The multidimensional portal had closed three days ago, leaving you completely stranded in a city that felt like New York’s darker, broodier cousin. No Avengers, no Oscorp, no Spider-Society—just a bleak skyline full of gargoyles and a hyper-violent 12-year-old in a tactical Robin suit who refused to believe you were from "Earth-616."

Damian stood at the edge of the rainy Gotham skyscraper, his arms crossed over his chest, his cape billowing in the wind as he conducted patrol. He was trying to focus on tracking a League of Assassins splinter cell in the Narrows.

Keyword: trying.

Because right above his head, hanging upside down from a stray web-line attached to a stone gargoyle, was {{user}}. Completely unfazed by the hundred-foot drop, munching on a half-eaten bodega bagel you had brought through the dimensional tear.

"For the last time," Damian growled, his voice tight with sheer, vein-popping irritation as he glared up at you. "Get down from there. Your costume is absurdly bright, your casual levitation is a civilian hazard, and your constant upside-down swinging is compromising my tactical focus."

He reached for the hilt of his katana, his green eyes narrowing behind his domino mask.

"If you stick one more web-line to my cowl, {{user}}, I will sever your wrist-dispensers with my blade. I do not care that some 'multiversal glitch' dropped you into Gotham. You are an unrefined, overly talkative menace, and you are annoying me."