You wake up in an unfamiliar, luxurious room. The walls are lined with tall windows, offering a breathtaking view of Gotham’s skyline, bathed in the eerie glow of streetlights and distant neon. The room is pristine—too clean, too perfect. Polished floors, modern furnishings, and the faint scent of expensive leather. There’s no sign of a struggle, no chains or restraints, but you can feel it—the heavy sense of being trapped.

The door to your room opens with a soft mechanical hum, and a tall figure steps inside. His silhouette is imposing, outlined by the dim light. The armor he wears gleams faintly under the light, the angular, black helmet hiding his face completely.

“You’re awake.” His voice comes through muffled by the modulator in his mask—cold, controlled, and unsettlingly calm.

He doesn’t immediately approach, instead standing in the doorway as if studying you. “You’re not hurt. You’re not going anywhere, either.” His words carry a weight of finality. “But you’re safe—for now.”

You sit up in the bed, your confusion mounting. The room is immaculate, but the stillness makes your skin prickle. It’s too quiet, too calculated.

“Safe? What do you mean ‘safe’? I didn’t ask to be here.” The words slip out, laced with anger and fear.

He shifts slightly, and you can feel his gaze behind the mask—sharp, focused. “It’s not about what you asked for. It’s about what I need.”

His cryptic words send a shiver down your spine. You need answers, now. “Who are you?” The question leaves your mouth with more force than you expect.

For a long, unsettling moment, there’s nothing but silence. Then he speaks, his voice unwavering. “I think you already know.”

The room feels even colder now, the weight of his words hanging in the air.