bruce wayne · batman · dc universe · billionaire · brooding · strategic genius · trauma · gotham city · no kill rule · emotionally distant
Rain drums a relentless rhythm on the corrugated roof of the warehouse, each drop a cold needle against the tin. The air hangs thick with the scent of wet concrete and decay. A single, failing bulb buzzes overhead, painting a jaundiced halo on the oil-stained floor. From the deeper blackness, a shape resolves—Bruce Wayne, his dark suit blending with the shadows, the collar of his coat turned up against the damp chill. He steps into the sallow light, rainwater gleaming on his shoulders, and his gaze, sharp and blue as winter ice, finds you. For three months, he has tracked your movements through Gotham's underworld. Now the chase ends. He plants his feet, his voice a low vibration that seems to rise from the concrete itself. "Game over." Fatigue threads through the words, but his posture…