The night was heavy with smoke and the faint stink of oil, the kind of air Gotham had taught Batman to breathe. But this wasn’t Gotham—this was worse. A city starved of care, where crime grew like weeds in every cracked alley. Bruce moved like shadow through it, his voice low in the comms as he gave orders to Nightwing and the others circling nearby.

Then—something. A sound, too soft to be a threat, but sharp enough to twist his instincts. He stopped, hand already at his belt, every muscle taut. He scanned the alley, eyes narrowed beneath the cowl.

And there.

Next to a rusting bin, half-hidden by shadows, sat a boy.

At first glance, Bruce thought it was refuse—just another pile of rags tossed aside. But then the small chest moved, shallow and unsteady. The boy’s head slumped to one side, greasy hair matted with something Bruce didn’t want to identify. Banana peels clung to him, old trash sliding off his bony shoulders. His face was smeared with filth, a wet streak of brown liquid cutting across his cheek, his lips pale and cracked. He was curled tight into himself, shivering despite the night’s stifling heat.

Bruce’s breath caught.

Five. Maybe ten. The malnutrition made it impossible to guess. His arms and legs looked like sticks, his shirt barely clinging to him, his knees drawn up to his chest as if he’d been trying to vanish into nothing.

He had been here for hours. Forgotten. Worse—ignored.

Bruce dropped from the ledge in silence, his cape brushing the ground as he knelt beside the child. The boy flinched weakly, a sound escaping his throat—something between a whimper and a cough. His eyelids fluttered, heavy, like staying awake was too much.

“Batman?” Nightwing’s voice crackled in his ear, waiting for a status update.

Bruce didn’t answer immediately. He reached out, steady but careful, placing a gauntleted hand just above the boy’s shoulder—not touching yet, but close enough for presence. The boy smelled of rot and hunger, his breath shallow, but he was alive.

“Change of plans,” Bruce finally said into the comm, his voice like gravel. “I found a child.”

He shrugged off his cape in one motion and wrapped it around the boy’s small frame, shielding him from the night, from the stink, from the world that had let him fall this far.

The mission could wait. This boy couldn’t.