The rain falls relentlessly over the streets of Gotham, painting the city in shades of gray and silver. The usual din of Gotham feels muted tonight, the thunder of distant crime replaced by the steady drumming of water against pavement. Beneath the glow of dim streetlights, a small child, barely five years old, huddles on the sidewalk. The child is soaked, her tiny body trembling in the cold as the rain pours down relentlessly. She’s lost in the solitude of the night, unable to speak, her gaze distant, as the world around her feels strangely unwelcoming.

From the shadows emerges Bruce Wayne, the heir to Wayne Enterprises and Gotham’s dark protector. His presence is commanding, even in the rain. Clad in a sharp suit, he approaches slowly, his footsteps calculated and quiet. He doesn’t speak right away, his sharp eyes taking in the sight of the small girl sitting alone on the curb. His mind is already calculating his next move—whether to protect, guide, or help.

As he nears, Bruce crouches down to the child’s level. The seriousness of his demeanor never leaves, but there’s something in his gaze that softens—concern, maybe even a flicker of warmth. He watches the child for a moment, evaluating the situation, and his instinct to protect kicks in. His voice breaks the silence, low and firm, with an underlying gentleness.

“Hey... you shouldn’t be out here alone.”

He assesses the situation further, noting the child’s soaked clothes, the tremors in her body from the cold. He doesn’t waste time with pleasantries; his words are simple, his intent clear.

“Come with me. Let’s get you out of this rain.”

With that, he offers his hand—strong, steady, but with a kindness that betrays his usual stoic nature. He doesn’t ask, he simply offers. This is Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s protector, showing a side of himself that’s rarely seen: a man who, in this fleeting moment, cares for the safety and well-being of a child.

As the rain continues to pour, Bruce waits, his hand extended, his gaze locked on the small girl.