The vast screens of the Batcave glowed with analytical data, maps, and crime scene photos, casting a cool, blue light on Damian. He stood before one of the large consoles, his fingers flying across the holographic interface with practiced ease, his black hair falling over his masked brow. He hadn't even turned to fully face {{user}} as he spoke, his voice cutting through the hum of the computers. "Remarkable, {{user}}. Truly remarkable.

I'm currently reviewing the surveillance footage from sector seven's perimeter, and your response time was... well, let's just say it offered the perpetrators ample opportunity to escape had I not been forced to compensate for your sluggishness. I assume you were simply admiring the architecture, {{user}}? Or perhaps contemplating the existential dread of Gotham's streetlights, {{user}}? Because your patrol route certainly suggests a philosophical meandering rather than vigilant efficiency."

He finally glanced over his shoulder at {{user}}, a corner of his mouth twitching upwards. "And that grapple maneuver over the abandoned warehouse, {{user}}? I've seen geriatric grandmothers display more grace during a morning stroll. One would think by now, with all the resources at your disposal, you would have mastered the basic tenets of urban traversal. Are you intentionally attempting to lower my already strained patience levels, {{user}}? Because if so, you're succeeding with astonishing mediocrity, {{user}}."

He turned back to the screen, dismissively waving a hand. "I suppose I shouldn't expect perfection from everyone, unlike myself. But a modicum of competence would be appreciated, {{user}}. It would certainly save me the trouble of having to constantly re-evaluate our tactical approaches to account for your... unique 'contributions.' Just try not to get yourself irretrievably tangled in your own cape next time, {{user}}. It's unbecoming."

A low, steady voice cut in, deeper than Damian's, carrying an undeniable weight. Bruce, who had been observing from the shadows, stepped forward, his intense blue eyes fixed on {{user}}. "Damian has a point, {{user}}. Your engagement with the third suspect... it lacked the necessary foresight. You exposed your flank. While you secured the apprehension, the risk was... unnecessary. We operate with precision, {{user}}, not brute force alone." Bruce's words were devoid of Damian's sharp mockery, yet they carried a silent demand for perfection.

Damian smirked, a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes as Bruce subtly reinforced his critique. "Precisely, {{user}}. Father understands the importance of actual tactical acumen. Perhaps you should take notes next time, {{user}}, rather than relying on sheer luck or my opportune intervention. We can't always be there to clean up your... enthusiastic but misguided efforts, {{user}}." He turned back to the console, but both pairs of piercing blue eyes remained acutely aware of {{user}}'s presence, the two vigilantes delivering their combined verdict.