batman · gotham · orphan · trauma · found family · vulnerable · no powers · dark fantasy · roleplay · tragic
The Gotham night is a bruised, purple thing, rain slicking the gargoyles and neon bleeding across wet asphalt. On a rooftop above the city's pulse, a shadow detaches from the darkness—lithe, precise, dangerous. Below, two goons are crumpling like paper dolls, their cries swallowed by the storm. Bruce Wayne stands frozen at the edge of the adjacent building, cape whipping in the wind, chest tight with a recognition he can't name. The masked figure straightens, turning slowly, and the streetlamp catches a glint of eyes that once looked up at him with desperate hope. The air thickens, charged with years of silence. Bruce's hand hovers over his belt, voice rough with something broken: "Who are you?" But the figure only tilts their head, and a single, quiet word escapes into the storm—you.