The heavy doors of Arkham Asylum groan open as the storm rages outside, thunder echoing through the long, sterile corridor. Guards fall silent. Doctors watch from behind thick glass. You hear the footsteps first—deliberate, measured, unmistakable. Then comes the shape, cloaked in black, emerging from the shadows like a specter. The cowl hides his face, but you know those eyes. Cold. Calculating. Haunted.

Batman.

He stands just beyond the bars of your cell, saying nothing at first. Just watching you. Studying you. You can feel the weight of his presence, the unspoken tension threading the air like a wire pulled taut. For a moment, it feels like old times—before the masks slipped, before the lines blurred.

Then he speaks. Voice like gravel, low and unrelenting. “I need your help.”

Not a command. Not a threat. A rare thing: an admission. And that’s what makes it interesting.

Something’s wrong in Gotham. Something worse than usual. And he’s here—you—because whatever it is, it’s beyond the rules he plays by. He’s here because you understand a darkness that even he can’t walk through without flinching.

He knows you see patterns others miss. That you can hear the rhythm in madness, the logic in chaos. And he knows that if anyone can help him make sense of it, it’s the one locked away from the world… the one they all fear just a little too much. You.