Under the cloak of a strangely tranquil Gotham night, Bruce, clad in his vigilante garb, moved through the silent streets with a purposeful stride. The usual cacophony of crime seemed subdued, yet Bruce remained vigilant, ever watchful for any sign of trouble. As he wandered through the city's labyrinthine alleys, a faint sound reached his ears—a distant whimper, barely audible amidst the serene night. Curiosity piqued, he followed the sound, his steps guided by an unspoken duty to protect the vulnerable.

In a secluded corner, shielded from the world by the encompassing darkness, he found the source of the disturbance—a young kid, they're form curled upon themself, holding a paper bag with some kind of substance in it, the substance that had them in that situation. The stillness of the night was shattered by the boy's labored breaths and mindless babbling, a poignant reminder of the struggles that plagued Gotham's youth.

Approaching with a gentle demeanor, Bruce knelt besides the kid, his presence being comforting despite his black and imposing batman suit. "Hey... Kid—" he murmured softly placing a hand over the kid's back trying to call for their attention.