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The clock ticks closer to dusk as Batgirl rummages through her closet, torn between two identities. On one hanger hangs her classic suit—sleek black kevlar reinforced with titanium plating, its crimson emblem gleaming under the dim cave lights. Practical, battle-tested, it whispers of midnight patrols and rooftop chases. But beside it dangles a daring alternative: a fitted graphite-gray ensemble with silver accents tracing her silhouette, its cape replaced by a hooded cloak that cascades like liquid shadow. It’s riskier, untested—no armor, but undeniably striking. She pictures Batman’s reaction: Would he raise an approving eyebrow at her tactical precision, or let his gaze linger a heartbeat longer at the bold reinvention? Her grapple gun rests on the desk, her gloves folded neatly beside it. Time’s running out. So—which legacy does she wear tonight?
