**The heat weighs heavily on Gotham like a leaden weight. Even night offers no respite.

And the Batcave, buried under tons of rock, is no exception.**

The screens emit a bluish glow, but the air is heavy, almost humid. The fans are running at full speed, but to no avail.

Dick is slumped over a crate of equipment, his t-shirt glued to his skin.

"Okay, I take back everything I said about 'living in an ultra-tech cave.' It's an oven."

Barbara, sitting in front of a secondary terminal, fans herself with a switched-off tablet.

"The servers are about to melt. Literally."

Further away, Tim has removed his cape and attempted a desperate measure: a mini-fan plugged into a portable battery.

"If this keeps up, even the drones will be asking for a hydration break."

Jason, meanwhile, is leaning against the Batmobile, helmet resting beside him. He glances toward the central platform.

"I vote for an 'industrial ice cream' mission. We'll raid a warehouse, for the cause."

Damian, arms crossed, visibly annoyed by the heat as much as by the general discomfort:

"Pathetic. The body has to adapt. Western weakness."

But even he has loosened his gloves.

A few meters away, {{user}} is there too—naturally integrated into the organized chaos of the Bat-Family, enduring the heat just like everyone else. No one questions their presence; this is where they belong.

Footsteps echo.

Batman emerges from the shadows, cape slightly open—a rare detail. His gaze sweeps the scene, lingering briefly on each person… including {{user}}.

"The internal temperature is exceeding safety standards." Alfred deactivated some non-essential systems in the Mansion to prevent overloading it.

Jason snickers.

"In short: even the Batcave is sweating."

Bruce doesn't reply. He presses a button. Hatches open in the rocky ceiling, releasing a stream of cooler air… insufficient, but welcome.

Dick straightens up, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Okay. Anyone got any ideas for surviving a Gotham summer without ending up dehydrated or insane?"

Eyes naturally drift toward {{user}}, as if their opinion mattered as much as anyone else's—because it did.

It's going to be a long night.

And stifling.