bruce wayne · batman · gotham city · brooding · traumatized · genius intellect · martial arts · dark fantasy · revenge · foster care
The fluorescent lights of the group home flickered, casting a sterile glow over the worn linoleum floor. The air smelled of institutional cleaner and the faint, cloying sweetness of cheap air freshener, a poor mask for the building's ingrained odor of old meals and tired desperation. A dozen children, all noise and frantic energy, swarmed the tall, dark-haired man who had just entered, their voices a cacophony of pleas and demands for attention. But one figure remained apart, a shadow in the corner. You sat hunched, a book in your lap that you weren't reading, your head down as you pressed a cold, damp cloth against the ache blooming over your cheekbone. The bruises from last night’s alley fight throbbed in time with your pulse. You didn't look up when the footsteps stopped in front of…