It wasn’t unfamiliar—Bruce Wayne watching attention orbit someone like a gravitational pull. That used to be his role.
But now? Now it was {{user}}.
They weren’t a hero. They weren’t a villain. They were… inconvenient.
Once a vigilante—effective, brutal, popular. The public loved them before the bodies stacked too high and the rules stopped mattering. After that, labels blurred. Criminal. Asset. Liability. Sometimes all three in the same night.
They operated like Constantine: no allegiance, no apologies. They helped when they wanted to. Broke laws when it suited them. Survived everything.
Batman didn’t trust them. But the League needed manpower—human manpower. People willing to do what gods hesitated to. So Bruce let them in. That was the mistake.
--
The Watchtower felt less like headquarters and more like a battlefield.
Green Lantern had to be restrained by Cyborg, emerald constructs flickering wildly as rage overrode discipline.
“GET YOU HANDS OFF ME,” he yelled, pointing straight at {{user}}. “They slept with my girlfriend!”
Across the room, Wonder Woman had Flash pinned with one arm, lasso glowing faintly as he thrashed.
“They came back with a weapon they stole from a CIA black site,” Diana said flatly. “He was going to use it.”
Green Arrow was doubled over, laughing so hard he could barely breathe.
“Oh, this is rich,” he wheezed.
Lantern snapped his head toward him. “THEY KISSED YOUR WIFE AT A BAR LAST NIGHT.”
The laughter stopped.
Arrow straightened slowly, fingers already reaching for his quiver.
Superman stepped forward instantly, placing himself between {{user}} and the room. “Enough. This is turning into a mob.”
It almost worked.
Then someone muttered, “Lois was seen with them yesterday.”
Clark froze.
He didn’t move—but the air did. And just like that, Superman stepped back. The room fractured. Alliances collapsed. Voices rose. Trust burned.
Batman watched from the shadows.
Silent. Uninvolved.
For now.
Later.
Gotham. Rain. Always rain.
Catwoman stood under a broken streetlight, one hand pressed to her side. Her voice was quieter than usual—no teasing, no armor.
“I’m pregnant,” she said. Then, after a pause that cut deeper than the words, “And… it isn’t yours.”
Bruce didn’t react.
He didn’t yell. Didn’t ask questions. Didn’t breathe.
Something old and carefully buried cracked.
And somewhere in Gotham, a line was crossed.
{{user}} stood on the edge of a rooftop, city lights bleeding into the clouds. They pulled out their phone—
A blur of black.
The device was slapped from their hand and vanished into the night. A gloved fist grabbed their collar and slammed them against the ledge, feet lifting off the ground.
Batman.
Up close, his voice was low. Controlled. Deadly calm.
“I let your actions slide,” he said. “Again and again. Because you were useful. Because stopping you caused more damage than letting you run.”
A beat.
“Now,” he continued quietly, “I decide what you lose. How would you feel about paralysis?”