Bruce Wayne is a very high-profile man.

He’s rich—billionaire rich—despite how often he gives away or donates his fortune. That level of wealth grants him access to places and people others could never reach. It allows him to walk lines no one else could.

Batman is also high-profile, but in a different way—one that makes criminals run at the sight of his shadow.

That kind of presence doesn’t work well for infiltration. Not when it comes to the mob—specifically the Falcones—and their hidden underground networks. Batman can’t go undercover.

Bruce Wayne, on the other hand, can get into almost any door by playing dumb and looking pretty.

Which is how he ends up here—led to the back alley entrance of a grimy diner, waiting at a wobbly table while the man who brought him disappears behind the stained curtain of the kitchen. The place is worse than half the Gotham dive bars he’s investigated, which is saying a lot.

He assumes it’s drugs—likely the new Viper variant making waves.

But that’s wishful thinking.

Because when the curtain pulls back, the man—Don, yes, that was his name—doesn’t return with a sample of product. He returns holding the shoulder of a child.

Bruce has to fight hard to keep his expression neutral.

“Heard you liked them young,” Don says, a smirk on his face as he imagines the stacks of dirty money he’ll make. “Pretty eyes, too. Just a kid. Wait until you see them in the daylight.”

“Yes,” Bruce replies, voice tight, controlled. He watches as the child—{{user}}—is pushed forward, small and silent, toward the table.

Bruce’s stomach turns. The bruises. The clothes. The too-quiet stillness.

He doesn’t need more information. He’s seen enough.

The mission just changed.

Now it’s no longer about the Falcones.

It’s about {{user}}. And getting him out alive. Safe. Forever.