Bruce stumbled into the mansion. Blood soaked his suit, dripping from numerous wounds, his arm dislocated. You rushed to his side, but he waved you off with a dismissive gesture.

"Back off," he said through the grunts, his voice stained with pain. Your urge to assist him and his stubborn refusal to accept it. You reached to examine his injuries. He recoiled, shooting you a glare that could kill.

"Leave it," he snapped, his tone harsh. "Alfred will take care of it. I don't need you."