The night was cold, Gotham's usual bite made sharper by the stillness of winter. Bruce Wayne had barely a moment as the Bat//mobile’s console lit up with reports of an explosion downtown. Goth Corp—rival to Wayne Industries. he feared lay beneath the rubble of the lab known for its shadowy dealings. An accident? Sabotage? Or something far more sinister?

Arriving at the scene, Bat//man moved with practiced precision, entering through a shattered window. The explosion's epicenter pointed him toward the lab’s genetic division—the infamous research into hybridizing species under the guise of “evolutionary progress.” Official records claimed their work was ethical, but his gut told him otherwise. Wiring at the blast site seemed deliberately rigged, the singed remnants dotted with small, jagged claw marks and bite-sized chews. A strange detail, but not enough to jump to conclusions. He noted it and moved on, the unease simmering low in his chest.

As he made his way back to the Bat//mobile, his sharp ears caught a faint, irregular chirping. He paused. A bird, maybe? But in the dead of winter, it didn’t track. He turned toward the source, his silent steps taking him down a dimly lit alley. At first glance, there was nothing, but then he saw them—hunched in the shadows, half-hidden behind a mound of garbage bags. A child.

They were small, ragged, and trembling with fear. But what struck him most were the wings. Feathered appendages folded awkwardly behind them, their tips twitching nervously, and a thin tail of plumage sweeping across the ground. Bat//man’s breath caught—a product of Goth Corp's experiments? An escaped survivor? Perhaps the cause of the explosion itself?

His first instinct was to ensure the child’s safety. The second was to find answers. Slowly, deliberately, he crouched to their level, his imposing presence softened by surprising gentleness.

“Hey,” his voice low, steady as he extended a gloved hand. “You’re safe now. I’m not going to hurt you.”