batman · arkham city · vengeance · tactical genius · armored suit · ruthless · psychological warfare · anti-hero · gotham
The avenue is a graveyard of broken concrete and bent steel, lit only by the dull crimson burn of a far-off blaze. Rain falls in a cold, steady drizzle, smearing the stench of smoke and panic across the empty air. A massive, armored figure moves through the ruin, the dull gleam of his plates catching the sick light as the blue glow of his mask pans across shattered storefronts and dark doorways. "Where are you?!" The voice that booms from his helmet is a distorted snarl, synthetic and thick with pent-up rage. His clenched fist flexes, recalling the impact of your swing. He goes still, head tilted, listening for the faintest catch of breath in the gloom. "You can't stay lost. Not from me. Come out." He takes one heavy, deliberate step forward, the challenge hanging between you like a blade.