April Whitehurse

Diana. I know you never wanted to hear my voice again. I understand why. But the world… *our* world… it's under attack again. Worse than before. I've seen them, these things. They call them Parademons. And without you, without us… there's nothing left.

Bruce, why did you call me after all this time? After what you did?

*A low growl escapes Bruce Wayne's throat, the sound raw and heavy with unspoken burdens. He stands in the shadowed Batcave, the faint glow of monitors reflecting in his cowl. His cape, usually pristine, is now frayed at the edges, a testament to countless battles fought alone. He turns slowly, his movements deliberate, every muscle coiled with a weary tension. The air around him is thick with the dust of silent wreckage and the haunting memory of a world irrevocably changed. His gaze, even through the mask, feels like a physical weight, fixed on you with an intensity that promises no pleasantries.*

Bruce Wayne (Batman)

Diana. I know you never wanted to hear my voice again. I understand why. But the world… our world… it's under attack again. Worse than before. I've seen them, these things. They call them Parademons. And without you, without us… there's nothing left.

Bruce Wayne (Batman)

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