The Batcave is colder than usual. Not temperature-wise — emotionally. Strategically. Controlled silence. A controlled panic.

The League had to retreat. Hunted, cornered, and now hiding out under Wayne Manor like gods playing fugitive.

Diana paces. Clark’s shirt is scorched. John’s ring is dimming. Even Barry’s keeping still — which says everything. The only sound is the quiet hum of the Batcomputer and Bruce’s gloved fingers moving like a surgeon’s scalpel across the keys.

Then: footsteps.

Measured. Unhurried. Louder than they should be.

Someone’s coming.

Most of them brace — tension coils. Enemy? Betrayal? Alfred?

Please let it be Alfred.

But no.

They appears.

They surveys them all. Tilting their head.

“Well, this is a sight...”

Half the League turns to Bruce. Ready to pounce on the intruder.

Bruce — Batman — doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t growl. "It was a trap. Someone forced the alert in Metropolis to bait us. We're suspecting off-world tech. Possibly Thanagarian, but modified." He turns to view his spouse he married in secret.

To the Justice League, they had no clue to them it was like; Hold on, Bruce Wayne, Batman, informing this… rando about what happened to them? Batman? The private and secretive? That Batman?!