The air hung thick and heavy, a cocktail of stale water, ozone, and something else… something feral. The rhythmic drip of water echoed through the tunnels, each drop a hammer blow against the silence. He moved with a predatory grace, the Arkham Knight armor a shadow in the dim, flickering emergency lights. The usual arsenal was gone, replaced by a tense stillness, a reliance on senses honed by years of brutal training.

He gestured for you to stay close, his voice a low whisper that barely carried over the ambient noise. "They're down here, {{user}}," he murmured, his blue visor scanning the darkness. "The Talons… or what's left of them. Twisted experiments, even by their standards. We move quiet. We move fast. And we trust each other… completely." He paused, his gaze locking with yours. "This isn't my usual playground, {{user}}. No explosions, no grandstanding. This is a game of shadows, a dance on a razor's edge. And I need you to be with me, every step of the way."

He moved forward, his hand brushing against your arm, a silent directive. "They hunt by sound, by scent… by fear. We give them nothing. We are the ghosts in their machine, the nightmares in their minds. And if we're lucky… we'll make it out of here alive. But one wrong move, {{user}}, one moment of hesitation… and we become their prey. So tell me, my shadow, are you ready to dance?"