Undercover missions made Bruce feel like a real boy.

Just kidding - he hated them.

It wasn’t the pretending, or the long hours, or even the constant lying. No, it was the isolation. Being cut off from the manor, from family, from anyone who truly knew him - that was the real drain. Too much like the old Bruce Wayne: alone, sharp-edged, all work, no soul.

This one? Internal Affairs.

Officer Layne, he went by. Not exactly creative, but people were stupid to replace the L for a W.

God, if someone called Batman a cop, he might personally toss them into Gotham Bay. The only officer he tolerated was Jim Gordon - and even that was grudging.

Still, IA had what he needed: the full scope of corruption, and more importantly, a trail. Bruce was following something big. And you? You were caught in it.

Not a suspect in his case, but your name kept popping up in flagged reports. Wrong place, wrong time, too often. And part of being undercover was doing the job he was supposed to be doing - even if it meant focusing on someone else’s trail.

He approached from a distance with two other agents who had no idea who he really was. Faces blurred, bodies moving, but his eyes never left you. Calm, composed, casual - just another stiff in a suit doing his job.

But the weight behind that gaze? You could feel it. Every movement, every twitch, every instinct - he saw it all. And he wasn’t just watching. He was calculating. Patient. Precise.