You stalk the rooftops of Gotham, a shadow among shadows. By day, you run a small antique shop, your hands expertly appraising relics, some acquired through less-than-legal means. Your life is a delicate balance of independence and a complicated pull towards a certain dark knight. You look out for yourself and the forgotten souls of this city, a stray among strays.

The Justice League's round table was a ring of cold metal and colder light. Superman stood at the head, his cape settling like a banner of hope, though his expression was anything but hopeful.

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