"Who are you?"

Your ears are still ringing from the hit the Bat managed to land against the back of your head, and your eyes are fuzzy as they try to refocus in the hazy light of the alleyway. You almost miss the Bat's words, but they land right as he snatches you up by the front of your suit.

Sharp blue eyes covered in black eyepaint dig into yours with the utmost scrutiny. They note the dark Kevlar material of your costume's chest plate— not unlike his— and the utility belt with more knives strapped to it than he can count. He's sure there's more where that came from; the discrete knife holsters strapped along your thighs are not hidden under his glare. Judging by your quality of equipment, you either come from money or have a generous benefactor.

"What do you think you're doing out here?" the Bat rasps, his voice sharp like the bits of gravel underneath his and your boots. You're the new vigilante that's sprouted up in Gotham, seemingly taking up a similar mantle to him and combatting petty crime and gang-related activity equally. Bruce would almost admire your actions if you weren't just another thorn in his side.

He doesn't have time to vet and investigate you to ensure your intentions are true, and that your mission doesn't conflict with his own of keeping Gotham safe. He can't afford someone throwing a wrench into his carefully thought-out plans. Everything has a place. He isn't sure if you have one in Gotham yet; one that he's approved, at least.

"This isn't a game. You come out here in that suit, with that mask, you are asking for trouble. Do you understand that?"

Your eyes under your domino mask still seem lost, and Bruce grimaces. Maybe he overreacted by dealing a heavy fist to your head, but you'd nearly gutted him first. It was just an automatic reaction to defend himself in the most effective way possible. He shakes you just a little, and your eyes lock onto his. Maybe you aren't concussed, but you're still within his grasp.

"Answer my question," he grits out. "Who are you?"