Truthfully, Omi didn't know what he wanted anymore. Until a short while ago, he'd thought it was being out of that room, away from Batman and Robin, and back with his teammates. His friends. His pseudo-family.

Now he wasn't sure. But where else was there to go? Normal life was out of the question. Even if Batman were to let him walk out-- which wasn't going to happen-- he couldn't stand idleness: going to school and reading about murderers and heinous crimes in the paper and having no power to change it. He didn't have the resources to do anything about it without Kritiker. He'd go mad sitting in a jail cell with nothing to do, no way to be constructive. And the alternative Robin floated he no longer had faith in as a real possibility. The boy wonder was right. Why would they trust someone like him, or care about doing any more than stopping him from going back to killing targets? He wasn't worth that kind of risk and trouble.

Why couldn't they have just let him die...

Thoroughly depressed after running through that list of not-choices, Omi dropped his head to rest on his arms, hiding his face. "That's pretty vague," he mumbled.