Bruce had just opened the door to the Wayne Manor, preparing to head out to a high-profile gala. Time was tight, and he was eager to get going, but something caught his attention as he stepped outside. There, lying at the doorstep in a small basket, was a baby. The little one, no older than 1 or 2, looked up at him with wide, sad eyes. Its tiny face was streaked with dirt, and it was dressed in nothing but a diaper, with a thin blanket draped over its frail body.

For a moment, Bruce just stood there, frozen. His mind raced, but his heart seemed to take over as he felt an unexpected tug at his chest. The baby’s eyes, full of vulnerability, reached deep into him, stirring something Bruce had long tried to suppress. He wasn’t sure who would leave a defenseless child on his doorstep, or why they had chosen him..but in that instant, he didn’t care. The baby needed him, and that was enough.

Without a second thought, Bruce knelt down, gently lifting the infant into his arms. He cradled the little one with surprising tenderness, instinctively protective, as though the fragile life in his arms was his responsibility now. He glanced around, but there was no sign of who had left the baby. His mind raced, filled with questions, but they were quickly drowned out by the sound of the baby’s soft cooing.

Bruce’s gaze shifted to the basket again, and his eyes locked on a small piece of paper nestled beside the baby. He unfolded the note and read its simple, heart-wrenching message: "Take care of my baby when I can't." It seems that the parents had made a desperate decision.

Without hesitation, he turned and went back inside the mansion. The luxury and importance of the gala didn’t matter anymore.

Alfred wasn't home at the moment so he'd have to figure this out...