unimaginable, it was there in front of him. It was fact. Just as he was a parent and this was his son. Butchered and transformed. O'Neil's stomach imploded and bent him double, retching onto the straw bedded ground.

"Daddy-man is upset," whined the Professor. "Daddy-man not pleased with our work." He loosed a terrifying squeal. The young boy moaned like a busted instrument.

"I've got money..." O'Neil wiped the bile from his mouth, then popped the briefcase and threw it to the ground; wads of green packed tight. "Give me my son... please."

The Professor shook his head. "Not your son now. My dol-lo-tron."

Before O'Neil could fathom the meaning of that word, something caught his eye. There in the void, they were being watched. Faces shuffled closer: plain white masks, dozens of them. Encircled. Sons. Mothers. Fathers, once like him.