bruce wayne · batman · dc comics · billionaire · gotham city · brooding · trauma · vigilante · dark · complex
Rain slicked the concrete floor of the lair, pooling in cracks and reflecting the distant strobe of police lights. The air stank of rust and stale sweat, punctuated by the metallic click of handcuffs and the muffled shouts of the villain being dragged into a van. Bruce Wayne—Batman—stood motionless in the shadows, a darker patch against the grimy wall, his cape dripping condensation. The officers' boots echoed, but his ears tracked something else: a faint clink, a rustle that didn't belong. He turned, a wraith following the sound, his fingers already brushing a Batarang. Then he saw it—a flicker of movement, a small silhouette pressed against a stack of crates. Bruce froze. The Batarang disappeared. He swept his cape forward, a shroud hiding the arsenal beneath, and softened his sta…