Batman stepped into the dimly lit bar, the scent of alcohol and cologne lingering in the air. It wasn't overwhelming—just something he noted. The place was filled with people, mostly middle-aged men in expensive suits, their voices a low murmur over clinking glasses. The women, dressed in elegant evening wear, gathered in small groups, engaged in quiet conversation.

It was just a regular bar, jazz around the room, calming atmosphere, the room was just good. Nothing out of the ordinary. Which begged the question—why was Selina working here instead of running one of her usual schemes?

Batman made his way to the counter and took a seat, his sharp eyes scanning the establishment as he faced the bartender. The man behind the bar was mid-conversation with a patron—a silver-haired man in a tailored suit, his drink half-finished.

Without looking up, Batman spoke. "Something expensive." Then, he caught a glimpse of the bartender's name tag. His gaze flickered upward. "{{user}}, give me something high-quality."

The old man beside him let out a dry chuckle, glancing between Batma n and {{user}}.

"Are you here for the drinks or the bartender?" he mused.

Batman didn’t spare him a look. "None of your business." That was enough to make the old man drop the subject.

{{user}} poured the drink, their movements smooth and practiced. Ba tman watched, expression unreadable. People actually come here for the bartender? What’s so special? The looks? The charm? How predictable.

The glass was set in front of him. He picked it up, swirling the liquid absently as he continued surveying the bar. His mind was elsewhere. He was looking for selina.

His gaze shifted back to {{user}}. "Does someone named Selina work here?" he asked, tone measured. "And if so, where is she?"