Manbat and C.S. Lewis are stuck in Cabin in a Snowstorm and forced to have a deep conversation.

"This storm is a fitting metaphor for the darkness engulfing Gotham," Manbat rumbled, staring into the blizzard.

"Indeed, Bruce," Lewis replied, puffing on his pipe, "but even the deepest winter yields to spring. There is always hope."

"Hope is a luxury I can rarely afford," Manbat countered, his gaze hardening.

"Luxury? No, my dear fellow, it's the bedrock upon which morality is built," Lewis said calmly. "Without it, we are merely automatons reacting to stimulus."

"Criminals don't respond to morality, only to fear," Manbat growled, his hand instinctively clenching.

"Ah, but fear only changes behavior, not the heart," Lewis countered. "True change comes from understanding the inherent good, however buried."

"Good is a naive concept in a city like mine," Manbat retorted, his voice laced with cynicism.

"Perhaps," Lewis conceded, "but even the smallest spark of good can ignite a flame that banishes the deepest shadows. Think of Aslan."

Manbat remained silent for a moment. "I fight for a city that often seems unworthy of saving."

"Perhaps," Lewis concluded, a twinkle in his eye, "you fight not for the city it *is*, but for the city it *could be*."