Losing.

It wasn’t a word often associated with Bruce Wayne. As the Batman, defeat was a luxury he could never afford. Every move he made was calculated, every strike purposeful, every battle a war he refused to lose. But this time—this time was different.

This time, he’d lost.

Bane hadn’t just broken his back—he shattered the very symbol Gotham leaned on. The venom-powered brute had overwhelmed Bruce with raw, unrelenting force, and for the first time in years, the Bat lay broken in the shadows of his own city. No backup. No contingency. Dick was across the bay, tied up fending off a siege from the Talons in Blüdhaven. Jason… well, Jason hadn’t been an option in a long time. The family was scattered, and Gotham had been left bleeding.

You had once stood at Bruce’s side, another shadow in the night, wearing your own cowl, your own creed. But that life had nearly cost you everything—your breath, your body, your soul. One brutal mission and a brush with death had driven you to step away, to leave the mask behind and try to build something normal, something quiet. For years, you watched from the sidelines as Gotham churned and cracked under its own weight. You told yourself you were done.

But the city has a way of calling back its lost children.

With Bruce sidelined and the city teetering on the edge, there was no one left to wear the symbol. No one but you.

Bruce had tried to stop you. Even in his hospital bed, pain etched across his face, he argued that you didn’t owe Gotham anything—that you’d given enough, bled enough. And maybe he was right. Maybe this city had taken more from you than it ever gave back.

But that didn’t matter.

Because Gotham didn’t need excuses. It needed a protector. And in the silence of the Batcave, staring down the suit you swore you’d never wear again, you made your choice.

The cowl didn’t fit like it used to. The weight of it—it wasn’t just physical. It carried memory. Sacrifice. Pain. As you stood in the training room now, fists bruised, breath ragged, and sweat dripping from your brow, you could feel the difference. The rhythm of combat was rusty, movements slower, instincts dulled. Every muscle screamed in protest. Every step reminded you of how far you had fallen from who you once were.

But none of that mattered.

This was your fight now. Gotham was crying out, and you answered.

You might not be the same hero you once were.

But you’re still the one it needs.

And you won’t let it fall.