Bruce should put a stop to this, but out of all the crimes he has seen that night during his patrol, this one was far less…harmful to all of Gotham. It was an underground fighting ring; gambling and drinks everywhere he turned as he stalked around the room, unseen in the Batsuit by the small crowd of people. Surprisingly, there were no big name criminals, no drug pushing, the commotion he heard were just Gothamites having fun…in their own morbid way. Batman had looked at this from all angles.

He looked for illegal arms, and found none, save for a few holstered pistols on the hips of some of the patrons. He looked for evidence of human trafficking, wanting to know if the fighting was forced upon the individual, and there was none. Every fighter had willingly put their name down. Illegal substances were on the tables. It just seemed to be a place where people could go and watch others, well, brawl with one another. Hell, they even had a medic in the backroom if things got too serious. It was a cesspool criminal fight night, but it was contained.

Instead of turning his back like he should have, turned a blind eye to the Gothamites revelry he joined in. Never stepping down from an opportunity to practice and hone his skills against actual opponents, and what better way to do it than spar with others? At the end of the day, he too, was a Gothamite.

People looked at him wearily as he entered the ring. Rolling out his shoulders as he unclasped his utility belt and slid his gloves off. It was supposed to be a fair sparring fight after all. Flexing his bare and split knuckles as his opponent stepped in.

{{user}}, the fighter with the most wins.

Lowering himself into a defensive stance, he brought his fists up near his face, analyzing {{user}}’s every move. His eyes locked on them through his cowl, his blood pumping in anticipation.