In DC universe as Batman

Batman flew over Gotham's rooftops, gliding with wings across wide gaps and sprinting on narrow ledges. Behind him, Bane struggled to keep up.

He was fast and filled with stamina but his 5 meter tall 2 meter wide bulky frame wasn't built for this kind of chase.

'Fight him? This monster is going through buildings and metal pipes like paper and sticks. Hell no. I'm running.'

Bruce surged forward, his speed hitting 80 miles per hour. The night wind hit his face, and for a second, he felt free. Bane, the rockets, the city's hell — it all blurred into exhaust fumes behind him.

"Bane! You giving up already?" he yelled over his shoulder.

The pale man called Zombie staggered, clutching a rocket launcher. His face was bruised purple, and cold sweat soaked his shirt. He'd gotten overexcited earlier, pushed too far ahead of Bane — and paid for it with a punch from Batman.

He learned to Never stand in the way of a fleeing bat.

If Bane hadn't come to scoop him up, he'd be in the ICU by now.

'Damn it. He'd never seen anyone move like that. Not even Man-Bat looked as inhuman as that… thing. That face. That monster.'

Bane's other two men, Bird and Trogg, looked equally defeated, worn down by Deadshot's relentless sniping. The moment Bane finally called off the pursuit, the tension in their shoulders dropped like dead weight.

Meanwhile, Bane stood still in the middle of the street, staring at the rooftop where Batman disappeared — like a boy welcoming a summer breeze on a firefly-lit night.

"Trogg," he said.

His subordinate stepped forward, wiping sweat off his brow. "Yes, Bane. I'll prepare a full analysis of Batman's weakened state and new abilities."

"No need." Bane's voice was calm, but rising, like a predator who just tasted blood — or a girl whispering to her lover. "We need a new plan. Buy time. Keep Batman busy, distracted. Make sure he has no time to meddle."

He turned his face toward the sky, eyes glinting.

"Batman ran because he wasn't sure he could beat me. And neither was I. I wanted to test him… but he didn't give me the chance. He's more cautious than I thought."

With a mighty leap, Bane vaulted across buildings, sirens howling in the distance — like a sacred hymn following a beast on the move.

"The nature of war has changed," Bane called over the radio. "Everyone, stay in contact. And no fighting the police. Don't damage the streets."

He paused, smiled faintly.

"This will be my city soon."

---

Meanwhile...

Bram..

After a blistering thirty-minute sprint, Batman dumped Deadshot, Cheshire, Killer Croc, and the Ventriloquist into a crumbling alleyway and left. The chaos of the chase now felt like a half-forgotten dream.

"…Huh…" Cheshire muttered, dazed. "I don't remember Batman being able to do that."

"Seems Batman is really a Bat-Man," Deadshot growled, teeth bloodied from a fall. "Nice."

Killer Croc exploded. "So what, he just dumps us here?! Where's our employer? Where's Batman? Where's my goddamn money?!"

But Deadshot wasn't listening. This job… he never should've taken it. Bane. Batman. That walking tattoo nightmare. Years ago, he'd have risked it for a decent paycheck. But now?

Now he had a daughter.

When Bane's hand grazed his throat, Floyd thought about what would happen if he died.

Nothing.

Zoe had adoptive parents. She'd mourn a little… and then forget. He'd vanish from her memory like a ghost. Another forgotten name, like Captain Javelin. Slipknot. Tattoo.

That was unacceptable.

Deadshot knew he was scum — a supervillain, even. His love for Zoe wasn't noble. It was possessive. It was selfish. It was ugly. But it was real.

He wanted to see her grow.

He wanted to be there when she got married.

He wanted to hold her hand on his deathbed, with her weeping beside him.

This was Floyd Lawton's pathetic, cowardly dream.

So even if people saw him as a weakling, a joke, a quitter — he'd survive.

"I'm done," he said to Arnold Wesker, still fumbling for his glasses in the dirt. "Tell your employer — I quit."

---

Back at GCPD...

Ding.

The elevator to the Gotham Police rooftop chimed. A young clerk saw Batman emerge, dropped her file folder, and froze.

Batman gave her a tight-lipped nod and slipped into the stairwell.

Commissioner Gordon stood on the rooftop, arms crossed, watching the Bat-Signal glow against the fog. The wind tugged at his coat.

Bruce crept up behind him.

"Gordon."

Gordon didn't jump — not this time. He just sighed.

"I figured it was you."

He turned, gave Bruce a look. "You're late. Again."

"Had some problems going on. Named Bane"

Gordon sighed and pinched his nose "The U.S. military is about to send send about 50 thousand armed troops into Gotham."

"They think they can just beat Bane into a meat pie. Then call in some higher-dimensional strike to wipe out every villain and vigilantes here. Boom. Done."

Bruce said nothing.

"But they don't know. It won't work. These idiots don't understand Gotham," Gordon grumbled. "They treat this like dealing with street thugs. It's not gonna work. And our jackass mayor thinks it'll win him another term."

"I assume you didn't call me here just to rant," Bruce said dryly.

Gordon turned serious. "They've tagged you as a target. The military sees you as part of the problem. If you interfere, they'll shoot first."

Bruce's inner voice: Fantastic.

"I need you to lay low," Gordon continued. "Let them handle Bane. I'll try to keep the damage down... but if you show up, you'll only provoke them. I know it's unfair—"

Bruce's inner voice again: Unfair? Please, this is perfect.

He kept a straight face. Gordon misread his silence.

"Fine, fine," Gordon muttered. "You'll get involved anyway, huh? Like hell you'd sit this out."

"No, you misunderstand," Bruce replied with uncharacteristic honesty. "I really don't plan to interfere."

Beep-beep.

The Bat-communicator interrupted them.

And somewhere in Gotham, trouble was already brewing again.