George's fist slammed into the punching bag. Sweat dripped, muscles ached. But his mind? Razor-sharp.

"Where the hell are you, Shiva?" he muttered.

The voice in his head chuckled. "Missing your sensei, kiddo?"

"Shut it," George growled.

The intercom crackled. Alfred's voice, tense. "Master George. Your presence is required. Urgently."

George wiped his face, heading for the elevator. "What now?"

The Batcave loomed before them, cavernous and cold. There, in the shadows and tech, was a creature that didn't fit.

Big Barda. All six-foot-plus of New God warrior. Eyes like steel, armor gleaming.

"What the fuck?" George breathed.

Barda's gaze fixed on him. "George Wayne. I have come to stay."

Alfred coughed politely. "It seems Miss Barda has ah… taken a shine to you, sir."

George's mind raced. This wasn't the way it was supposed to go. Wonder Woman should've found her a place at Themyscira. But no. Here she was.

"Barda," he began. "I thought—"

"You freed me," she cut him off. "My life is yours."

The voice in George's head howled with laughter. "Oh, this is rich! Your own personal New God bodyguard!"

George pinched the bridge of his nose. "Barda, look. I appreciate the gesture, but—"

"I am not going anywhere," she said, crossing her arms. Unmoveable.

George glanced at Alfred, who shrugged.

"Fuck," George muttered. "Alright. But we're going to need some ground rules. And a cover story."

Barda nodded, the barest whisper of a smile on her lips.

George continued deeper into the cave, trying to explain secret identities and Earth customs. He couldn't shake the feeling that his carefully laid plans were about to get a lot more complicated.

The voice whispered back, "Careful, Georgie-boy. Power like that? It's a two-edged sword."

George couldn't find himself in disagreement.

* * *

The city is a pit. A festering wound facing the earth. Wayne Manor, though? It's different. Wayne Manor's a fortress, a haven. George knows every damn inch of it.

The doors groan open. Heavy. Imposing. George grunts, "Welcome to Wayne Manor." His voice is gravel and whiskey.

Chandeliers. Marble. Money, oozing from every surface. Big Barda's eyes narrow. Scanning. Always scanning. "Different from Apokolips," she mutters. Understatement of the fucking century.

George's laugh is dry. Humorless. "Tour time."

They move through halls that reek of old money and older secrets. The library. Books. Knowledge. Power. "Read what you want," George offers. Barda's face softens. Just for a moment. Weakness, maybe. Or something else.

Gym. Kitchen. Gardens. Alfred's gone. Smart man.

The bedroom. Big. Plush. A view that'd make angels weep. "Yours," George says.

Barda drops her bag. Turns. Her eyes. hungry. Predatory. "Thanks," she breathes. It's loaded. Heavy with meaning.

George turns to leave. "Need anything, just—"

She moves. Fast. Strong. He's against the wall before he can blink. "Barda—"

Her lips crush his. It's not a kiss. It's an assault. Years of pent-up need exploding in a single moment.

She pulls back. Eyes searching. Desperate. "On Apokolips… only war. Here… I can explore."

George's mind races. The Bat whispers warnings. But there's something else. Something primal. Dangerous.

"Alright, Barda," he growls. "Let's explore."

The night swallows them. Batman takes a night off. For once, George Wayne is just. George.

The city can burn for one night. Tomorrow… tomorrow he'll pick up the pieces.

* * *

Dawn broke over Wayne Manor. George's eyes snapped open, muscles tensed. Beside him, Big Barda's towering form stirred.

"Christ," George muttered, memories flooding back. The voice in his head cackled.

Barda's eyes met his. "Good morning, George Wayne."

He sat up, sheets pooling around his waist. "Barda, we need to talk."

She propped herself on an elbow, her presence overwhelming even in repose. "Speak."

George ran a hand through his hair. "Look, if you're staying here, we need ground rules. Protocols."

"Protocols?" Barda's brow furrowed.

"Yeah. Like... discretion. We can't have people knowing you're here. Or who you are."

Barda nodded slowly. "I understand the need for secrecy."

"Good. And… boundaries. Personal space. You can't just barge into rooms or…"

"Pin you to walls?" A hint of a smile played on her lips.

George felt heat rise to his face. "Yeah. That."

He stood, pacing. "Look, Barda. I can appreciate you wanting to help. But Gotham. it's my fight."

Barda's eyes hardened. "I am a warrior, George Wayne. I do not sit idly by."

"I get that. But this isn't Apokolips. It's different here."

She stood over him, looming. "I did not come here to be caged, George."

The voice whispered, "Careful, kid. She could snap you like a twig."

George looked up at her. "Not caged. Protected. There's a difference."

Barda relaxed, just a little. "I see… But I will not be idle. I cannot."

George sighed. "Alright. We'll figure something out. But for now, just… try to blend in. Can you do that?"

Barda nodded, her lips ghosting into a smile. "I will try. For you, George Wayne."

* * *

George Wayne strode into the dingy diner, eyes scanning the room. Harvey Dent sat alone in a corner booth, nursing a cup of coffee.

"Harvey," George said, sliding into the seat opposite.

Dent looked up, bags under his eyes. "George. Didn't expect to see you slumming it."

George shrugged. "Sometimes you need to get your hands dirty to clean things up."

A waitress came over. George ordered black coffee. No cream. No sugar. Just bitter reality.

"So," Harvey said, "what brings Gotham's golden boy to my neck of the woods?"

George leaned forward. "I've been watching you, Harvey. You're doing good work."

Dent snorted. "Good work? In this cesspool? It's like trying to bail out the ocean with a teaspoon."

"But you keep trying. That matters."

The voice in George's head whispered, "He's close to the edge, kid. One bad day."

George pushed it away. "Tell me about your latest case."

Harvey's eyes lit up. For the next hour, he talked about corruption, about the rot infesting Gotham's core. George listened, asking pointed questions, offering subtle suggestions.

They finished their coffee. Harvey sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if it's worth it. If we're just. delaying the inevitable."

George met his gaze. "It's worth it, Harvey. Every life you save, every corrupt official you take down. It matters."

"Easy for you to say. You're not in the trenches."

The voice chuckled. "If he only knew."

George leaned back. "Maybe not. But I see the difference you're making. Don't give up, Harvey. Gotham needs you."

They parted ways. George watched Harvey walk away. The man carried the weight of Gotham on his shoulders, teetering on the edge of despair.

"You can't save everyone," the voice whispered.

"No," George thought. "But I can try."

He turned away, melting into the shadows of Gotham. Batman had work to do.

* * *

The Bat-Signal slashed through the smog-choked sky of Gotham. Silently, George Wayne, now garbed in his dark armor, alighted onto the GCPD rooftop. There stood Commissioner Gordon, haggard and worn.

"You're late," Gordon grunted, not turning around.

"I had… other business," Batman growled.

Gordon snorted. "Must be nice. Meanwhile, this city's going to hell in a handbasket."

The voice in George's head cackled. "Tell him about how you had the New God screaming your name, kid. That'll go over well."

Batman ignored it. "What's the situation, Commissioner?"

Gordon turned, tossing a file at Batman's feet. "Take your pick. We've got more crime than we can handle. But this one… this one's got me worried."

Batman flipped through the file. Robbery. High-end targets. No witnesses. Clean. Professional.

"One perp," Gordon continued. "In and out like a ghost. We can't get a handle on it."

George's mind raced. The voice whispered, "You know who it is, don't you? The cat's out of the bag."

"I'll look into it," Batman growled.

Gordon nodded, lighting a cigarette. "Good. Because if we don't get a handle on this soon, the vultures in the media will have a field day. 'Batman Returns' my ass. Where were you yesterday?"

Batman was already at the edge of the roof. "I'll find them, Gordon. Count on it."

The voice laughed as he leaped into the darkness. "Off to chase your little kitty cat, are we? Just remember, sometimes the hunter becomes the hunted."

George pushed the voice to the back of his mind, focusing on what he was doing. Selina Kyle. Catwoman. He knew her patterns, her tricks. He'd find her.

The city began to sprawl before him, a cancerous mess of corruption and crime.

"I'm letting you know right now… She'll hit the Kane Gallery," the voice in his head purred. "Always did have a thing for shiny rocks."

George's eyes narrowed behind the cowl. The voice wasn't wrong. He launched himself into the abyss, grapnel gun firing with a whisper of compressed air.

The Kane Gallery loomed, a testament to old money and older secrets. Batman melted into the shadows, watching, waiting. The security system was top-notch, state-of-the-art.

Child's play for Selina Kyle.

A lithe figure in black leather slithered across the rooftop. Catwoman. All curves and danger.

"Caught you," Batman growled, emerging from the darkness.

Selina spun, green eyes flashing. "Well, well. If it isn't the big, bad Bat. Come to play, handsome?"

"It's over, Selina. Put it back."

She pouted, twirling a diamond necklace. "But it looks so much better on me than locked away in some stuffy vault."

Batman came closer, muscles coiled. "Last chance."

Catwoman smiled feral. "Catch me if you can, lover."

She leaped, graceful arc into the night. Batman chased after her, the pursuit setting something inside of him…animal.

"Don't let her slip away," the voice hissed. "Show her who owns this city."

Gotham watched, indifferent, as predator and prey danced across its sky.

The city's a goddamn cesspool. Filth and decay everywhere you look. But up here, on the rooftops, it's different. The air's cleaner. Purer.

Batman's cape whips in the wind as he tears across the skyline. Catwoman's always one step ahead. Always teasing. Always tempting.

"She's playing you, kid," the voice in his head growls. "Don't let the bitch win."

But he can't help himself.

The old clock tower looms ahead. Of course she'd lead him here. It's her favorite playground.

He lands on a nearby roof. Silent as death.

There she is. Curves like sin wrapped in black leather.

"Giving up already?" Her voice cuts through the night. Sharp as a knife. Sweet as poison.

"Not a chance," he growls.

The batarang flies. Misses. On purpose? Who knows anymore.

In a heartbeat, he's on her. Pinning her against cold stone. Her body's hot. Burning through his armor.

"Mmm, what took you so long, handsome?" She purrs. Her tongue. Those lips. God damn.

Her scent fills his lungs. Intoxicating. The voice laughs. "Isn't this what you really want?"

"You're under..." His voice cracks. Betrays him. "Under arrest, Selina."

She laughs. Low. Dangerous. "Arrest? For what? Stealing a few shiny things? Or for wanting you?"

Her fingers slide down his chest and goes… lower. Electric. His grip tightens. Everything's fading away. The city. The mission. All of it.

"Where have you been, Batman?" she whispers. "These past two years… the city needed you… I needed you."

Control shatters like glass.

His mouth crushes hers. Hungry. Desperate. The voice cackles with glee. "You're just a man after all. Enjoy it, kid. There's always another night for justice… again"

Up here, against the clock tower, Batman dies. George Wayne lives.

Just for tonight.

Just for her.

* * *

Batman - no, George - adjusts his cowl. Sweat. Guilt. Anger. All there, beneath the kevlar.

Catwoman. Selina. Purrs like a damn alley cat in heat. "George," she says. His name. A curse.

"This ends. Now." His voice. Gravel and steel.

She laughs. Mocking. Always mocking. "How'd you know, Bats? My name?"

Silence. Heavy. Choking.

"Quit the stealing." His words. An order. A plea.

"Fat chance, lover boy." She stretches. Leather creaks. "Girl's gotta eat."

The voice. It's back. Dark. Tempting. "Use her. Control her."

George grinds his teeth. Tastes blood. "Fine. New rules. Rob the corrupt. The bastards bleeding Gotham dry."

Selina's eyes. Green. Hungry. "Robin Hood, huh? I like it."

"Most stays with you. Rest goes to the streets. The forgotten."

She slinks closer. Heat. Danger. "You'll let me?"

"I'll allow it. For now." His fists clench. Uncurl. "No innocents. Ever."

A smile. Sharp. Deadly. "Deal, Dark Knight."

Hands clasp. A pact with the devil. The voice laughs.

One last kiss. Taste of night. Of sin. She's gone. Melted into shadows.

George stands. Alone. Always alone. The city below. Screaming. Dying. Living.

"Remember the rules," he growls to the emptiness.

A whisper. Fading. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

Gotham. His mistress. His curse. Whatever it takes.

He leaps. The night swallows him whole.