In DC universe as Batman

Dead silence.

The door creaked open—

Not by any graceful, quiet unlocking.

Someone had grabbed the handle and wrenched it open with brute force.

The door lock shrieked like grinding teeth as the metal core tore through the cheap plywood, splintering the frame and twisting the hinges. The cold air from the underworld blew in with the wind, cutting through the room like a blade.

Bang.

Click.

Harley Quinn flinched, a shiver crawling down her spine.

She cursed herself. Drawn in by a skeleton, she hadn't even noticed someone approaching the door.

After so many endless days and nights in Arkham, her hearing should have been razor-sharp.

Dusk was falling. The last orange glow of the sunset seeped through the shattered doorway, throwing long shadows across the room. That dim, fading light gave the darkness shape—and meaning.

Then, it vanished.

Harley slowly reached for her backpack.

A tall silhouette stood in the doorway. The light faded further.

Night was almost here.

Harley sighed heavily.

"You're really hard to find,"

came a deep, familiar voice.

Silence.

Harley Quinn turned to look at the man who stepped in. Her lips curled upward.

Then she screamed.

"AHHHHHH!!! Oh my God! Why is it you again?!"

She stormed toward a nearby tree—a miniature dragon blood tree grown by Poison Ivy—and slammed her forehead against the trunk.

"Aaahhh! Damn it! God! Batman will never catch Harley Quinn!"

"I've got questions for you,"

the voice replied. Calm. Cold.

"Like... where can I find your dear friend Poison Ivy?"

Harley froze mid-headbutt.

She tilted her head.

Batman continued:

"I need your help."

"Forget it, sugar," Harley snapped.

"I've started a new life."

Just like that, she seemed completely calm—like the screaming lunatic from a moment ago had never existed.

"Listen," Batman said. "Ivy's running with the wrong crowd. She and the Floronic Man plan to turn the whole earth green. I have to stop them. They're dangerous together, Harley.

People could get hurt. A lot of people.

Even… never mind.

What you do need to know is this: Ivy might get hurt too. Maybe even killed."

Harley stayed quiet.

Batman knew her too well. Mention Ivy, and it hit her right where it mattered.

And yes, when she heard that Ivy might be in danger, she did feel something.

But just for a second.

"Nope," Harley said. "I'm done with your cape-and-mask nonsense. I just want to live like a normal person."

"Really?" Batman said, eyes narrowing. "That's a shame. Because you're not."

She followed his gaze—

to the four skeletons lying motionless on the floor.

Harley grabbed her braids in frustration and shrieked again.

She spun around and seized Frank—the chomp-happy plant in the flowerpot, pretending to be just a houseplant.

"You little bastard! It was YOU who killed them—!"

"Blaming a murder on a plant won't lessen your sentence, Harley," Batman said dryly.

She smacked the plant twice across its leafy face.

"My advice—"

"TAKE THAT!" Harley shouted, stomping the plant like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

"Your emotional venting—"

With a crash, Harley bolted for the window.

One smash and she'd be free—!

She leaped.

But before she could get away, her hand was snagged by a Bat-rope.

"!!!"

"I surrender," she said flatly.

Batman reeled her back in and placed her on the floor.

Harley didn't resist. What was the point?

Batman always wins.

He will always wins.

---

Meanwhile…

This was Bane's hideout.

Most people assumed a schemer like him would hole up in some high-tech submarine or a military base floating above the clouds.

But no.

It was just a rundown hotel room in Gotham.

Bane sat on a creaking couch, his 3.5-meter frame(without venom) nearly swallowing it whole.

On the TV, experts and politicians babbled:

"This time, the city government will use military force—decisive, righteous action—"

"Batman? A vigilante criminal. He's no hero—"

"Let's welcome Gotham's real protectors: Mayor Krol, and the Head of Military Employment!"

The suited clowns on screen ranted, bashing Batman and glorifying the government's latest moves.

Bane watched, stone-faced.

If not for his goal of crushing the Bat, he might have felt pity.

Batman fought for this broken city.'

'But its so-called leaders?

Idiots.'

'He couldn't believe someone would be dumb enough to broadcast their military strategy on national TV.'

'To them, Batman wasn't even a threat. Just a costumed nuisance.'

'The people on-screen—fat, oily-haired, caked in makeup—reeked of rot.

They looked more like vultures than Arkham inmates.'

'They slandered the Dent Act, dragged Gordon's name through the mud, and mocked everything Batman had built over a decade.'

'They claimed Batman attracted Gotham's madness.

That his presence created villains.

That only the army could bring order.

That only City Hall could restore sanity.'

But none of them ever asked…

'Why did Harvey Dent lose all faith in the justice system?

Why did Edward Nygma go mad?

Why was Arnold who was once honest got arrested and imprisoned?'

Bane understood.

Gotham had always been rotten.

He saw it the moment he arrived.

"Batman and these costumed freaks are all insane. This time, we'll wipe them out for good—"

Bane scowled. Their voices grated on his nerves.

He lowered the TV volume.

BOOM.

A loud thud echoed above him.

Bane frowned.

BOOM.

He sighed, deep and tired.

"Can the three of you hurry up already?"

Right on cue—

CRASH!

The ceiling caved in.

Three of his men—Zombie, Trogg, and Bird—came crashing down in a heap, locked in combat with an enemy dressed like an owl.

"Stop fighting, Bane!" the masked intruder growled. "City Hall has deployed tens of thousands of soldiers against you. The Court of Owls wants to help."

Bane raised an eyebrow.

"What are you?" he muttered. "Never mind."