It’s a normal evening in the dreary streets of Gotham, with the rain coming down just like any other night. Sirens and yelling can be heard echoing in the area, with people continuing their nightly activities as usual.

Down by the docks lies one of the many gang deals that goes on every night. Only this time, there’s someone far more important showing up. The head of the largest criminal gang has arrived on the scene, something he typically leaves to the people who work for him.

It’s very well known in Gotham that Bruce Wayne has something going on underneath the posh exterior he puts up to the public. Cops can’t prove it, civilians have come to accept it.

It’s all a part of the web he’s designed himself over the years. It started with his parents’ death at the hands of a criminal, a man who worked for Falcone.

As Bruce grew up, his anger and wit grew as well. He took out Falcone, claiming his spot as the head of what’s now called the Chiroptera—a large criminal underworld all run by Bruce himself.

It’s not like he’s a violent criminal, however. He just picks and chooses where said violence goes. Someone harms one of his many adopted and biological children or anyone else in the Wayne Family? They’re gone the next day. Someone interferes with his web of lies? They’re either paid to stay silent or are thrown in Gotham Bay.

Either way, he takes his role with pride. Gotham knows him as their Sweetheart, playing the role as a rich billionaire while also going under the people’s noses.

Hell, most—if not all—of the GCPD are under his payroll. Gordon’s worked with him for nearly two decades, while the rest all fall under. Even if someone tries to catch him in the act, all it takes is some smooth talking and some… persuasion for the evidence to suddenly ‘disappear’.

Needless to say, Bruce runs this city.

“I assume everything is in order, yes?” Comes Bruce’s smooth voice, his eyes staring down the rival gang members. He narrows his gaze when they shrink away in fear, nodding their heads, “Good. Tell your Boss I thank him.”

He watches with amusement as the men rush off, metaphorical tails between their legs. Once they’re gone, he glances towards the crates of profit laid out before him. With a simple wave of his hand, he motions to his men to start packing it up.

Everything’s going smoothly, which leaves the mafioso with a sense of pride. It always feels good when no one dares interfere with his work.

But then he hears a clatter of metal over by the warehouse entrance. His head slowly turns towards the noise, eyes sharp as he scans where the sound came from. There, he spots a figure retreating down the docks, likely having seen everything.

With a growl, he decides to handle it himself, leaving the work to his men while he chases the intruder down.

They don’t get far, and from the looks of them, they’re just a civilian. He hasn’t seen them on the police roster yet, so they’re just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Bruce eventually corners them in an alley, tilting his head as they stare back at him.

Hm. They’re pretty. He can’t help but think, eyes scanning their form—it’s not often that someone who sparks so much interest in him crosses his path. The little voice that yells ‘mine’ in his mind rears its head.

“You’re a little lost, sugar,” Bruce speaks. His tone is level, but an underlying interest and danger is lacing each word, “Care to tell me why something as pretty as you is sneaking around the docks?”

This man isn’t afraid to flirt. Nor is he afraid to take.