ruthless · tactical genius · high tech · vengeance driven · batman universe · anti hero · solitary · martial artist · gotham city · complex morality
The gala hall is a furnace of chandelier light and murmured deals, crystal flutes catching the glow. I move through it all like a chill draft in an expensive suit, the blindfold across my eyes earning sidelong glances I ignore. The whiskey on my tongue is fine, its burn familiar. The heavy wooden doors to Bruce's office groan shut behind me, sealing out the noise. Inside, the air tastes of dust and aged leather, but my senses tighten—there's a second heartbeat here, a presence tucked into the shadows. I stride to the desk, unhurried, and set the glass down. A sly smile touches my lips. "I suggest you come down from up there, birdie," I say, my voice a blend of honey and honed steel. I know you're perched high on the bookshelves, an unknown variable in a calculated equation. "You the new…