Archive of Our Own ^beta

Bruce sat in the Batmobile, his hands firmly gripping the steering wheel, his mind still processing the chaos of the funeral. The image of the explosion continued to reverberate in his memory, like an echo he couldn’t silence. The weight of the night and the decisions he’d made were crushing him, but his focus had to remain firm. He had to find the Penguin. But then, his personal phone rang.

The name that appeared on the screen made him pause. Clark.

Bruce hesitated for a second before answering. It wasn't unusual for Clark to call him at this hour, but after what had happened, Bruce felt a mix of guilt and anxiety. He knew Clark's voice would make him want to forget everything for a moment, but that luxury wasn't on his agenda tonight.

"Bruce?" Clark's voice came through the phone, soft, laden with concern. "Are you okay?"

Bruce took a deep breath, trying not to let his exhaustion show. He didn't want Clark to know the true state he was in. Tired, that word didn't even begin to cover the physical and emotional exhaustion that overwhelmed him.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied, keeping his tone neutral. "It's just been a long day."

Clark seemed hesitant on the other end of the line. Bruce could almost imagine him, his brows furrowed and his lips pursed, worried, as he always was when he didn't know what was going on behind the walls Bruce had built around himself.

"Sounds like you need some rest," Clark said after a moment. "Why don't I stop by your house? I can bring you some food, or just… keep you company."

For a moment, Bruce's chest tightened at the thought of seeing Clark. That little bit of normalcy in his life. But he knew he couldn't allow himself to, not tonight. Not with what he still had to do. He needed to focus.

"No, love," he replied, quicker than he had planned. He inhaled, trying to soften his tone. "I'm fine. I just need to… handle some things first. Don't worry about me."

The silence on the other end of the line was palpable. Bruce knew Clark was analyzing his words, looking for signs of something more, something Bruce wasn't willing to share at the moment.

"Bruce…" Clark began, but Bruce interrupted him.

"I promise I'll call you when I'm home," he said, hoping his voice conveyed some form of calm. "I just… need a little more time tonight."

Clark sighed, resigned, but not entirely convinced. "It's okay. Just… take care of yourself, okay?"

"I will," Bruce replied, and without giving him any more chance to insist, he ended the call.

For a long second, Bruce let the phone rest in his hand. The temptation to call him again, to ask him to come over, to let Clark fill the void he'd created, was overwhelming. But he couldn't. Not tonight.

He put the phone back in his pocket and, with a new determination, started the Batmobile's engine. There was something more important to attend to, and the Penguin had answers he needed.

---

The soft sound of jet engines and the hum of lab instruments filled the air. Clark was concentrating, analyzing a sample under a microscope, when he heard the soft rap of knuckles against the glass door. He looked up, his heart skipping a beat as he saw Bruce standing in the doorway. It was unusual for him to visit him at his workplace, especially at this hour.

"Bruce," Clark said, putting his things aside and walking towards him. "Honey, I didn't expect to see you so early."

Bruce gave a small smile, but Clark noticed the tiredness in his eyes. "I had to see you. I wanted to apologize for last night."

Clark crossed his arms, bowing his head slightly. He knew something had happened, that Bruce hadn't told him the whole truth. "Why didn't you let me come see you? You sounded… worried. You know I'm here for you, right?"

Bruce looked down for a second before looking up again. He wasn't used to someone caring so much about him. But with Clark, it was always different.

"I know," he replied softly, taking a step toward him. "It's just that things have gotten more complicated than I imagined. Gotham isn't a safe place lately, and I don't want you getting involved any more than necessary."

Clark frowned. "What do you mean? I'm just an intern, Bruce. I'm not involved in anything weird. And if this is because of what happened at the mayor's funeral, I'm fine. It was… disturbing, but you don't have to worry about me."

Bruce let out a sigh, looking around for a moment before locking eyes with Clark. He knew this wasn't going to be easy, but he couldn't keep pretending everything was okay, at least not with him. "That's the problem, Clark. Gotham isn't safe. Between the murders and what's going on with the Riddler, I can't risk anything happening to you."

Clark looked at him, clearly confused. "Bruce, what are you saying?"

Bruce took a step forward, taking Clark by the arms, as if he needed his words to reach beyond his understanding, to his heart. "I'm sending you to Metropolis. I want you gone for a few days. Until this all calms down."

Clark let out a nervous laugh, surprised by how direct Bruce had been. "What? Are you kidding me? You think I can just disappear like that?"

"I'm serious, Clark," Bruce said, his voice gravelly. "Things are going to get worse before they get better. I can't rest easy knowing that you could be in danger. I know this sounds irrational, but I've been thinking about this all night."

Clark looked at him in disbelief. "Bruce, why are you so scared? What are you not telling me?"

Bruce pressed his lips together. For a moment, the silence between them was thick. He couldn't tell him the truth, not yet. He couldn't tell him that he was Batman, that he was on a hunt with the Riddler, and that the list of victims seemed endless. He knew that if he gave him any details, Clark would try to stay, and that was what he feared most.

"Just trust me, Clark," Bruce murmured. "Please."

Clark sighed, feeling the pressure of Bruce's grip on his arms. He wanted to trust him, but this all seemed too foreign. Still, something in the way Bruce looked at him, in that vulnerability he rarely showed, convinced him not to continue fighting.

"Okay," he said at last, somewhat reluctantly. "If it makes you feel better, I'll go to Metropolis for a few days. But only if you promise to explain everything to me when this is over."

Bruce relaxed his grip and nodded. "I promise."

Clark smiled slightly, though not entirely convinced. "When do I leave?"

"I'll send a driver to pick you up tonight," Bruce said, taking a step away. "I want you out of Gotham before anything else happens."

Clark nodded slowly, knowing he had no choice but to agree. But something inside him told him Bruce wasn't being completely honest. And for some reason, that feeling wouldn't leave him alone.

---

Clark stood in his room, staring at the small suitcase he had begun to pack. Everything was surreal. From Bruce's strange urgency to get him out of Gotham to the recent murders that seemed to envelop the city in an ever-denser shadow. But beyond all that, what really bothered him was the feeling that Bruce was hiding something from him, something big.

With a sigh, he walked over to his desk. Among the papers, he found his phone and, almost without thinking, turned it on. As he slid his finger across the screen, a photo appeared before him.

It was a few years ago, his first date with Bruce. Clark smiled wistfully. In the picture, they were both sitting on one of the university benches, Bruce with his usually serious look, but with a slight smile that only he could provoke. Clark, younger and more innocent, looked at him as if he were the most amazing thing in the world. And at that moment, he was. Bruce had been his hero, not only for his intelligence and skill, but for the way he remained firm and reserved in a world that seemed to watch him with a magnifying glass.

At the time, Bruce had been a senior in college, and Clark had just begun his first semester. He remembered it like it was yesterday, how he'd felt an immediate connection to him, something beyond admiration. And when Bruce had sought him out afterward, when that friendship had blossomed into something more, Clark had felt like everything had fallen into place. But now... now everything seemed to be crumbling under the weight of secrets.

He turned off the phone, letting out another sigh. He understood that Bruce wanted to keep the relationship a secret to protect him from the media, from the public pressure that came with being part of a Wayne's inner circle. But that very protection was starting to feel like a cage.

He felt pressured. Not just by the hidden relationship, but by the growing gap between them. Bruce was growing more distant, more withdrawn, and Clark didn't know how to reach him. Why couldn't he trust him enough to share his worries? Why did he always have to protect him from everything?

As these thoughts overwhelmed him, a knock on the door brought him out of his reverie. He walked to the entrance, opened it, and there stood the driver Bruce had promised to send.

"Mr. Kent," the man said with a slight nod, "your transport is ready. Mr. Wayne has given instructions to take you directly to Metropolis."

Clark swallowed, looking back at the small suitcase on the floor. Part of him wanted to resist, to stay in Gotham and find out for himself what was happening. But then he remembered Bruce's look earlier, that urgency in his eyes. He didn't want to care, but he couldn't ignore what he felt either.

"Okay," he finally said. "Give me a minute."

He closed the door on the driver and grabbed his suitcase, taking one last look around the apartment. The feeling of unease lingered, but he knew he didn't have many options for the moment. Stepping out of the building, he saw the car parked on the street, its headlights illuminating the darkness of Gotham.

As the chauffeur loaded his luggage into the trunk, Clark got into the car. He sat in the backseat, watching the city lights flash by outside the window. Gotham was in chaos, the tension in the air palpable. And even though he knew he had to leave, something inside him couldn't help but wonder if he was doing the right thing.

Just as they were about to leave the city center, a flash lit up the sky in the distance. Clark leaned forward, his heart suddenly skipping a beat. In the distance, a huge column of smoke and fire rose above the horizon. The chauffeur noticed it too, stopping dead in his tracks.

"What was that?" Clark muttered, although he already knew the answer.

The driver turned on the radio and what they heard made their blood run cold: "Breaking news: An explosion has rocked Wayne Tower. Details are not yet confirmed, but multiple people are reported injured..."

Clark froze, his mind racing. Wayne Tower... Bruce? Had he been there?

"Take me back!" he suddenly exclaimed, his voice firm.

"But Mr. Wayne said that—"

"I don't care what Bruce said. Take me to Wayne Tower now!"

The driver looked at him in the rearview mirror, undecided for a moment, but then nodded, turning the wheel and accelerating in the direction of the explosion.

As the car sped through the congested streets, Clark couldn't shake the fear from his chest. He had to get there, he had to make sure Bruce was okay. Whatever was happening in Gotham, it was now dragging him down with it, too.

---

Chaos had taken hold at Wayne Tower. Rubble and smoke still filled the air, and ambulance sirens rang through the night. Clark, his heart racing, ran through the remains of the building. In the distance, he saw firefighters and rescue crews working frantically. Wayne Tower had been devastated, and as the roar of the collapse still echoed in his ears, a growing despair filled him.

Clark searched the ruins, his gaze fixed on every face he passed, but he couldn't find Bruce. With each passing second, the fear gripped him more intensely. There was no sign of Bruce Wayne in the midst of this disaster, and that only increased his anguish.

Suddenly, he saw an ambulance in the distance, parked and surrounded by paramedics. Clark approached, hoping to find some clue. And then he saw it: Alfred, Bruce's faithful butler, was lying on a stretcher, covered in bandages and with a pained expression on his face.

"Alfred!" Clark exclaimed, running towards him. Alfred's gaze met Clark's, and at that moment, his eyes revealed a flash of recognition, mixed with intense concern.

"Why… why are you still in Gotham?" Alfred asked with difficulty, his voice barely above a whisper. "You should… you should be in Metropolis…"

Clark felt a knot in his stomach. What… are you… where…? Bruce… where is Bruce? Is he okay? Has he… been found?" He stammered.

Alfred tried to speak, but his voice faded into an incomprehensible mumble. Before Clark could get a clear answer, Alfred fainted, his body collapsing onto the gurney.

The paramedics, noticing the desperation in Clark's eyes, allowed him to approach and escorted him into the ambulance. Clark climbed aboard, his mind still overwhelmed with uncertainty, as the ambulance sped away from the scene of the disaster.

Inside the vehicle, Clark watched Alfred with concern. Through the windows, he could see the emergency lights and buildings of Gotham fading away as they drove away. The atmosphere was tense, and Clark couldn't help but wonder if Bruce was okay.

"Do you know what happened to Bruce Wayne?" Clark asked one of the paramedics, his voice filled with anguish.

"I'm sorry, sir, I don't have any updated information," the paramedic replied, keeping his tone professional as he checked Alfred's vitals. "We're doing everything we can to help all of the injured."

Clark nodded slowly, feeling the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him. As the ambulance moved forward, his thoughts focused on Bruce, on his safety, and on what could have happened.

The night was dark and filled with unanswered questions, and Clark knew his return to Metropolis had been drastically cut short. His only hope was that Bruce was okay and that they could somehow get out of this nightmare. 

Arriving at the hospital, Clark stepped out of the ambulance with a look of hope and concern. Despite the circumstances, he knew he had to stay strong. There was something in the air, a sense that the chaos in Gotham was not over yet, and that he was caught in the epicenter of a storm he couldn't even fully comprehend.

As he walked into the hospital to find out more about Bruce, Clark couldn't help but feel like his life had changed forever. The city that had once seemed like a place full of promise was now a battlefield, and he was in the middle of it, struggling with hopelessness and fear for the man who had come to mean so much more to him than words could ever express.

---

Clark sat in the hospital waiting room, the dim light from the hallway reflecting in his tired eyes. It had been a while since Alfred had been rushed to the emergency room. Even though the medical staff had assured him that Alfred was stable, Clark couldn't help the uneasiness that gripped his heart. Alfred was strong. The old man wouldn't give up easily. Questions about Bruce's whereabouts continued to haunt his mind, unanswered.

When he was finally allowed in to see Alfred, the butler lay in a hospital bed, fast asleep beneath a blanket of bandages. Clark watched his serene face, trying to find any sign of recovery. Despite his calm appearance, worry still trailed at the back of his every thought. Clark wondered if Alfred knew anything more about Bruce or could offer any clues as to his whereabouts.

After a few minutes of silent worry, Clark left the room to take a breather and get some coffee. The tension had left him exhausted, and a coffee seemed to be the only solace amidst the chaos. He walked down the hall to the vending machine, his mind still focused on Bruce.

While he waited for the coffee to brew, he decided to try calling Bruce, but there was no answer. Bruce's phone was either off or out of range. Clark hung up and dialed again, each attempt more desperate than the last. There was no news from Bruce, and that only increased his anguish.

He walked back into the waiting room with his coffee in hand, trying to stay as calm as possible. As he passed a television in the common room, the screen began broadcasting a live feed, catching the attention of everyone present. Clark paused, his coffee nearly spilling when he saw the image on the screen.

The Riddler appeared on television, his face covered by a mask and his eyes glowing with a disturbing intensity. Behind him, a dark background contrasted with the images he projected. As he spoke, his voice sounded with a mixture of satisfaction and menace.

"Tonight," the Riddler said triumphantly, "we have seen the true face of Gotham, the face of corruption and greed. Bruce Wayne and other wealthy people in this city have been playing with the lives of innocent people, keeping the people in misery."

As he spoke, the screen began to display a series of photos. There were images of children, women, men, all of them with a connection to Gotham's powerful people. Each image was accompanied by reward figures, and Clark felt his heart sink further and further.

Finally, the camera stopped on a photo of Clark, and in the bottom corner of the screen appeared an exorbitant bounty figure. Clark Kent's name was written in big, bold letters, and the highest bounty figure imaginable was next to it.

Clark felt a wave of panic and disorientation. He looked around, feeling the gazes of other patients and family members who were also watching the broadcast. He couldn’t allow himself to be identified here. With the coffee still in his hand, he quickly turned and headed for the nearest bathroom.

Once inside, he leaned against the wall, his breathing ragged and his mind racing. He knew he was now in grave danger, not just from Gotham, but from the entire world. The Riddler had made him a target, and the risk he faced had escalated to levels he couldn't ignore.

As he leaned against the bathroom wall, his mind focused on one thing: finding Bruce and making sure he was safe. The chaos of the city, the danger he faced, and the increasing risk all spiraled into despair. He had to act fast, but now his situation was more complicated than ever.

With one last deep breath, Clark prepared to leave the bathroom and find a solution, while remaining alert for any signs of danger that might lurk around him.

---

Bruce Wayne had arrived at the hospital after a night filled with revelations. The information he had learned from Carmine Falcone at the club had shaken the foundations of everything he thought he knew about his parents. Thomas Wayne, whom Bruce had revered all his life, had been involved in corruption and crime. The truth was a devastating blow, and the weight of betrayal seemed almost unbearable.

With his heart still in turmoil, Bruce headed to the hospital, knowing that Alfred was there. He had seen the smoke from the explosion from the club and, after making sure that Falcone had revealed the whole truth, he wasted no time in getting to where his loyal butler and friend was being treated.

Entering the hospital, Bruce was quickly led to Alfred's room. The tension on his face was evident, his concern for Alfred mixed with pent-up fury at the recent discovery. When he arrived in the room, he found Alfred lying on the bed, still unconscious but showing signs of improvement.

Bruce approached with firm steps, his hands shaking slightly as he tried to process his emotions. Finally, Alfred opened his eyes, and when he saw him, he attempted a weak smile.

“Bruce…” Alfred murmured, his voice raspy and weakened. “I’m so sorry… about what you found out about your father.”

Bruce looked at him with a mixture of hurt and anger. “Alfred, why didn’t you tell me before? Everything I believed about my parents was a lie. How could you keep that from me?”

Alfred struggled to speak, his voice barely audible. “Thomas… Thomas was engaged to Falcone. I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want you to get hurt any more. And I’m glad you found out the truth, but…”

The concern on Bruce’s face intensified. “But what? Is there anything else you haven’t told me?”

Alfred breathed heavily, his voice still cracking. “Clark Kent… he’s still in Gotham. I don’t know why he hasn’t left yet, but…”

Clark's name echoed in Bruce's mind with an echo of alarm. Bruce had been so focused on the truth about his parents that he had forgotten the urgency of protecting Clark. Without waiting for Alfred to say anything else, Bruce quickly turned and left the room.

Bruce ran out into the hallway, his head filled with chaotic thoughts. He knew he had to find Clark before it was too late. As he made his way through the waiting room, he stopped short at the sight of the television in the corner of the common room. The screen was showing a live feed, and the Riddler was back on screen, his expression one of grotesque satisfaction.

The Riddler spoke in his sinister tone, as images of people, including the relatives and associates of Gotham's powerful figures, appeared on the screen. Among the photos, Clark Kent appeared with an exorbitant ransom amount.

Bruce felt a wave of despair and worry. The reality that Clark was in danger became overwhelming. The news was clear: the Riddler had put Clark on the hit list, and the bounty offered only increased the gravity of the situation.

“God!” Bruce muttered, his mind working rapidly. He knew Clark had no idea he was in the Riddler’s sights. His priority now was to find him and protect him.

Wasting no time, Bruce left the hospital and headed out into the streets of Gotham. As he moved quickly through the city, his mind raced through possible locations where Clark could be. The Riddler had made his move, and Bruce was determined to get to Clark before it was too late.

With the stakes mounting and the city in chaos, Bruce knew every second counted. Finding Clark had become his primary mission, and as he set out into the Gotham night, he was willing to face any obstacle to protect the person who had come to mean so much to him.

---

Clark, his heart pounding and fear at every turn, managed to escape from the hospital bathroom. He set out into the streets of Gotham with desperate determination. The image of his picture on television and the amount of the reward continued to haunt him. His only hope was to find refuge in the police station, thinking that there he could find protection and help.

Arriving at the police station, Clark was exhausted and in shock. He had been running non-stop, his body sore and sweaty. When he entered the reception area, he approached the counter, seeking help from the officers present.

“Please! I need help,” Clark pleaded, his voice low, raspy, and shaky. “I’m Clark Kent. There’s imminent danger to me. The Riddler has put me on the list.”

The officers looked at him with suspicion and surprise. As Clark approached, his disheveled appearance and the panic in his eyes did not go unnoticed. Soon, they realized who he was and recognized him from the live feed.

One of the officers, his face hard, approached Clark. “You’re the guy from the TV, right? The one the Riddler put on the bounty list.”

Clark tried to explain his situation again, but his words were drowned out by the scream of despair that was about to explode. Without warning, the officers surrounded him and pushed him into a back area of ​​the station. Clark's hands were bound, and his body was subjected to brutal and cruel beatings.

“Leave me alone!” Clark screamed, but his voice trailed off as the blows continued to fall. The slaps and kicks were relentless, and each blow seemed more brutal than the last. The officers, fueled by hatred and fear, showed no mercy.

With each blow, Clark fell further and further, his body shaking under the unleashed violence. The scene grew darker and more painful with each passing moment. Finally, exhausted and on the verge of unconsciousness, Clark was dragged into a cell.

Thrown into a cold, desolate cell, his body aching and covered in bruises. The cell was dimly lit, with a small window looking out onto the dark hallway. As he lay on the floor, despair enveloped him. The hope he had had when he arrived at the station had vanished, replaced by a deep sense of betrayal and defeat.

As the pain set in and consciousness began to fade, Clark thought of Bruce, of how he should have been looking for someone like him instead of facing the brutality of the police station. Anguish and fear for the future filled his mind, and amidst the darkness of the cell, the only question that lingered was whether Bruce would manage to find him before it was too late.

---

Batman moved with agility over the rooftops of Gotham, his cape flapping in the wind as his thoughts revolved around Clark Kent. He knew that if he didn't find him soon, the young man from Kansas was in mortal danger. The Riddler had placed a huge bounty on his head, and Gotham, in its usual chaos, was eager to fulfill the villain's dark plans. The other targets had already been placed in the custody of the GPD, the only one missing from the list being Clark.

As he reached the top of an abandoned building, he saw the agile, stealthy figure of Selina Kyle, the woman who had her own reasons for being involved in the city's criminal underworld. She was leaning on a ledge, staring out at Gotham's horizon of flickering lights and eerie shadows.

“I need your help,” Batman said, his voice deep and serious.

Selina, without turning around, smiled slightly. There was always something mysterious about her smile, a mixture of defiance and disdain. Finally, she turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

“What for? To catch a thief?” he said in a sarcastic tone.

“It’s about one of the Riddle’s targets, Clark Kent. He’s in danger. I need you to find him and protect him,” Batman’s voice was firm, but there was urgency in it.

Selina crossed her arms over her chest and her expression changed to a more somber one. The name "Clark Kent" didn't mean much to her, but it was clear that Batman was asking for more than usual.

“And why should I care about this Kent guy?” she replied, her eyes shining in the dim light. “I’m not interested in saving another man in danger, let alone another rich one.”

“Clark Kent isn’t rich,” Batman said, his jaw set. He tried to remain calm. “But he’s crucial to stopping the Riddler.”

Selina snorted and looked away, her lips pursed. She seemed to be holding back a mixture of anger and frustration.

“Crucial? For what? So that Gotham’s rich can continue to survive while everyone else is dropping like flies? To protect another powerful man who can afford to pay for their security while people like my mother suffer?” his words came out filled with venom. “I don’t care if Wayne’s whore dies. He’s just another rich man taking advantage of the city. First, we have to stop Falcone.”

Batman's eyes hardened behind his mask. Selina's obsession with Falcone was well known, but time was not on her side.

“This is important, Selina,” Batman replied, his tone now more urgent. “Kent is in mortal danger. If we find him, we can stop the Riddler before this escalates any further. Falcone can wait.”

Selina stared at him, her eyes blazing with rage. She seemed about to reject his request until she finally blurted out the truth she had kept hidden for so long.

“Falcone is my father,” he said, his voice cracking slightly.

Batman fell silent. Though he didn't show it, the revelation shocked him. He knew Selina had personal reasons for going after Falcone, but this ran deeper than he had imagined.

“That man…” Selina continued, pain and rage building in her words. “That man destroyed my mother. He abandoned us. I can’t let him go. Not after everything he did. I want revenge on him. And I don’t care how many Kents or Waynes get in the way.”

Batman listened to her in silence, feeling the depth of her pain. But he couldn't let himself be distracted by his emotions, not when Clark's life was hanging in the balance.

“I will stop him,” he said finally, a promise in his voice that made Selina look into his eyes, surprised. “I promise. I will stop Falcone. But I need you to find Kent first.”

Selina stared at him for a few seconds that felt like an eternity. There was an internal struggle in her gaze: the revenge she had planned for years against the man who destroyed her childhood, and the possibility of helping Batman save someone innocent.

She approached him, slowly, her lips almost brushing Batman's, her eyes fixed on his.

“You know, Batsy… you could save yourself if you’d stop being so morally upright all the time,” she said in a teasing whisper, as if she could read behind his mask.

Batman tensed when he heard his name on her lips, but he didn't back away. When Selina tried to kiss him, he stopped her, placing a firm hand on her shoulder.

“This isn’t about us,” he said firmly. “Find Kent. And then, I swear, I’ll go get Falcone.”

Selina looked at him one last time, temptation flashing in her eyes. But she understood that this was no time for games. She snorted softly, as if reluctantly accepting it, and walked away toward the ledge.

“Okay, Batman,” he finally said. “I’ll help you. But you better keep your promise.”

And with a graceful leap, he disappeared into the night, leaving Batman alone, knowing that every second counted in the search for Clark Kent.

---

Clark lay on the cold floor of the cell, his hands and arms shaking and aching from the brutal beating. The dim light in the hallway barely allowed him to see his surroundings, but the echoing footsteps of the guards reminded him that he had to find a way out of there. With each breath, he felt a spark of dormant energy coursing through his muscles, as if something inside him was awakening. He closed his eyes, letting that energy expand, easing the pain a little.

He struggled to his feet, leaning against the wall, and stared at the cell door. Taking a step back, he lunged at it, slamming his shoulder into it. Metal creaked, and the frame shook. He took a deep breath, feeling his strength intensify. He rammed the door again with all his might, and this time, the lock popped, and the door swung open, echoing in the hallway.

Barely believing what he had done, Clark left the cell. Shoeless and barefoot on the frozen floor, he limped forward, leaving a trail of blood with every step. Hearing the crash, a pair of guards approached, alarmed. Clark looked at them, his instincts telling him to keep going. This wasn't a matter of fighting; it was a matter of survival. With a speed that surprised him, he evaded them, moving toward the exit.

His feet were bleeding and aching, but he didn't stop. He ran through dark hallways and locked doors, fueled by adrenaline and fierce determination. Finally, he reached the back exit. He felt the cold air of Gotham hit his face, and without stopping, he ran, blood marking his path. He didn't know where he was going, but he knew he had to find Bruce... and discover the truth of what was happening.

- - -

Meanwhile, at the Iceberg Lounge, Bruce Wayne moved in the shadows, without the dark cloak that normally protected him. This time, he was going undercover. He knew he needed to get in without raising suspicion, using his public identity to avoid prying eyes and awkward questions. His cold, serious face intimidated the guards, allowing him to advance into the bowels of the club, where true chaos awaited.

He was approaching the heart of Falcone's territory. The stifling heat of the club, mixed with the loud music and the bustle of conversation, created a claustrophobic atmosphere. Bruce remained calm, but inside his mind he was calculating the moves necessary to take out Falcone's henchmen. Then he hid. One by one, he took them down, fast and efficient. A sharp blow, a swift movement, and the enemy fell, without even knowing what had hit him.

He was quick to put on his Batman suit, preparing for what was to come. The shadows embraced him again, now with the cape billowing around him, an imposing symbol that inspired fear in all of Gotham's criminals. He made his way through the dark corridors, advancing ever closer to Falcone.

And then he saw it.

There was Selina, betraying her word. She was pointing a gun directly at Falcone’s head, her eyes filled with hatred and vengeance. Batman felt a pang of disappointment and worry. He knew this was personal to her, but he couldn’t let her cross that line. Not only would she lose what was left of her humanity, she would ruin any chance at real justice.

“Selina, don’t do this!” Batman said in a deep, firm voice, taking a step towards her.

Selina didn't take her eyes off Falcone. Her hands were shaking slightly, her finger resting dangerously close to the trigger.

“You can’t understand what he did to me!” Selina screamed, her voice cracking with pain. Her eyes, filled with unshed tears, met Batman’s. “He took my mother from me, he took everything from me.”

Batman approached slowly, keeping his hands visible, wanting to make him understand that there was another way. His words were soft, but his determination did not waver.

“I know what he did to you, Selina. But if you kill him, you won’t just become him… you’ll lose yourself forever.”

Selina hesitated, Batman's words echoing in her mind. She could feel the weight of the gun in her hand, but heavier still was the hatred she had carried for years. She wanted justice, she wanted him to pay. But killing Falcone wouldn't change what had already happened. Batman was right.

Finally, with a shaky breath, Selina lowered the gun.

Batman, without another word, stepped forward and gently took her by the shoulders, pulling her away from Falcone. In her eyes, he saw the inner storm she had fought, and in that moment he knew he had done the right thing. Selina dropped the gun to the ground and looked away, broken, but not having given in to the darkness.

At that moment, the doors of the club burst open, and a group of police officers, along with Gordon, entered the place. Falcone, knowing that his game was over, remained silent, with a defeated expression on his face.

“Take him away,” Gordon ordered as officers handcuffed Falcone and led him out of the club.

The mission was accomplished. Falcone had been captured. But as Batman watched the man who had controlled Gotham for so long being led away, he knew the battle wasn't over. Not with the Riddler still on the loose. And certainly not with Clark in danger, his name on display as the next target of a corrupt, vengeance-hungry city.

Batman looked at Selina, who remained silent, staring into space. He knew that for her this wasn't over. And for him, either.

---

Clark barely made it to a small coffee shop on the outskirts of Gotham. The sound of the bell above the door rang as he entered, but no one seemed to notice right away. He was covered in blood, his face pale, his eyes wild, and his hands shaking. He was shoeless, his bare, dirty feet marking each wobbly step on the floor.

People in the cafeteria started staring at him, but not out of recognition. It was the blood stains on his clothes and the disoriented expression on his face that caught their attention. Murmurs arose among the tables. Two teenagers in the back, short, one with round glasses and the other with long hair and a kind expression, noticed the gravity of the situation before anyone else.

The young man with glasses got up from his seat and, without hesitation, went to Clark.

“Hey, buddy…” he said in a soft voice, placing a hand on his shoulder to steady him. “Sit down, are you okay?”

Clark, still dizzy and not fully understanding the situation, let the boy guide him to one of the tables. He slumped into the chair, breathing heavily, his body barely responding after everything that had happened. He looked at both of them, grateful, but he couldn't form the words.

“I’ll get some towels,” the long-haired boy said, looking at the blood stains covering Clark. “Stay here.”

Clark nodded weakly as he tried to catch his breath, each inhalation becoming more difficult. He put a hand to his side, where he felt a sharp stab of pain. It wasn't just exhaustion; something was changing in his body, something he didn't understand.

The young man returned with a handful of paper towels, beginning to gently wipe the blood from Clark's face and hands. His movements were careful, almost as if he didn't want to cause any more harm.

“What is your name?” the man asked as he continued cleaning.

Clark opened his mouth to respond, but for a moment, he went blank. Confusion and fear clouded his mind.

“Clark…” he finally murmured, barely audible.

“Clark, you’re really hurt. You need to go to a hospital, buddy,” the man with glasses said with concern in his voice.

Clark shook his head, suddenly remembering what had happened. The hospital, the television, the reward… the Riddler. The pictures of him, targeted around the city. No, he couldn't go to any hospital. He couldn't trust anyone.

“No… I can’t,” Clark gasped. “I can’t… stay.”

They both looked at him with a mixture of bewilderment and compassion.

“Look, it’s okay, you don’t have to stay here. Come, I’ll take you somewhere safe. Let’s go to our car.”

Clark, exhausted and out of strength, accepted the help. Somehow, the boys made him feel safe, though he didn't understand why. Maybe it was the genuine kindness, or maybe it was just the desperate need to trust someone at that moment.

Outside, the night was cold. The young man with glasses opened the door of a small car and helped Clark into the passenger seat. Clark slumped into the seat, his eyes heavy, his body exhausted. As the car's engine started, he felt his whole world slowly slip away.

The last thought that crossed his mind before he lost consciousness was the image of Bruce, and the question that had plagued him since it all began: Where was Bruce?

He didn't notice that the long-haired young man took something out of his pocket... or that the man with glasses was heading in the opposite direction to the city.

Then everything went dark.

---

Following Falcone's arrest, the scene at the Iceberg nightclub was thrown into chaos. Cops, detectives, and high-ranking officers began searching every corner, trying to secure whatever they could. But when gunshots rang out outside the club, and Falcone's life was taken by a bullet from the shadows, a dark pall fell over Gotham.

The cops, along with Gordon, soon discovered something that would change the course of their search. Sifting through the Riddler’s network of contacts and resources, they found a key clue that led them to a forgotten apartment on the edge of Gotham. Upon entering, the walls were covered with maps, cryptographic notes, and photographs of his victims, including one in particular: Clark Kent. Kent’s face appeared in more than one image, marked with a stratospheric figure. The highest reward ever offered in the hunt for the Riddler.

Gordon stared at the walls, frowning, his jaw clenched. The Riddler wasn't just a deranged genius. He had a plan far more intricate and cruel than anyone had anticipated.

“We have to find him. Now!” Gordon ordered as a team of officers began tracking down the suspect’s last known location.

Batman, who had been silent, analyzing every detail of the apartment, looked up when one of the officers found a clue. The camera's direction was facing the Riddler sitting in a coffee shop, his face not visible. Surveillance data indicated that the coffee shop was just a few blocks away. There was no time to waste.

---

Batman arrived at the place. The coffee shop was simple, lit by warm lights and filled with unsuspecting customers, oblivious to the chaos looming over them. As he approached the window, he saw him. Sitting alone in a corner, a cup of coffee in his hands, was the Riddler, or rather, Edward Nashton. His unassuming appearance belied the dangerous and twisted criminal that he was.

Batman entered the diner quietly, his eyes fixed on Nashton. The customers went about their lives, oblivious to the tension that was about to explode. Nashton, sensing his presence, looked up. And then, he smiled.

“Late…” Nashton said, his voice soft, but laced with mockery. “You’re always late.”

Batman didn't answer. He walked straight towards him, his intimidating figure casting a long shadow across the table.

“It’s over,” Batman growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Nashton didn't seem affected. He put the cup down and laced his fingers together.

“Do you really think it’s over?” Nashton said, a light laugh seeming to float through the air. “You don’t understand anything, do you? All this… the chaos, the revelations, the murders… it was just the beginning.”

Batman took a step closer, his hands tensing, wanting with every fiber of his being to end this sick game.

“Your plan has failed. Falcone is dead. You have nothing left,” Batman said, trying to read Nashton’s every little gesture.

But Nashton only smiled wider.

“Nothing? Oh, poor Bruce Wayne… Gotham’s prince, desperate for his pet.” Nashton paused, enjoying the shock of mentioning that name. “Do you really think Falcone was the important thing? No, no, no… the real prize, the real target is already out of reach.”

Batman felt a chill run down his spine. Something wasn't right. Something else was going on.

Nashton leaned forward slightly, his eyes shining with excitement.

“You know what the best thing about this game is?” he said, almost whispering. “There’s always someone willing to do anything for a reward. Even just teenagers. And someone… has already hit the jackpot.”

Batman froze for a second. Nashton's words began to click in his mind. Clark. The jackpot was Clark. The chaos wasn't over, it was just beginning.

“Where is he?” Batman growled, leaning over the table, his hands clinging to the fabric of Nashton’s coat.

Nashton let out a soft laugh, closing his eyes as if enjoying the moment.

“It’s already late…” he repeated, reveling in the despair he was sowing. “Much later than you think.”

At that moment, the sound of sirens began to approach the cafeteria. The police were arriving. But Batman didn't need them anymore. He knew that time was running out.

He released Nashton abruptly and walked out of the cafeteria, his mind racing. Clark was in danger, and there was an army of hunters after him.

As the cafeteria doors closed behind him, Nashton stood alone at his table, still smiling. For him, the game had only just reached its most interesting part.

Edward Nashton offered no resistance as officers handcuffed him. As they led him out of the cafeteria, the smile never left his face. For him, victory was already written. The lights of the patrol cars flashed in the darkness, painting the scene in an ominous glow.

Gordon watched the scene, with a mixture of relief and tension. They had finally captured the Riddler, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something darker was to come. It was at that moment that one of the officers approached him, his face pale, with an expression that only announced bad news.

“Commissioner…” the officer spoke softly, as if the words weighed heavily on his lips. “A body was just found on the banks of the Gotham River. A young man… identified as Clark Kent.”

Gordon felt as if the world had stopped for a moment. He glanced at Batman, who was standing a few feet away, watching intently as Nashton was led towards the police vehicle. With a lump in his throat, Gordon approached.

“Batman,” he said, his tone grave.

The watchman turned to him, his eyes sharp and focused as ever. His black cloak fluttered slightly in the night breeze.

“They found Clark Kent…” Gordon hesitated, searching for the right words to express the inevitable. “They found him dead on the riverbank.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Batman stood stock still, his figure unwavering in the gloom. There were no outward signs of surprise or shock. The mask he wore not only covered his face, but any emotion that might try to escape.

“Kent is dead,” Gordon confirmed, though he found it difficult to accept.

For a moment, everything seemed to stop. The air became thicker, charged with an invisible tension. Batman, still tense, seemed to analyze every word, every image that floated through his mind.

“We must inform Bruce Wayne,” he said finally, his voice devoid of any visible emotion. It was an order, cold and calculated, as if it were just another task on his endless list of responsibilities.

Gordon nodded, but couldn't help but notice the weight of the words. He knew what Clark meant to Mr. Wayne, though he'd never fully understood it. He watched as Batman turned sharply and walked away into the shadows, slipping between the buildings like just another shadow in the chaotic city.

As he disappeared into the darkness, Gordon fell silent, wondering what it would be like to break that news to Bruce Wayne. And all the while, the Riddler, from the backseat of the patrol car, was still smiling, as if he already knew the outcome of the story better than anyone else.

- - -

The morgue was cold, as cold as the body lying on the gurney in front of him. The silence was stifling, broken only by the low hum of the fluorescent lights. Bruce Wayne lay still, barely breathing, unable to accept what his eyes were seeing. Before him, the body of Clark Kent, his pale face, his tangled dark curls, and his lips, once warm and soft, now tinted an icy blue.

The officers had retreated, leaving him alone in the room. This moment was his alone, but the weight of reality was crushing him. He walked slowly towards the body, each step echoing in the room. When he reached his beloved, his gaze fell on the multiple wounds that covered his torso, reminders of the cruelty of his murder. Stabbed... so many times, as if his life had not been enough with just one blow.

Clark Kent, Her Clark, was dead.

The thought was unbearable, inconceivable. There were so many things that were never said, so many promises that would never be kept. Bruce raised a shaking hand, gently stroking Clark's hair, as he had done so many times before, but now... now there was no response, no familiar warmth that always soothed him.

His fingers slid down the younger boy's cheek, the skin cold as marble, and Bruce felt something inside him break irreparably. He wanted to whisper his name, to wake him up, to ask him to open his eyes, to look at him once more with that warmth that only he knew. But he didn't. He couldn't. The words were stuck in his throat.

The emotions he had held back for so long finally caught up with him, crashing over him like an uncontrollable wave. The man who for years had been Gotham’s unbreakable fortress now broke, alone and defenseless. Tears fell silently down his face, heavy drops that crashed onto Clark’s chest. He leaned down slowly, hands shaking, and pressed his lips to Clark’s cold, lifeless ones. That kiss, filled with desperation and everything he’d never said, was all he could give him at that moment.

The love of his life, the only person who had ever made him feel truly human, lay before him, broken and torn apart by the hatred that was suffocating Gotham. Bruce, for the first time in years, felt like there was no hope, no redemption, no salvation, only emptiness.

He slowly pulled away, looking at him one last time. He had lost so much in his life: his parents, his friends. But losing Clark… this was different. It was like the last piece of his soul had been brutally ripped away, leaving his alone in the darkness he had always feared.

Bruce Wayne was broken.

He stood up straight, wiping away the tears that were falling uncontrollably. He knew he couldn't stay here much longer, that the city still needed him. But right now, nothing else mattered. The battle he had fought his entire life to protect Gotham, to save it from itself, now seemed empty. How could he keep fighting when the thing he loved most had been taken away?

Bruce walked out of the morgue heartbroken, knowing that nothing would ever be the same. The darkness he had always feared was closing in on him, but this time, he wasn't sure he could escape it.

- - -

Batman entered Arkham with a determination he had never felt before. The shadows of the asylum's corridors embraced him as he advanced, with each step echoing in his mind, his rage growing like an uncontrollable fire. The image of Clark, cold and broken, kept appearing before his eyes. The man who had always maintained his control, who had promised not to cross that line, now felt an uncontrollable desire for revenge.

The Riddler had been waiting for him. He knew it, he felt it. It had all been part of his plan: every death, every clue. And now, it was time for their final showdown. When Batman arrived at the holding area, he saw him sitting behind the security glass, serene, with an expression that bordered on satisfaction. As if the chaos he had caused was a simple game.

Batman stood there in the shadows, watching him through the mirror. His hands were clenched into fists so tightly that his knuckles ached, rage burning inside him. He wanted to break through the glass, smash it with his bare hands, and make him feel the same pain Clark had felt in his final moments. He wanted to hear him scream, beg, suffer.

But he didn't. He stood silently, waiting. The Riddler looked up, his smirk growing on his lips as he saw Batman on the other side of the glass.

“Ah… the great dark knight,” said the Riddler, leaning forward slightly, his eyes filled with a sickly satisfaction. “I knew you would come. Have you decided to solve my latest riddle?”

Batman didn't respond. His breathing was heavy, every beat of his heart thundering in his ears, but he didn't move an inch.

The Riddler sighed, as if the lack of an answer bored him, but he continued.

“You saw it, didn’t you?” he asked with a venomous smile. “You did, didn’t you? Clark Kent… so fragile, so… mortal. What a tragic end for someone so… irrelevant. Does it hurt, Batman? Do you feel the helplessness? Did Bruce Wayne cry? Did he suffer for his whore?” his words dripped with venom. “All of this, every little detail… it was because of people like him. Those… rich people. Untouchables. They think the world is theirs to take and destroy, while the rest of us suffer.”

Batman gritted his teeth harder, but forced himself to stand firm, listening. He knew that if he let his fury run wild, the Riddler would win. But every word that came out of the man's mouth brought him closer to the line he had sworn he would never cross.

“Do you know what it’s like to live in the shadows, Batman?” the Riddler continued, his tone colder. “All of them… those rich, those powerful… they’ve been crushing us forever. But now… now I’m bringing justice. Gotham will finally see the monsters for what they are. Clark… it was simply a warning. A reminder that even those who seem untouchable, like the prince of Gotham… can fall.”

His blood boiled. Everything inside Batman wanted to shatter that glass, to break through the barrier between them and silence the Riddler once and for all. But something inside him, a tiny spark of reason, held him back. He couldn't give him what he wanted.

“What do you hope to accomplish with all this?” Batman growled, his voice low and controlled with effort. “Do you think Gotham will be better off without them?”

The Riddler laughed softly, his smile never leaving his face.

“Oh, you don’t get it, do you? Gotham is rotten to the core. But… with every one of them out of the way… the city can be reborn. The masks will fall, the lies will fade away. Wayne was just the first. And whatever comes next… it will be glorious.”

Batman felt his hands shake, struggling to contain himself. How could someone be so cold, so calculating? The Riddler had destroyed the only light left in his life, and he had done it with a smile.

But I wouldn't give him the pleasure of watching him fall apart. I wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

“What you did is not justice,” Batman said finally, with a calm he did not feel. “It is just an excuse for your own illness.”

The Riddler smiled again, but this time it was more subdued, almost disappointed.

“Maybe so, maybe not…” he whispered. “But I assure you, Batman, what is to come will be far greater than anything you have seen so far.”

Batman took a step back, feeling his rage begin to morph into something deeper, darker. Without another word, he turned away, leaving the Riddler behind him. He knew there was more to come, more chaos, more death. But right now, only one thing occupied his mind: the image of Clark, so peaceful, so vulnerable, on the gurney in the morgue.

And the promise that now burned in his heart. He would avenge Clark Kent. At any cost.

- - -

Chaos had broken out in Gotham with unstoppable fury. The dam holding back the river burst, unleashing a devastating stream of water that swept away everything in its path. The streets were flooded, the city plunged into chaos and panic. The Riddler's followers, armed to the teeth, spread terror in every corner, shooting into the crowd and chasing those attending the new mayor's event. Gotham seemed to be on the threshold of the apocalypse.

Batman stood at the epicenter of the battle, his movements precise and calculated as he fought off the Riddler's minions. Every punch, every kick a reflection of his desperation and pent-up fury. But despite his skill and determination, the numbers of the enemy were overwhelming. Water pooled at his feet, further complicating his fight. Vision became hazy, the sound of gunfire and screams mixing into a relentless cacophony.

Selina, Gordon and several police officers joined the fight, trying to offer reinforcements, but the enemy seemed endless. Hopelessness took over the place. Batman felt the weight of responsibility crushing him, and each blow he received seemed to bring him closer to the abyss.

Suddenly, a bullet struck his side. Pain shot through him like lightning, and his vision blurred as he fell to the ground. Blood mixed with the water that flooded the streets. Every breath became more labored, and the world around him seemed to slow down.

In the midst of his agony, Batman felt a strange calm. The prospect of death was drawing near, and his thoughts turned to Clark. To his loss, to the promise of vengeance he had yet to fulfill. In the whirlwind of grief, his mind wandered to the afterlife, to the possibility of finding Clark somewhere beyond the reach of suffering.

The image of his beloved, serene and peaceful, formed before him. He seemed so far away, so untouchable, in contrast to the horror that surrounded him. The thought of being reunited with him was both a comfort and a burden. What would he say to him? How would he face the betrayal and suffering he had left behind?

Selina and Gordon, seeing Batman fall, redoubled their efforts. Selina ferociously confronted the henchmen, her agility and determination shining with desperate intensity. Gordon organized the police to try to repel the attackers and protect the civilians.

Batman tried to focus on his breathing, fighting the feeling of fainting. He knew he had to hold on, that his fight wasn't over yet. Though the pain was immense and the future uncertain, his mind kept working, coming up with plans, searching for a way out of the darkness.

In the Riddler's prison, the villain watched everything through a window with a wicked smile. His plan was working. Gotham was in ruins, and Batman, the last obstacle, was teetering on the brink of collapse.

The fighting in the streets continued. The Riddler's minions, despite their numbers, were beginning to be overcome. Selina and Gordon's intervention made a significant difference. The city continued to flood, but breaches were also being created in the siege of chaos and despair.

Batman, wounded and weakened, knew that his duty was to keep fighting, even though each second felt like an eternity. As the water continued to rise and the bullets continued to fly, he remained focused on the objective: protecting Gotham, stopping the Riddler, and honoring Clark's memory. His life, his mission, could not end in defeat.

Finally, amidst the storm and destruction, Batman rose with renewed determination. The image of Clark and the promise of justice drove him on. Though the pain was nearly unbearable, the hero continued his fight, hoping that light could emerge from even the darkest of times.

- - -

At Gotham’s morgue, the atmosphere was tense and somber, the water slowly rising. Workers kept to themselves in the shadows, their hearts racing as they listened to the sounds of footsteps from armed intruders trying to force their way in. The place was shrouded in an eerie silence, broken only by the occasional creak of floors and the shaky murmur of employees.

Suddenly, a sinister presence emerged from the darkness. From one of the stretchers, a figure rose, shrouded in shadow and with an aura that seemed beyond human. Its eyes glowed with a deep red glow, and its presence emanated an eerie energy. The figure seemed to move with an unnatural fluidity, almost as if it were gliding across the floor.

The criminals, throwing open the doors, were met with a sight that defied reality. The shadow materialized in front of them, its shape vague and shifting. Without a word, the figure began to drive the intruders away with relentless force. Each of the attackers was flung backwards as if they were mere rag dolls, their screams of surprise and terror filling the air.

As the figure continued its assault, confusion and fear gripped the intruders. None of them could withstand the fury of this dark entity. The doors slammed shut, and the sound of battle faded into a distant echo.

With a final burst of energy, the figure rose from the ground. It floated above the morgue, its movements majestic and ethereal. In the blink of an eye, it launched itself upward, passing through the ceiling with ease, and disappeared into the darkness of the night.

The morgue workers, still shaking with fear, slowly peered out from their hiding places. The figure, which had seemed more like an apparition than reality, was gone. Only the echo of its presence remained, and the feeling that something larger and more mysterious had manifested itself in the morgue that night. They did not notice that a body was missing.

- - -

Outside, the chaos continued. Gotham was flooding and Batman was still fighting with all his might. Meanwhile, the enigmatic savior who had emerged from the darkness disappeared into the night, leaving the city to wonder if a new protector had emerged from the shadows.

Clark found himself floating in the sky, his mind clouded by the disorienting state he had woken up in. The world stretched out beneath him, but he felt suspended between reality and something else. The chill of the air caressed his skin, and as he looked down, he saw Gotham City engulfed in overwhelming chaos. The lights of the city flickered in the distance, and the roar of disaster filtered into his ears with blinding clarity.

Clark noticed the marks on his chest, scars from the battle he had faced at the police station. And the stab wounds in that car. The pain was gone, replaced by a sense of strength and sharpness. He could hear every scream, every siren, every gunshot, with a precision he had never known. His body felt light, as if it were in complete harmony with the air around him.

Realizing he had a mission to accomplish, Clark focused on landing safely. He materialized on the ground in a safe area and quickly changed into some clothes he found on a nearby clothesline. The chaos in Gotham required his attention, and the thought of Bruce in danger motivated him even more.

The new sense of urgency prompted him to move quickly. With every step, he felt energy flow through him, the same energy that allowed him to perform superhuman feats. Clark ran with physics-defying speed, crossing flooded streets and dodging debris, until he found himself in the vicinity of the stadium where the new mayor’s event was being held, where the situation was especially critical.

At the stadium, the Riddler's minions were unleashing terror. Clark watched from a safe distance, assessing the situation with a clarity he'd never had before. Without a second thought, he launched into the attack, using his newfound strength and speed to neutralize the attackers one by one. His presence on the battlefield was like a ray of bewilderment and hope for the citizens of Gotham, who suddenly saw a new figure of protection.

As he fought and helped people escape, he remained alert for any sign of Bruce. Concern for his best friend and his love kept him moving, determined to save not only the city, but also the person who had meant so much to him.

In the midst of the chaos, Clark saw Batman in a difficult battle. The hooded figure was fighting off the last of his henchmen and seemed to be in dire straits. Without hesitation, Clark made his way to him, hoping that his intervention could make a difference.

Finally, when Clark met Batman, the two shared a look of recognition and understanding. Clark looked into Batman’s eyes and recognized him… Bruce… Without words, they joined together in their mission to stop the destruction and save Gotham. The combined strength of Batman and the reborn Clark Kent formed a formidable alliance, capable of facing any threat that came their way.

The sun was beginning to peek timidly over the horizon, dawning a morning that seemed to promise a new beginning for Gotham. The sky was clear, and the chaos of the previous night was slowly fading away as rescue teams worked hard on the scene. The roof of the building had become an improvised shelter for the survivors, who were cared for by medical teams and volunteers.

Batman was exhausted, but his resolve remained undiminished. He moved among the survivors, helping the wounded and offering words of encouragement. At his side, Clark moved with the same intensity and care. With his commanding presence, he helped people with an efficiency that defied comprehension. His movements were a dance of strength and agility, guided by a single-minded purpose.

Among the survivors, a little boy looked at Clark with eyes full of wonder. He had seen how he flew, how he helped people with superhuman strength, and he could not contain his admiration. With a trembling but admiring voice, the boy asked Clark:

"What is your name?"

Clark, with a warm and comforting smile, was in the middle of helping a mother get her son back. Without a specific name for himself yet, he simply replied:

“I don’t have a name yet, little one. But you can call me whatever you want.”

The boy, without hesitation, exclaimed with a mixture of emotion and reverence:

“You are a superhero! You are Superman!”

The word "Superman" resonated among those present, and little by little, everyone began to use it to refer to the stranger with powers who had come to save them. Clark accepted the nickname with humility, recognizing that it was a symbol of hope for the people of Gotham.

Batman, watching the scene, felt relieved and grateful. Clark had proven himself to be a true hero, and his intervention had turned the tide of the battle. Although their identities were still shrouded in mystery and secrets, at that moment, the collaboration between Batman and Superman had become the salvation of the city.

As the rescue teams continued their work, the people of Gotham began to see a brighter future. Batman and Superman stood there, steadfast and determined, and though the cost of the battle had been high, the promise of a new era of protection and justice had been born amidst the destruction.

Batman and Superman stared at each other in silence, knowing that the fight for Gotham was not over, but confident that together they could face any challenge. The city could be rebuilt, and with the collaboration of these two great heroes, Gotham had new hope.

Hours after the battle, Bruce and Clark found themselves in Clark’s apartment, a place that, despite the recent devastation, offered a haven of calm and intimacy. The room was shrouded in soft darkness, lit only by the dim glow of a table lamp.

They both moved with palpable fatigue, the weight of the night weighing on their bodies and minds. As they undressed, the silence between them grew deeper. There was no need for words; shared pain and mutual understanding filled the space. 

They made their way to the bathroom with slow steps, helping each other in an act of tenderness and care that contrasted with the rawness of what they had just experienced. The hot water from the shower fell in a soothing torrent, washing away not only the blood and dust, but also the emotional scars of battle. Bruce, still with an air of gravity, took the time to make sure Clark was okay, while Clark returned the gesture with the same dedication.

When they were done, they dried off and made their way to bed, where they fell back with a sigh of relief. The bed became a sanctuary for them, a place where they could allow themselves to be vulnerable. They snuggled up against each other, the warmth of their bodies providing unmatched comfort.

There were no words that could capture what they were feeling at that moment. The hardships, losses, and struggles of the night seemed to fade away in the safety of their embrace. Each held on to the other with an intensity that spoke of a deep love and need for connection.

With the lights off and calm enveloping them, they gave themselves over to sleep, knowing that, despite the adversities, they had each other to face the future. In the tranquility of this environment, the promise of facing whatever came together became the most precious refuge that both could offer each other. They would sleep for hours and hours. They would probably go see Alfred later. The doubt of why Clark revived, why he has powers… That doubt will be resolved later… 

Now they just wanted to rest.