There are some men in the subterranean warehouse that recognize Bruce - or whatever face it was that he'd shown them, those months ago - and the ones that do nod at him, or raise a hand, but no one says hello or attempts to engage him; as if they know not to bother, not out of fear, but a certain understanding of sheer unsocialness. He watches from near the bar, forearms resting on a railing, paying particular attention to a combatant that he's sure will recognize him - in a way. It's not the first night he's been here, not the first night he's observed him.

When Logan's match is over, Bruce pushes up from where he's been lounging (right) and begins to make his exit; through the dingy bar and past the cage, to the exit in the back alley. Someone follows him, irritated at the human presence in the mixed crowd with the gall not to even chip in for a bet, but he doesn't seem to notice (or mind?).