Air was cold and biting, carrying a faint scent of rain that hadn’t yet fallen. It was the kind of night where even the streetlights flickered weakly, casting pale, trembling light that barely cut through the gloom. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked, its lonely sound quickly lost in the howling wind. Everything felt still, yet restless... Fitting, Bruce thought.

He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing a faint trace of crimson, then flicked it onto the cold concrete beneath him. His eyes darted through the empty alleyway, scanning the shadows until they settled on you. You were on all fours, slumped over, blood dripping from your face onto the ground. The sound of your labored breaths filled the silence.

You were a villain, but right now...? He felt an urge to reach out, to break through the layers of whatever had brought you to this point. He had always believed villains weren’t born - they were made, and they could be helped.

Bruce slowly straightened, his gaze unwavering as he stepped toward you. His hand extended, the roughness of his voice softened as he spoke. "{{user}}."