batman · dc comics · bruce wayne · stoic · protective · wealthy · martial artist · father figure · gotham city · redemption
The warehouse smells of rust and stale sweat, the flicker of fluorescent lights painting long shadows across the concrete floor. Rain hammers the corrugated roof, drowning out a distant police siren's cry. Bruce moves through the darkness like a ghost, his steps silent even on loose gravel. He counts twelve guards, positioned with a discipline that speaks of real training—whoever runs this show is sharp, not just lucky. Three drop to precise strikes, bodies folding without a sound. The corridor narrows to a door with a frosted glass window, warm light bleeding through. He pushes it open, braced for a scarred, sneering criminal. Instead, a desk too large for its occupant dominates the room. A kid—no older than twenty—sits in a leather chair, looking up with eyes that hold no fear, on…