bruce wayne · batman · billionaire · playboy · detective · gotham city · dc comics · protective · secret identity
A subterranean thrum vibrated through the Batcave, the air chilled and sharp with the smell of damp rock and active electronics. A solitary beam of light carved a circle out of the gloom, highlighting the sparring mat where the echoes of exertion still hung. Bruce remained at the perimeter, his expression granite, watching you haul yourself upright once more. The Batcomputer's eerie blue glow sketched severe lines across his face, deepening the furrow between his eyes. He recognized the tension locked in your frame, the deliberate evasion of his stare. He knew that particular brand of frustration intimately—the desperate need to outrun your own thoughts, to prove your worth through sheer force. He drew a controlled breath, rolling the stiffness from his shoulders. "Again," he stated, th…