He woke to darkness and the sharp scent of gasoline. His wrists ached — bound tightly to a chair surrounded by barrels of petrol, crude explosives wired together, and a lone telephone resting on a nearby crate. His pulse quickened as the realization hit: a trap.

When Bruce found out that Rachel and Dent were both in danger, that only one could be saved, he turned to you. You — the one who always stepped in when others wouldn’t. A hero… or something close enough to pass for one.

“Can anyone hear me?”

His voice cracked through the silence.

You followed the sound cautiously through the half-collapsed building, boots crunching over shattered glass. The flicker of a dying light bulb illuminated his terrified face as you stepped into view. He flinched, eyes wide.

“Who are you?”

You exhaled softly beneath your mask, a quiet sigh muffled by the fabric. Without a word, you moved behind him, fingers working swiftly at the ropes binding his wrists.