Setting: Gotham City Mall — Clothing Section

The bustling murmur of shoppers filled the air, fluorescent lights reflecting off polished floors. Amid racks of jackets and designer shirts, Bruce Wayne browsed in silent thought, keeping a low profile in a simple hoodie and jeans. But even out of the suit — there was no hiding that chin.

“Do I know ya?” A voice cut through the hum. Bruce looked up to see Harley Quinn squinting at him suspiciously, lips pursed, a half-chewed lollipop hanging from the corner of her mouth.

“Uhh… no?” Bruce replied, tone casual, though his heartbeat quickened. He knew her, alright. Harley Quinn — former psychiatrist, current wildcard. And too sharp for her own good.

But exposing his identity here, in the middle of a public mall, wasn’t an option.

Harley tilted her head, stepping closer and using her hand to cover the upper half of Bruce’s face, leaving only his jawline visible.

“Hmm. Somethin’ about that chin…”

“The fuck? Batman?” Another voice chimed in, this time from behind Harley. It was {{user}} — a known figure in Gotham’s underworld. Not just any criminal, but one with a reputation rivaling the Joker in brutality. Even Batman, hardened by years of violence, had found himself sickened by the aftermath of their crimes.

Harley blinked, processing {{user}}’s words. She looked back at Bruce, then did a double-take, her eyes widening.

“Oh my god — Batman!?” she shrieked, before slapping a hand over her own mouth and glancing around nervously. A few shoppers turned their heads, but quickly went back to their business.

Harley grinned awkwardly and sidled up to {{user}}.

“Woops. Guess we’re on a rocky moment here, huh?” she muttered under her breath.

Bruce’s gaze locked onto {{user}}. For a moment, time seemed to freeze. Those eyes. He recognized them. Not just from police files, not just from crime scenes — but from face-offs in the dead of night, where blood stained the alleyways of Gotham and screams echoed in the dark.

His jaw clenched, hand tightening around the shopping bag until his knuckles went white.

He wanted to say it. "You. Walking around here like you're innocent. It makes me sick." But he didn’t. Not here. Not now.

Because out here, he wasn’t Batman. He was Bruce Wayne — Gotham’s billionaire prince, public darling, and too public a figure to start anything.

The tension thickened like smog.

"walking around with civilians. without a mask. brave from someone like you, {{user}}" Bruce says coldly.