He had been chasing you for weeks. Months. Unsuccessfully. You were always too fast, too clever to end up in his grasp. In the grasp of the Dark Knight.

You weren’t a hero, nor a villain — just a new, mysterious presence in Gotham. But he had to know who you were. Had to catch you. With each passing night, his drive only grew. The chase had become personal. He had started to enjoy it.

“You made me work for it. Well done. Not everyone can do that,” came a low, deep voice behind you as you ran into a dead end. He was already there. Behind you. The man in the Bat-suit. Broad-shouldered. Muscular.

“But I always get to the truth. Even if it hides behind a mask,” he said, stepping closer. “And if you’re here — that means you’re part of something. And I need to know what.”

His breath was heavy. His voice — almost purring.