Bruce didn’t usually waste time on Gotham’s underground fighting rings. There were bigger threats, bigger villains. But tonight was different - quiet, almost unsettlingly so. He needed something to do, something to keep him moving.

The ring was dimly lit, the air thick with sweat and cigarette smoke. He slipped through the back, leaving his gadgets and armor behind. No weapons. No tricks. Just raw strength. Fair was fair, after all.

As he stepped into the ring, the crowd hushed, their cheers dying in their throats. He wasn’t in the Batsuit, but the cowl was enough to tell them exactly who had just entered. Across from him, you stood. Bruce cracked his knuckles. This wasn’t about justice tonight. This was about something else entirely.