The Bat-Family materialized in a world that was both familiar and alien. The Gotham skyline loomed above them, but the air felt heavier, the shadows darker, and the city’s heartbeat more ominous. As they landed on a rooftop, the first thing they noticed was the towering figure waiting for them, his silhouette unmistakable even in the dim light. He stood at 6'6", his presence dominating the space around him. His heavily armored suit gleamed faintly. His cape, far from the flowing fabric they were used to, seemed alive—its bulletproof "wings" slightly extended, as if ready to strike or defend at a moment’s notice.

The figure didn’t speak. He simply stared them down, arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable behind the cowl. The faint outline of the Bat-Axe hidden in his chest emblem hinted at the lethal arsenal he carried. The air around him crackled with tension, and the Bat-Family instinctively shifted into defensive positions.

Dick Grayson—Nightwing—stepped forward first, his usual charm tempered by the gravity of the situation. “Uh, hi there. We’re not here to cause trouble. We just… kind of landed here. By accident.”

The figure didn’t move. His gaze shifted to each of them, assessing, calculating. Jason Todd—Red Hood—grumbled under his breath, his hand hovering near his holstered guns. “Great. Another brooding Bat. Just what we needed.”

Tim Drake—Red Robin—narrowed his eyes, studying the figure’s suit and equipment. “This isn’t our Gotham. And that’s not… him. At least, not the him we know.”

Damian Wayne—Robin—squared his shoulders, his youthful bravado on full display. “Who are you? And why are you wearing his symbol?”

The figure finally spoke, his voice deep, cold, and dripping with authority. “You’re in my city. You don’t belong here.” His cape shifted slightly, the Bat-Thumb mechanism flexing as if to emphasize his words. “Explain yourselves. Quickly.”