[ It's easier when they think he's a ghost. It frightens them, makes them sloppy and gives Bruce room to take them down methodically. Tonight, he was going to give them one more reason to be afraid.
Bruce counts the men surrounding the stranger, decides which would be easiest to attack first and after a third sweep of his eyes, he has his target. He looked younger than the rest, full of nervous energy that he tried to hide behind his weapon, behind Crane's reassurance. But Bruce could see it plainly because he couldn't stay still for very long. As if he were waiting for something to drop down on him.
And very soon, something (someone) does. The Batman.
He's the first to feel the brand pressing into exposed skin. When he screams, Bruce turns on the others that rush him.
But he focuses on the stranger in a mask - the one who says he can be killed. ]
Let's tangle with a tyrant who has the height and weight advantage, yes.
[The man slides his hands into his pockets and stands casually, relaxing his shoulders while tilting his head. His weight shifts onto his right foot. His eyes flicker to the younger man clutching at his face. His mind takes no time in drawing out each and every thread as to what the wound could possibly mean. The physical act of violence; the domination of body and mind. The corretion of behaviour each time you look in the mirror and remember what happened.
The fear of what will happen.
With a quick movement of his hand, he pulls out a small, cylindrical device from inside his pocket: a detonator. His index finger pushes lightly over the button: not enough pressure to activate, but enough to push if the other man in a mask decides to move.]
Are you going to let me leave?
[Is it a bluff? Is it real? The fear of something happening, to people somewhere else, is very real.]
[ Alfred is in his ear. He's reading a spike in energy in some distant part of Gotham. There's another hot signature some miles away. Nothing that directly connects to the man in front of him. But enough that it makes Bruce hesitate. He didn't care if the masked man pushed the plunger and blew them up here. None of these people deserved to see the sun rise.
But he couldn't justify the lives that could be lost by not letting him go now. He'd have another chance. People like this guy? He'd never know when to stop. Maybe the kid who got the brand seared into his cheek would learn the lesson better.
He flicks his gaze from the detonator to the man. ]
Tell me who you are.
[ There's no promise of freedom if he answers. It's not even really a question. Bruce will figure it out regardless. Telling him would just save him some time. ]
[Crane knows that occasionally people need warnings: short and sharp reminders about not crossing the line. He also understands he must fake kindness and empathy to make those people lower their guard. But honestly he lacks the stomach for either, and neither are brought into being while wearing his mask.
He wants to freeze people in their tracks, to root their feet to concrete, to make the light and dark their enemy. He wants to make people afraid. But he also wants to learn if there are people whose curiosity might peak, people who will lose themselves to a moment of recklessness, just to see what could happen.
His own mind is itching to learn while his skin is itching with goosebumps. But he speaks casually, like they are old acquaintances enjoying a meeting. But his eyes are studying the other man with a sharp and obsessive intensity.]
Scarecrow.
[It is an honest answer but also not. It who he is and who he isn't. Batman is a name hiding a name, but he believes it to be his name regardless.]
But as much as you might enjoy my presence for a living, I cannot afford to spend all my time on you. So please don't tell me you're just out here investigating.
[No, you're branding people. He knows full well why.]
[ Scarecrow. A name for the file. Another file to join the dozens of others in the cave back home. Someone new to zero in on. Because from the looks of their surroundings, Scarecrow is the man in charge and Bruce's favorite targets were always the ones who thought they were on top.
Scarecrow didn't have a reason to be afraid. He had his men to buffer him. That plunger in his hand to stop Bruce from tearing the mask away and exposing him to the harsh reality of Gotham at night - it belonged to the Bat and he would not give up his ground easily. ]
There were rumors and then there were bodies. So I thought I would come and see for myself.
[ The brand was just an announcement. A heralding of his coming. And maybe a death sentence for the people who found themselves bearing it in prison. He couldn't predict the future. ]
[That it kills. Like the man said, there were bodies. No matter their number, their deaths are always a waste, requiring him to find new subjects, new places for distribution. His voice reveals little emotion for their passing, treating it as data to process rather than a tragedy.
Boots shuffle across the ground, towards the merchandise. But he looks unhurried and stops them from reaching the table with a softly-spoken gentlemen. What use are pharmaceuticals for which he possesses the results? Better to destroy them than let the Batman process them as evidence, or worse begin development of a vaccine.
In any case, his employees will think twice of entangling themselves in his affairs after this session. Their departure would be inconsequential - they will be silenced and he can always find more.]
That it leads you down a dark and dangerous path. Buyer beware, right?
[Instead, once he lifts his free hand and thumbs down next to the table, those same men begin backing away - towards the various petrol cans stored in a corner of the room. What will the Batman do to stop him destroying the evidence? Maybe he doesn't care about him preventing that at all. Maybe he just wants to see what happens. Because he's curious.]
[ Behind the cowl, Bruce's eyes burn. Because that? That sets something in him alight. He's ready to die. But were the men this Scarecrow surrounded himself ready? He's counted the ones brave enough to remain as they move, shift toward the merchandise. He has the means to put an end to this operation. It sits in the pocket of his belt. Sticky explosives that stop all of this in its tracks.
But he doesn't move. Not yet. Not when Scarecrow agrees with him, but there's something of an elegant edge to it, compared to Bruce's blunt assessment. But it's the same. It's the same. The difference is where it lands on the coin flip - with Bruce who at least wants this to end. Or with Scarecrow who wants it to propagate.
He can smell the petrol as it sloshes in their containers. It means a switch in tactics. Finally, he looks beyond Scarecrow to the men behind him. ]
[The warning is unelegant and undiplomatic. But it stops a handful of men in their tracks. Others follow their example - the bystander effect influencing more into inactivity. Crane tilts his head and takes advantage of no longer being the centre of attention. He inhales and imposes his authority in another way, by encouraging confidence instead of hesitation.
He cannot smell the gasoline, the burlap of his mask makes it difficult, but he can picture it. He understands it represents more than fire. The destruction it brings gives time. To see family, to see loved ones. To pay their medical bills and stay out of prison a little bit longer.]
David, you've been in this game long enough to know what happens next. If you donโt burn it, theyโll find it. All your hard work will mean nothing.
[He isolates the bravest of those standing still; using him to break the others out of their inaction. Does the Batman care enough to learn about the lives of every henchman he comes across? Perhaps. Perhaps not. There are too many of them to count.]
[ Experience has taught Bruce exactly how to divide his attention when missions are like this - outnumbered though never truly outmatched. He takes stock and prioritizes and figures out the list he needs to work his way down.
Scarecrow is the biggest threat of them all - obviously. Their ringleader. He can command their attention with a word (gentlemen). Bruce's attention is never off of him. 3 of the men on his left seem nervous still, fidgety. Likely wary of the Bat and his new branding iron. Would he come for them next? They were a low priority. Dangerous but a threat that could be mitigated.
David he nearly zeros in on, a name he commits to memory. Because he would be next. Bruce remembers the pocket he stored the brand in. ]
David [ The familiarity is almost friendly, though the voice is modulated robotic. But there is nothing friendly about it is there? ] If you've been at this game long enough you know there is no walking away from this. Burn it and your hard work won't mean anything anyway.
Cooperate with law enforcement if you want. But others in your line of work will not be as understanding as I.
[Crane speaks immediately, leaving no room for Batman to make his argument before trying to unbalance it with his own. Better to keep his subordinate in a state of suspended animation than to let him burn or preserve the evidence, others might think. But he understands exactly why he said what he did: he is protective of his possessions after peers and family alike treated him as though he had no rights to anything.
Perhaps. Perhaps not. He also understands this is Gotham. Even with the Batman waging war on crime, there will always be someone to fill that void.]
The Batman is playing divide and conquer. [He addresses everyone by now, not just David.] Obey him if that is what your gut is telling you, but remember that I never branded you as my possessions.
[It's a Catch-22 challenge. If the Batman brands David, Crane wins the argument by proving his allegation is right. Or David escapes his branding and he has defanged that fear.]
[ Bruce eyes sweep over the scene again, takes them in one at time. He knows what Scarecrow is trying to do here: take the venom out of his threat. Because they think they might spend the night in prison instead of the morgue. Because they think the Batman's ethics apply to them. He could have laughed at the absurdity of it. ]
The rules have changed. Because there is no reasoning with people like you.
[ Like the Joker. Who would murder a boy trying to make the world a better place. His hand hovers impatiently over his belt. ]
And I am done trying. So, David, light it if you want. None of you will see the sun rise.
[ Was he bluffing? The Batman did not kill. He never had. Was he bluffing? Were they willing to risk calling him on it? ]
[The threat makes Crane tilt his head to the point it graces his shoulder. His blue eyes are the only part of him visible beneath the mask, their sharp and intense stare a sign of more than curiosity. He is perhaps the only other man who understands that particular threat is empty - though he recognises another threat waits in the wings. One that is as sharp and dangerous as the other is toothless.
But he knows when one focuses on an individual they risk losing sight of people as a whole. David has been isolated from the herd and is exhibiting the tendency to freeze in reponse to a threat. But he has spent more time with his men than anyone. He knows how each individual acts. He knows who will run - he can hear them breaking rank - and who will fight back.
It takes barely a second for the man he suspects to clip his lighter and cast it towards the stash piled on makeshift tables.
He begins stepping backwards. One foot after another. His head returns to its proper angle.]
The sun will never rise in Gotham. No matter how hard you try.
[Can anyone truly eradicate crime? Who will carry on that legacy? Crime has been around before either of them were born.]
[ He knows it. Gotham is built on perpetual cruelty. He's seen it enough to know it's seeped into her bones, it infects her people, it devours the unsuspecting. The sun could never pierce a shroud that deep and thick. It's why the Dark Knight exists at all. Because instead of trying to cast out the darkness, he embraces it. Takes it in. Let's it twist him into whatever he needs to be to keep people safe.
And right now, he's letting it turn him into a weapon of retribution. For every life stolen he wants one in return. Many years ago, he thought he did not have the right to make that decision. That if he had, he would not have been able to stop himself from executing judgement in his own image: cruel and unrelenting. Losing Dick made him see. None of it mattered. All of his efforts. None of it mattered.
When the lighter flies from the man's hand so does Bruce's sticky explosive striking his chest and exploding seconds later. He disarms two more in the chaos that follows. Then whips around for the Scarecrow. He wanted to take his head personally. ]
[Fight. Flight. Freeze. Crane knows every way each man responds. But as he processes the explosion - people scarpering or firing bullets - he experiences an unfamiliar rush. The rush of epinephrine that hastens his breathing. The spark of energy and curiosity. His body urges to surge forward and meet the challenge with one of his own. But his mind enforces a rigid control over his emotions; inflexible and ruthless in twisting him into who he thinks he needs to be.
Someone who stands his ground. Though his urge to flee is pulling one foot towards the backdoor, twisting his body into a strange position as he maintains his grip upon the detonator. He affects a casual stance by sliding his free hand into his pocket.]
Curious.
[Even now, his voice is thoughtful and reflective, rather than afraid.]
To have enough money to spare on all this.
[High-grade military equipment is not his field but he knows it is difficult to bring into your possession. Still, his mind is as swift to think as the bat is to take action. He has yet to realise the identity of the other man but he is beginning to follow the dots.]
[ The bullets don't scare him. They used to, when he was a little boy. He had nightmares about them and would curl up with Alfred until he was too exhausted not to sleep. Then he made himself not be afraid. Forced himself to listen to the pop they made when they left the muzzle of the gun. Forced himself to experiment with them when he was developing his suit so he'd know the right kind of weave he needed to make himself impenetrable. He wasn't afraid of bullets anymore. That's what the cape is for and as the guns around him begin to pop and spray them in wildly in his direction.
Bruce takes his time waits for the lull, small as it may be, and takes down two more. Broken arm for one. Shattered ankle for another. Crane is still here, Bruce can hear him speaking and he does not care that he seems to be putting two and two together. He didn't care at all. He smashes another of Scarecrow's men in the chest, explosive clinging to him and exploding as he yelled his protest. He closes the distance between them, reaches for Crane to haul him in close if his fingers can find purchase in the fabric of his clothes. ]
Tell me who you are!
[ he demands a second time. He wants a real name. Not this alias Crane's cooked up to hide behind (though the Batman certainly had no room to judge that.) ]
[Crane finds himself hoisted forward and hauled off his feet, toes barely scraping the floor. One would expect his eyes to look wide and alarmed, but nothing stands out except their coldness; a bright and enchanting shade of blue.
His head angles to his shoulder. His limbs relax and slacken. His hand refuses to drop the detonator. Fingers are still clawing into his clothing. He imagines them clawing into his chest, towards his heart. Imagines it because he cannot feel it. Throughout his youth, he had never suffered nightmares about bullets - he had endured reality and rocks that were hurled towards his head. But he remembers his eyes being opened - wider than they are now - and how pointless it had all felt.
Certainly, he had not begun delving into his work as a method to cope with all that. But at the same time he knows it to be true. He cannot ignore his own expertise when it comes to himself.
He lifts the detonator. Perhaps his nemesis notices, glances out the corner of his eye, or turns his head. Not that it especially matters. In his false life, he works for the university, for people undeserving of their power and status. During the night? Well...]
I only ever work for myself.
[That said, his free arm moves at speed. His wrist angles to activate a delivery mechanism hidden inside his sleeve - and sends a blast of gas straight into the Batman's face.]
[ He expects resistance. Because that is what experience taught him. They would always try to escape his grasp and they would pay for it. Broken limbs and fingers and toes. A sharp bite from the fins on his arms. It kept them in line, helped him dig out the information he needed. It made them afraid.
Crane isn't afraid. And as irritating as that would have been if it were anyone else, it is mostly a curious thing when it comes to this guy.
He's limp in Bruce's hands so it's his own strength holding him upright though Bruce is of a mind to let the other man greet the concrete under their feet face first. Around them, the fire is starting to spread. Bruce didn't have much time before the smoke would become overpowering.
He catches Crane's movement in his peripheral, the detonator but he knows better than to look. It's meant to distract him and Crane would talk or Bruce would squeeze the answers out of him. ]
You-
[ The rest withers, as Bruce inhales the gas unexpectedly. He coughs, shoves Crane away for distance. He coughs again and wheezes as he tries to clear it from his lungs. But it clings, clouds up his lungs and his vision. Retreat is always a last resort. Only if the situation was untenable. Only if he needed the space and the distance to regroup and find a new angle to attack from.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Bruce counts the men surrounding the stranger, decides which would be easiest to attack first and after a third sweep of his eyes, he has his target. He looked younger than the rest, full of nervous energy that he tried to hide behind his weapon, behind Crane's reassurance. But Bruce could see it plainly because he couldn't stay still for very long. As if he were waiting for something to drop down on him.
And very soon, something (someone) does. The Batman.
He's the first to feel the brand pressing into exposed skin. When he screams, Bruce turns on the others that rush him.
But he focuses on the stranger in a mask - the one who says he can be killed. ]
Here I am. Let's test that theory.
no subject
[The man slides his hands into his pockets and stands casually, relaxing his shoulders while tilting his head. His weight shifts onto his right foot. His eyes flicker to the younger man clutching at his face. His mind takes no time in drawing out each and every thread as to what the wound could possibly mean. The physical act of violence; the domination of body and mind. The corretion of behaviour each time you look in the mirror and remember what happened.
The fear of what will happen.
With a quick movement of his hand, he pulls out a small, cylindrical device from inside his pocket: a detonator. His index finger pushes lightly over the button: not enough pressure to activate, but enough to push if the other man in a mask decides to move.]
Are you going to let me leave?
[Is it a bluff? Is it real? The fear of something happening, to people somewhere else, is very real.]
no subject
But he couldn't justify the lives that could be lost by not letting him go now. He'd have another chance. People like this guy? He'd never know when to stop. Maybe the kid who got the brand seared into his cheek would learn the lesson better.
He flicks his gaze from the detonator to the man. ]
Tell me who you are.
[ There's no promise of freedom if he answers. It's not even really a question. Bruce will figure it out regardless. Telling him would just save him some time. ]
no subject
He wants to freeze people in their tracks, to root their feet to concrete, to make the light and dark their enemy. He wants to make people afraid. But he also wants to learn if there are people whose curiosity might peak, people who will lose themselves to a moment of recklessness, just to see what could happen.
His own mind is itching to learn while his skin is itching with goosebumps. But he speaks casually, like they are old acquaintances enjoying a meeting. But his eyes are studying the other man with a sharp and obsessive intensity.]
Scarecrow.
[It is an honest answer but also not. It who he is and who he isn't. Batman is a name hiding a name, but he believes it to be his name regardless.]
But as much as you might enjoy my presence for a living, I cannot afford to spend all my time on you. So please don't tell me you're just out here investigating.
[No, you're branding people. He knows full well why.]
no subject
Scarecrow didn't have a reason to be afraid. He had his men to buffer him. That plunger in his hand to stop Bruce from tearing the mask away and exposing him to the harsh reality of Gotham at night - it belonged to the Bat and he would not give up his ground easily. ]
There were rumors and then there were bodies. So I thought I would come and see for myself.
[ The brand was just an announcement. A heralding of his coming. And maybe a death sentence for the people who found themselves bearing it in prison. He couldn't predict the future. ]
no subject
[That it kills. Like the man said, there were bodies. No matter their number, their deaths are always a waste, requiring him to find new subjects, new places for distribution. His voice reveals little emotion for their passing, treating it as data to process rather than a tragedy.
Boots shuffle across the ground, towards the merchandise. But he looks unhurried and stops them from reaching the table with a softly-spoken gentlemen. What use are pharmaceuticals for which he possesses the results? Better to destroy them than let the Batman process them as evidence, or worse begin development of a vaccine.
In any case, his employees will think twice of entangling themselves in his affairs after this session. Their departure would be inconsequential - they will be silenced and he can always find more.]
That it leads you down a dark and dangerous path. Buyer beware, right?
[Instead, once he lifts his free hand and thumbs down next to the table, those same men begin backing away - towards the various petrol cans stored in a corner of the room. What will the Batman do to stop him destroying the evidence? Maybe he doesn't care about him preventing that at all. Maybe he just wants to see what happens. Because he's curious.]
no subject
[ Behind the cowl, Bruce's eyes burn. Because that? That sets something in him alight. He's ready to die. But were the men this Scarecrow surrounded himself ready? He's counted the ones brave enough to remain as they move, shift toward the merchandise. He has the means to put an end to this operation. It sits in the pocket of his belt. Sticky explosives that stop all of this in its tracks.
But he doesn't move. Not yet. Not when Scarecrow agrees with him, but there's something of an elegant edge to it, compared to Bruce's blunt assessment. But it's the same. It's the same. The difference is where it lands on the coin flip - with Bruce who at least wants this to end. Or with Scarecrow who wants it to propagate.
He can smell the petrol as it sloshes in their containers. It means a switch in tactics. Finally, he looks beyond Scarecrow to the men behind him. ]
You really don't want to do that.
no subject
He cannot smell the gasoline, the burlap of his mask makes it difficult, but he can picture it. He understands it represents more than fire. The destruction it brings gives time. To see family, to see loved ones. To pay their medical bills and stay out of prison a little bit longer.]
David, you've been in this game long enough to know what happens next. If you donโt burn it, theyโll find it. All your hard work will mean nothing.
[He isolates the bravest of those standing still; using him to break the others out of their inaction. Does the Batman care enough to learn about the lives of every henchman he comes across? Perhaps. Perhaps not. There are too many of them to count.]
no subject
Scarecrow is the biggest threat of them all - obviously. Their ringleader. He can command their attention with a word (gentlemen). Bruce's attention is never off of him. 3 of the men on his left seem nervous still, fidgety. Likely wary of the Bat and his new branding iron. Would he come for them next? They were a low priority. Dangerous but a threat that could be mitigated.
David he nearly zeros in on, a name he commits to memory. Because he would be next. Bruce remembers the pocket he stored the brand in. ]
David [ The familiarity is almost friendly, though the voice is modulated robotic. But there is nothing friendly about it is there? ] If you've been at this game long enough you know there is no walking away from this. Burn it and your hard work won't mean anything anyway.
no subject
[Crane speaks immediately, leaving no room for Batman to make his argument before trying to unbalance it with his own. Better to keep his subordinate in a state of suspended animation than to let him burn or preserve the evidence, others might think. But he understands exactly why he said what he did: he is protective of his possessions after peers and family alike treated him as though he had no rights to anything.
Perhaps. Perhaps not. He also understands this is Gotham. Even with the Batman waging war on crime, there will always be someone to fill that void.]
The Batman is playing divide and conquer. [He addresses everyone by now, not just David.] Obey him if that is what your gut is telling you, but remember that I never branded you as my possessions.
[It's a Catch-22 challenge. If the Batman brands David, Crane wins the argument by proving his allegation is right. Or David escapes his branding and he has defanged that fear.]
no subject
[ Bruce eyes sweep over the scene again, takes them in one at time. He knows what Scarecrow is trying to do here: take the venom out of his threat. Because they think they might spend the night in prison instead of the morgue. Because they think the Batman's ethics apply to them. He could have laughed at the absurdity of it. ]
The rules have changed. Because there is no reasoning with people like you.
[ Like the Joker. Who would murder a boy trying to make the world a better place. His hand hovers impatiently over his belt. ]
And I am done trying. So, David, light it if you want. None of you will see the sun rise.
[ Was he bluffing? The Batman did not kill. He never had. Was he bluffing? Were they willing to risk calling him on it? ]
no subject
But he knows when one focuses on an individual they risk losing sight of people as a whole. David has been isolated from the herd and is exhibiting the tendency to freeze in reponse to a threat. But he has spent more time with his men than anyone. He knows how each individual acts. He knows who will run - he can hear them breaking rank - and who will fight back.
It takes barely a second for the man he suspects to clip his lighter and cast it towards the stash piled on makeshift tables.
He begins stepping backwards. One foot after another. His head returns to its proper angle.]
The sun will never rise in Gotham. No matter how hard you try.
[Can anyone truly eradicate crime? Who will carry on that legacy? Crime has been around before either of them were born.]
no subject
And right now, he's letting it turn him into a weapon of retribution. For every life stolen he wants one in return. Many years ago, he thought he did not have the right to make that decision. That if he had, he would not have been able to stop himself from executing judgement in his own image: cruel and unrelenting. Losing Dick made him see. None of it mattered. All of his efforts. None of it mattered.
When the lighter flies from the man's hand so does Bruce's sticky explosive striking his chest and exploding seconds later. He disarms two more in the chaos that follows. Then whips around for the Scarecrow. He wanted to take his head personally. ]
no subject
Someone who stands his ground. Though his urge to flee is pulling one foot towards the backdoor, twisting his body into a strange position as he maintains his grip upon the detonator. He affects a casual stance by sliding his free hand into his pocket.]
Curious.
[Even now, his voice is thoughtful and reflective, rather than afraid.]
To have enough money to spare on all this.
[High-grade military equipment is not his field but he knows it is difficult to bring into your possession. Still, his mind is as swift to think as the bat is to take action. He has yet to realise the identity of the other man but he is beginning to follow the dots.]
no subject
Bruce takes his time waits for the lull, small as it may be, and takes down two more. Broken arm for one. Shattered ankle for another. Crane is still here, Bruce can hear him speaking and he does not care that he seems to be putting two and two together. He didn't care at all. He smashes another of Scarecrow's men in the chest, explosive clinging to him and exploding as he yelled his protest. He closes the distance between them, reaches for Crane to haul him in close if his fingers can find purchase in the fabric of his clothes. ]
Tell me who you are!
[ he demands a second time. He wants a real name. Not this alias Crane's cooked up to hide behind (though the Batman certainly had no room to judge that.) ]
Who are you working for?
no subject
His head angles to his shoulder. His limbs relax and slacken. His hand refuses to drop the detonator. Fingers are still clawing into his clothing. He imagines them clawing into his chest, towards his heart. Imagines it because he cannot feel it. Throughout his youth, he had never suffered nightmares about bullets - he had endured reality and rocks that were hurled towards his head. But he remembers his eyes being opened - wider than they are now - and how pointless it had all felt.
Certainly, he had not begun delving into his work as a method to cope with all that. But at the same time he knows it to be true. He cannot ignore his own expertise when it comes to himself.
He lifts the detonator. Perhaps his nemesis notices, glances out the corner of his eye, or turns his head. Not that it especially matters. In his false life, he works for the university, for people undeserving of their power and status. During the night? Well...]
I only ever work for myself.
[That said, his free arm moves at speed. His wrist angles to activate a delivery mechanism hidden inside his sleeve - and sends a blast of gas straight into the Batman's face.]
no subject
Crane isn't afraid. And as irritating as that would have been if it were anyone else, it is mostly a curious thing when it comes to this guy.
He's limp in Bruce's hands so it's his own strength holding him upright though Bruce is of a mind to let the other man greet the concrete under their feet face first. Around them, the fire is starting to spread. Bruce didn't have much time before the smoke would become overpowering.
He catches Crane's movement in his peripheral, the detonator but he knows better than to look. It's meant to distract him and Crane would talk or Bruce would squeeze the answers out of him. ]
You-
[ The rest withers, as Bruce inhales the gas unexpectedly. He coughs, shoves Crane away for distance. He coughs again and wheezes as he tries to clear it from his lungs. But it clings, clouds up his lungs and his vision. Retreat is always a last resort. Only if the situation was untenable. Only if he needed the space and the distance to regroup and find a new angle to attack from.
Tonight, the Batman would retreat. ]