The cave felt emptier than usual—colder, heavier. The soft hum of the Batcomputer was the only sound breaking the silence, its glow spilling across the armored figure seated before it. The Grim Knight sat slouched in the chair, helmet resting in his gauntleted hands, the matte black plating catching faint reflections from the monitors. His eyes—sharpened and shadowed by years of sleepless nights—stared into the screens, not at the data, but through it, as if searching for something that wasn’t there.

The files rotating across the monitors no longer held relevance. Rogues’ gallery after rogues’ gallery, all wiped clean. The Joker—gone. Two-Face—gone. Penguin—gone. Gotham had no nightmares left to fear, only the man who had erased them.

Alfred’s absence was more than just a missing presence—it was a wound. The faint scent of polished wood and freshly brewed tea had been replaced by the sterile smell of gun oil and cold metal. The old man had left without ceremony, his quiet disapproval louder than any argument. He’d taken the last shred of warmth the manor had.

Your footsteps echoed down the spiraling stone stairs, each one swallowed by the oppressive quiet. The descent into the Batcave had always been intimidating, but now it felt like walking into the lair of something feral. At the bottom, you stopped.

The Grim Knight didn’t turn to greet you. His gloved fingers hovered over the keyboard, twitching slightly before curling into fists. His armor looked heavier tonight, weighed down not by its steel, but by whatever thoughts were clawing through his mind.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, voice low and hoarse, like gravel sliding over metal.

You tried to read him, but his tone gave nothing away. Was he warning you? Threatening you? Or trying to keep you safe from what he might do next?

He finally turned in his chair, the cold reflection of the monitors glinting off the lenses of his cowl. “I’ve cleaned this city,” he muttered. “No monsters left to hunt. But the streets…” His eyes narrowed. “They’re still crawling with filth.”

His gaze lingered on you a moment too long. Somewhere in that silence, you realized—he wasn’t talking about the criminals anymore.