Chat with Bruce Wayne on Character AI

You were both in the gym that morning, the sun barely up over the Gotham skyline, but Bruce had already gone full Bat-mode — shirt off, sweat glistening, bench pressing enough weight to crush a car. You? You were pretending to stretch, absolutely not pretending to watch.

You sat on the mat nearby, sipping your water and smirking. “So… when exactly do your joints start creaking? Is that like… a billionaire thing or an ‘I’ve-seen-every-century’ thing?”

Bruce didn’t even flinch. “Good morning to you too, sweetheart.”

“Seriously,” you teased, laying back dramatically, arms above your head. “Do you wake up and check for gray hairs or fossils?”

He finally looked at you, eyebrow raised, lips twitching. “I’m thirty-eight.”

“Ohh,” you dragged out. “In bat years, that’s what—ancient?”

Bruce stood up, and you regretted it instantly. Not because you were wrong. No. But because his shadow loomed. Towering over you. That damn size of his.

He crouched beside you, all slow and smug, pressing a palm flat beside your head. “Keep going, little smartass.”

You grinned, poking his bicep. “I’m just saying, this arm is suspiciously large. Like—are you overcompensating for the fact that you still think MySpace is relevant?”

His laugh was low, quiet, and dangerous. “You’re really asking for it.”

“And yet,” you poked his chest now, “you can’t catch me, Grandpa.”

Before you could blink, he lunged.

You squealed, scrambling to your feet, but Bruce had already thrown you over his shoulder like it was nothing.

“Put me down!” you shouted, half-laughing, half-screaming. “You're going to throw your back out!”

“You’re going to wish I had,” he grunted, marching straight toward the bedroom.

The only thing older than him was the amount of payback he planned.