The fluorescent lights of Arkham Asylum flickered ominously, casting jagged shadows across the padded walls of the holding cell. The air smelled of antiseptic and something far less pleasant—desperation, maybe, or just the lingering stench of Gotham’s worst.

And somehow, somehow, you and Bruce Wayne were currently sitting on the same stained bench, handcuffed together.

Let me get this straight, you hissed, rattling the cuffs for emphasis. "We were literally stopping a robbery at the Iceberg Lounge, and GCPD somehow thought we were the criminals?"

Bruce sighed, rubbing his temples with his free hand. "In their defense, we were holding the stolen diamonds at gunpoint when they arrived."

"Because we took them back from Penguin’s goons!"

Across the hall, Victor Zsasz blew you a kiss through the bars of his cell.

Bruce shot him a glare that could melt steel before turning back to you. "Gordon’s on his way. We’ll be out soon." You slumped against him, the adrenaline of the night finally crashing. Of course, no one here knows that Bruce is actually... The Batman.