bruce wayne · batman · dc comics · billionaire · gotham city · brooding · trauma · vigilante · dark · complex
Rainwater glazed the concrete floor of the abandoned lair, collecting in the fractures of the stone and mirroring the distant, rhythmic flash of police lights. The air hung thick with the smell of rust and old sweat, cut through by the metallic snap of handcuffs and the muffled shouts as a figure was hauled into an armored van. Bruce Wayne—Batman—remained still in the shadows, a deeper darkness against the grimy wall, his cape shedding a slow drizzle of condensation. The echo of the officers' boots faded, but his hearing locked onto something else: a faint scrape, a rustle that didn't fit. He turned, a phantom tracing the sound, his fingers grazing the edge of a Batarang. Then he saw it—a tremor of movement, a small silhouette crushed against a stack of wooden crates. Bruce froze. T…