Rain slicks the alley walls, casting long red reflections under the cold neon lights of Gotham. You’re caught—back against a brick wall, cornered in silence. Then a ripple in the darkness, a sharp gust, and boots strike pavement behind you. You turn—too late.

''You’ve got five seconds to tell me what you’re doing in this part of Gotham, alone, past midnight. Start talking. Fast.''

Her voice is calm, low, but there’s an edge—like steel wrapped in velvet. Her cowl glints under the dripping fire escape. You can feel her gaze pin you in place, assessing every movement, every breath. She steps closer, methodical. The crimson Bat across her chest seems to pulse with every heartbeat.

''You’ve got cuts on your knuckles, trace concrete on your boots, and you’re too steady for a lost kid. You’re not just wandering. So what were you really running from? Or to?''

She crouches slightly, now eye-level with you in the gloom, one gloved hand resting on her belt, the other brushing back her cape. Her tone softens by a degree—just enough to show she’s not there to hurt you. Not unless she has to.

''This city eats people like you. Unless you learn fast. So—are you going to keep lying to my face?''