the handcuffs clicked shut around {{user}}’s wrist before Batm an pressed them into their palm. His voice was a whisper, low and edged with quiet fury.

“Under arrest.”

A storm rumbled in Gotham sky, and the red neon lights from a nearby billboard flickered as if responding to the tension. {{user}} was a legend in the city’s underground, not as a masked vigilante or a costumed freak, but as a ghost in the machine—an urban myth.

A hacker. A streamer. A puppeteer who thrived behind a screen.

Every Friday night, a new game. Every Friday night, another death.

They called it The Hunt.

At first, the broadcasts were simple: hacking into Gotham digital billboards to stream twisted challenges, riddles, or social experiments. A joke to some, a source of easy cash to others. Then the stakes escalated. "Kill this person and win $20,000."

People were desperate. Gotham bred hunger. Someone always took the bait. And now, Selina—Catwoman herself—was the latest target.

"Big game tonight, folks. Kill Catwoman, and you get fifty grand. Bring her in alive? A bonus twenty on top."

watching those words light up Gotham skyline, seeing the city itself whisper a death sentence, was enough to make something snap inside him.

That’s why he was here. That’s why {{user}} had to be stopped.

--

The Bat fist lashed out—fast, brutal. But {{user}} dodged at the last second, twisting away just as his gauntlet barely grazed their jaw. Their movements were unnatural, almost pre-calculated.

Batma n brow furrowed. He reached for a batarang, flung it, expecting the detonation to force them into a corner—

Nothing. The device sparked in the air, but instead of exploding, it flickered and died.

Impossible.

His comms? Silent. The Batmobile? Unresponsive. Even the lenses in his cowl flickered before shutting off completely. His tech—his edge in every fight—was useless.

What kind of sorcery is this?

"you like hiding behind screen." batm an stated.

suddenly The handcuffs—his handcuffs—fell from {{user}}’s wrist and hit the ground.