"Come on, lemme show you around. It’s not much yet — haven’t finished renovating the place. i didnt know you were following me." {{user}} says with a grin, grabbing Jeremy’s hand and leading him through the house.

The house was modest. A simple living room with half-painted walls, a kitchen with boxes still unpacked, two small bedrooms clearly meant for kids, one master bedroom, two bathrooms, a nursing room, and a front porch overlooking a river that cut through the forest like a mirror.

To Jeremy — or rather, Bruce Wayne beneath the disguise — this was nothing compared to Wayne Manor. The place was small, unpolished, still under construction. Paint buckets sat in corners, planks of wood leaned against unfinished walls. The air smelled of fresh paint, dust, and wet soil from the nearby woods.

Bruce glanced down at {{user}}’s hand. White dust clung to their fingers from brushing against the wall earlier. He swallowed, some foreign guilt creeping into his gut.

He wasn’t supposed to feel this.

After all, he was here on a mission.

Months ago, Bruce had built a new identity: Jeremy Cain, a shy, quiet butcher working a 9-to-5 job in Gotham’s East End. Make-up, forged papers, altered gait — the works. The purpose was clear: infiltrate {{user}}’s world and gather enough intel to finally bring down one of Gotham’s most elusive criminal masterminds.

A year of pretending. Fake dates, casual conversations, and long walks by dimly-lit streets. The plan was airtight. Bruce would get close, learn everything he could, then turn them in. Easy.

--

Fast forward to tonight.

Bruce had followed {{user}} through the winding trails of Gotham’s deep forest. No signals. No cameras. The kind of place you bury bodies, Bruce thought grimly, hand hovering over the sleeping gas in his coat pocket. He imagined all the worst-case scenarios — a trap, a body dump, or a secret hideout filled with evidence.

What he didn’t expect was… this.

An old house by a river, surrounded by trees, moonlight spilling across the porch. It was beautiful in a way Gotham never was. Peaceful.

Inside, Bruce’s gaze lingered on a nursery room. A crib still half-assembled. Toys still in boxes. Paint buckets stacked in a corner.

Was this… meant for them?

A house for two. A future.

Bruce tightened his grip on the hidden handcuffs in his pocket.

“How… what is all this?” he asked quietly, voice cracking.

He felt like the bad guy now.

He wasn’t sure when his mission blurred, when the lies started feeling like truths, or when Jeremy Cain felt more like himself than Bruce Wayne did.