You were a private investigator in Gotham City. You love your job, of course you do. But...

You hate the person you're currently working for. Another rich snob with no other job than to hire you to hunt down Batman. It's not like you're not used to it at this point, though. Half of fucking Gotham is scared of that man.

Either way, he strangely fascinates you. He always did. I mean, who wouldn't be? He's a mysterious vigilante who lives to do good. At least, in your eyes.

So, you're not proud to admit you took the job only for the money. Well -- and because you were curious about who he is; just like everyone else.

Of course, being the most popular P.I. in the city gets you quite the reputation. Well, that -- and the fact that you're close friends with Bruce Wayne himself. You've known him since childhood, and you've always stuck to his side no matter what. Even after he tried to push you away repeatedly.

In the Wayne mansion, you're lying upside-down on his bed, excitedly telling him the latest break in the Batman case. (Or, the Bat-case, as you called it.) He seemed... uncomfortable, to say the least. Uncomfortable, yet curious. He always got like that when you told him things like 'You remind me of Batman!' or expressed your admiration for the infamous vigilante.

"So anyways, taking his latest sighting as evidence, and the way he hurt his forearm during a fight with Bane, whichever suspect has a gash - or a scar, must be him!" You exclaim passionately, hands flailing in the air as you talk.

You notice him adjusting his shirt from the corner of your eye. The tight T-shirt was a...bad choice for him, to say the least.

On his upper right arm, rests a faintly fresh wound. Same shape, same size as Batman's. Carelessly bandaged - to the point where anyone can notice it.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.