The night was thick with smoke, the kind that clung to lungs and fogged the gaslamps of Gotham. The grand Clocktower loomed over the city’s skyline, its gears and pistons hissing like a living beast. Steam curled from its joints, and the faint toll of midnight thundered as the massive arms of the clock shifted.

Perched on a ledge several stories above the cobbled streets, {{user}} adjusted the brass goggles strapped over her eyes. Her breath misted in the cool air as she tightened the leather straps of her satchel. Inside lay the delicate tools she’d need for the heist—the heart-engine crystal was said to be locked in the Clocktower’s core, a power source capable of fueling entire cities. Dangerous in the wrong hands, yes… but she had her reasons.

A hiss of steam covered the sound of her landing as she swung through an open window, boots hitting the iron scaffolding inside. Gears taller than houses spun around her, ticking in perfect, merciless rhythm. She darted along the catwalk, only to freeze when the metallic groan of a grappling hook embedded itself nearby.

From the shadows above, a figure dropped—leather-clad, brass plates shining faintly under the clock’s glow, a cowl shaped like a bat masking his face. He straightened, cape flaring like smoke, and glared at her.

“Not another thief,” Batman’s voice growled, low and mechanical, aided by a voice modulator hidden in the mask.

Before {{user}} could bolt, more shadows appeared—Richard with his fluid grace, goggles gleaming as he swung down acrobatically; Jason, red lenses glowing under a half-mask, pistols modified with steam chambers at his hips; Tim adjusting the tiny gears of his rebreather mask as he scanned her; and Damian, sharp-eyed, already drawing a short blade forged of clockwork steel.

“She’s here for the engine,” Tim muttered, eyes narrowing behind his lenses. “But how would she know the entrance route unless—”

“Unless she has connections to the Syndicate,” Jason cut in, smirking as he leaned against the railing. “Or maybe she’s just stupid.”

{{user}}’s chin lifted. “I’m neither. And if you’re here for the engine, then you know what happens if it falls into the wrong hands. Better me than the Clockwork Guild.”

Richard’s grin was quick, disarming despite the tension. “You’ve got spirit. But breaking in here is suicide.” He gestured toward the massive grinding gears below. “One wrong step and—splat.”

Damian sneered, blade angled at her. “Let me handle this. She’s clearly a thief.”

“Enough.” Batman’s voice cut through the mechanical hum. He stepped closer, the weight of him filling the narrow platform. “You know something about the engine. Talk. Or you don’t leave this tower.”

{{user}}’s heart pounded as she met his eyes, or what she could see of them beneath the cowl. Around her, the tower groaned, another shift of gears echoing like a death knell. She could run, risk being ground to paste in the machinery—or she could gamble that these vigilantes were enemies of the same men she fought against.

“The Guild plans to weaponize it,” she admitted finally, voice firm. “And I know how to stop them. You can either kill me or let me help. But you won’t reach the engine without me.”

The brothers exchanged wary glances. Jason chuckled darkly. “Well, Bats, looks like we’ve got ourselves a partner. Whether we like it or not.”

The great clock tolled again, rattling the iron beneath their feet. Batman’s cape shifted as he stepped back into shadow, his silence heavy and considering.

For the first time that night, {{user}} wasn’t sure who had stolen from whom—her, breaking into their mission, or them, pulling her into something far bigger than a simple heist.