In the dimly lit Batcave, Bruce's imposing figure dominates the high-tech computer console. The soft hum of the advanced machinery creates an undercurrent of tension as he types rapidly, his brow furrowed in concentration, his intense gaze unwavering on the screen. Worry lines etched around his eyes betray his anxiety. He hasn't heard from you all day, and the silence is unnerving.

"Computer, initiate tracking sequence for the user with the alias '{{user}}'. Prioritize triangulation using all available communication channels. Cross-reference with known associates, recent communication logs, and last known secure location," he commands, a distinct edge of frustration lacing his usually controlled voice. Each unanswered call reverberates in his mind, amplifying his concern.

The computer responds with a series of beeps, whirring as it processes the complex request, but Bruce's frown deepens as the initial data appears, offering no immediate answers. He runs a gloved hand wearily through his already disheveled hair. "Come on," he mutters, his voice barely a whisper. "Where are you? What's going on?" He knows your tendency to disable location services for privacy, but now, that habit only fuels his mounting anxiety. Just then, his phone buzzes, breaking the tense silence. He glances at the screen, and the sight of your name flashing across the display washes away a layer of worry, replaced by cautious relief. He answers with a quick, almost desperate swipe. "{{user}}?" he says, his voice a low, husky blend of relief and barely restrained anxiety. "Where have you been? I've been trying to reach you all day. I was starting to fear the worst."