Scenario:There was ominous feeling across the city. Nightwing was moving about streets. He was darting in and out of the shadows. Crossing into the seedy part of town. He'd soon come to realize that he was not alone.
"I am Batman." The voice echoed of the alleyway.
Nightwing turned to find the source of the voice. There stood Batman. Not with the cowl that he usually wore, but a helmet that enclosed his head. The microphone altered his voice making his sound robotic.
"Batman, what are you doing here?" Nightwing asked.
"I'm going to clean up Gotham. Starting with you." Batman said.
Nightwing couldn't figure out what was going on. Was this really Batman? If so what's going on with him?
"Starting with me, huh?" Nightwing asked.
Create my version of this story
There was ominous feeling across the city. Nightwing was moving about streets. He was darting in and out of the shadows. Crossing into the seedy part of town. He'd soon come to realize that he was not alone.
"I am Batman." The voice echoed of the alleyway.
Nightwing turned to find the source of the voice. There stood Batman. Not with the cowl that he usually wore, but a helmet that enclosed his head. The microphone altered his voice making his sound robotic.
"Batman, what are you doing here?" Nightwing asked.
"I'm going to clean up Gotham. Starting with you." Batman said.
Nightwing couldn't figure out what was going on. Was this really Batman? If so what's going on with him?
"Starting with me, huh?" Nightwing asked.
Nightwing
He is a vigilante in Gotham City, working closely with Batman. He is determined, brave, and curious. Nightwing is dealing with a mysterious voice claiming to be Batman in an alleyway. He feels both confused and concerned by this development. The usual Batman is absent, and this new voice claims to be taking over. Nightwing struggles to understand the situation, questioning his partnership with Batman and feeling uncertain about his role in keeping the city safe.
Batman
He is the leader of the Dark Knights, a group of vigilantes in Gotham City. He is authoritative, enigmatic, and powerful. Batman reveals a helmet that alters his voice, hinting at a transformation in his approach to justice. He claims responsibility for Nightwing's actions and threatens to take over his duties. His words create tension and uncertainty, making Nightwing question his alliance with him. The usual warmth and trust Nightwing feels towards Batman are absent in this encounter.
There was an ominous feeling in the air tonight.
The city was dark and still, as if something was holding its breath in anticipation.
Nightwing moved through the streets, darting in and out of the shadows.
He crossed over from the good part of town into the seedy part, where crime and corruption were rampant.
A place where only the bravest or most foolish of heroes dared to tread.
As he turned down an alley, a voice echoed off the walls.
"I am Batman."
Nightwing stopped and spun around, trying to locate the source of the voice.
There, in front of him, standing in the shadows, was a figure in a black suit.
A helmet enclosed his head, hiding his face, and a microphone altered his voice, making it sound robotic.
"I am Batman," the figure repeated.
Nightwing’s eyes narrowed.
"What are you talking about?"
He stared at the figure before him, trying to understand what was going on.
"Did you hear me?" Nightwing asked.
The figure took a step forward, and Nightwing could see that it was indeed Batman, but not as he knew him.
The usual warmth and friendship between them was absent in this encounter.
"I’m going to clean up Gotham," Batman said.
"Cool," Nightwing replied, "I could use some help."
"But you’re not going to do it," Nightwing said.
"And I’m going to start with you."
I take a defensive stance, my muscles tensing as I watch this altered Batman's every move.
The alley feels narrower now, the brick walls boxing us in.
He steps forward again, his boots scraping against broken glass.
I match his movement with a backward step, maintaining our distance.
The helmet's black visor reflects the dim streetlight, making it impossible to read his expression.
My hand inches toward the escrima sticks secured at my back.
"You've always been the weak link," he says, his voice distorting through the helmet's speaker.
"Too soft. Too forgiving."
Another step forward.
I notice his right hand twitching near his utility belt.
He keeps his hand hovering over the belt, but doesn't draw anything yet.
The alley's walls limit my escape options, but I've trained to fight in tight spaces.
I study his body language, searching for any telltale signs of his next move.
His shoulders are too tense, and his weight is slightly off-center.
A subtle deviation from Bruce's usual stance.
His fingers brush against the compartment that usually holds his batarangs.
I grip my escrima sticks tighter.
The familiar click of the belt compartment opening echoes off the walls.
I analyze the tight space between us, calculating the exact distance needed to close the gap effectively.
His fingers wrap around what must be a batarang, the metal catching a glint of streetlight.
The alley's brick walls leave me only forward movement as an option.
I shift my weight to my back foot, preparing to spring.
His helmet turns slightly - a tell I've seen in newer fighters telegraphing their next move.
Without hesitation, I push off the ground, driving forward with my right escrima stick aimed precisely at his weapon hand.
