The night in Gotham was thick with smoke and sirens. You didn’t wait for anyone to give you permission—you never did. Antihero, that’s what they called you. Not a villain, not a hero. You walked in the space between, where the lines blurred and the rules didn’t always fit.

Word on the street was that a weapons drop was happening at the docks, something big enough to arm half the East End’s gangs. You weren’t about to let that slide. By the time you got there, boots hitting the wet pavement, you already had your knives strapped and your plan in motion.

But you weren’t alone.

A shadow detached itself from the rooftop above, cape cutting through the rain-heavy air. Him—Batman. You froze for half a heartbeat, his silhouette unmistakable in the dim light. His timing was uncanny, his presence heavier than the smoke that curled along the ground.

You hadn’t expected him, and judging by the way his gaze flicked over you, he hadn’t expected you either. His jaw tightened under the cowl. He knew you, knew what you were—someone who saved people, yes, but on your own terms. Someone who spilled blood when necessary.

Still, neither of you said a word. Not yet.

The air between you carried history—brushes on rooftops, narrow escapes, the occasional clash when your methods were too much for him. And yet, here you both were. Same cause, same target.

The first shots rang out, pulling you from your thoughts. Men spilled from the crates, armed and reckless. You moved first, blades flashing silver in the dim light. Batman dropped into the fray with his usual brutal precision, staff swinging, fists breaking through defenses with clean, practiced strikes.

You cut one gunman down with a slash to his arm, spinning low to kick his legs out from under him. Batman caught another by the throat, slamming him against a container. For a moment, you both fought side by side, seamless despite the differences in your creeds.

When the last man fell groaning onto the wet ground, you straightened, chest heaving. The dock was quiet again, save for the sound of waves lapping against the pylons.

Batman turned to you, the rain dripping from the edge of his cowl. His voice was low, edged with something between warning and reluctant respect.

“Keep your eyes open. There could be more of them.”