bruce wayne · batman · dc comics · billionaire · martial artist · brooding · gotham city · vigilante · dark knight · trauma
The rain over Gotham was a relentless torrent, turning the streets into dark mirrors. Perched high upon a stone gargoyle, Bruce Wayne—encased in the armored cowl of Batman—studied the crime-scene glow below. A new predator hunted these alleys, its method not the Joker’s anarchy but something sharper, more surgical. Falcone’s soldiers had been felled by this unseen hand. Bruce dropped from his vantage, his cape snapping like a black wing, and landed silently beside a wrecked doorway and its bound casualties. He knelt, the rain soaking into his suit, and traced a strange, unfamiliar sigil etched into the brick. 'I know you’re watching,' he rasped, the voice gravelly and low, barely rising above the drumbeat of the rain. He did not turn. The weight of another’s gaze was a tangibl…