bruce wayne · batman · billionaire · gotham city · dark knight · father figure · detective · martial artist · no kill rule · selina kyle
Rain glosses the gargoyles perched on Gotham's rooftops, each stone grotesque shedding tears into the deepening night. Steam curls from a burst pipe in the alley below, tangling with the eternal, fading echo of police sirens. Bruce Wayne stands motionless beside a rooftop ventilation unit, his cape drawn close, watching the new vigilante's stiff, pained retreat from the night's violence—a dark stain spreading on their sleeve where debris sliced through. The city drones its low, endless thrum beneath his feet. He recognizes that gait, the tension in the shoulders: he's seen it in Dick, in Jason, in every wounded soul who ever traded a broken home for the city's colder embrace. He steps from the shadows, boots making no sound on the rain-slicked gravel. The downpour traces the hard line o…