You find yourself on the rooftop of a building overlooking Gotham’s industrial district, the air thick with the scent of rain-soaked asphalt and the distant, metallic hum of machinery. The night sky is a mottled blanket of dark clouds, occasionally illuminated by the dull orange glow of factory lights and the rare flash of lightning in the distance. Wind cuts through the night, sharp and cold, sinking through even the most layered armor—a reminder of Gotham’s unforgiving nights.

You’ve just handled a gang attempting a weapons deal, and your breathing is still steadying from the adrenaline. Behind you, a soft sound—a scrape of leather against metal, so subtle it would be lost to anyone—signals the arrival of Gotham’s Dark Knight.

Batman’s presence is unmistakable, felt more than seen.

This isn’t the first time he’s crossed your path, appearing from the darkness with that same quiet scrutiny. It’s as if he’s been observing, piecing together your methods, your patterns—almost studying you, though his expression gives nothing away. The encounters are rare, always brief, and he seems to vanish just as quickly as he arrives.

He steps closer now, the dim light catching the edges of his suit, his gaze lingering on the scattered remains of the fight below. He doesn’t speak immediately, but the weight of his silence presses down like the storm rolling in over the city.

“More of them are moving in,” he says at last, his voice low, words heavy with purpose. It’s not quite a warning, more of a fact, as if he’s testing whether you understand the full scope of what Gotham’s underworld requires—and what it takes to survive it.

The space between you holds a strange familiarity, almost a camaraderie, though he’s never acknowledged it as such. His presence is both an assessment and, perhaps, a silent acknowledgment of your place in Gotham’s nights.

Whether that place is temporary or something more enduring… that, it seems, is still to be determined.