NOW
Bruce Wayne lay in the rubble of The City hall, decorated in uniform. The grey stitching ripped, revealing his bloodied and scarred skin. His cape ripped in multiple places and his body seeming to be broken. His bright blue eyes show defeat, or, at least one of them. For the other is stained with red. Blood. His vision now impaired, only seeing the right side of everything through a red haze. Grey hairs peek out from ripped spots in the jet black cowl and a bat-ear is broken in half. Is this the end?
SIX DAYS AGO
Bruce Wayne sits in an armchair within the living room of Wayne Manor. The television is on, yet the lights are off. His eyes have glazed over and are used to the grey hair falling down in front of them. He doesn't care....The news is just about the only thing he watches. His expression never changing. He is solely focused on the main stories, those that interest him, those that talk about the crime. The crime that has over-taken what was once his city. A dark cloud looms over Gotham. A cloud of evil. The villains may be long gone, locked away, only text in the history books. But crime is still there. The gangs rape, steal, kill and take-over. Innocents are still forced back under their rocks while the big-time criminals bathe in their wealth. All still controlled by one invalid man who hasn't walked in over Thirty-Five years.....
"Today, a family was butchered by the gang known as 'The Circus' who base their traits on the once rampant serial killer known as 'The Joker'. The two children, husband and wife were reportedly dismembered before being publicly displayed with smiles painted onto their faces....But now, we go to Willy with the sports."
The female anchor says. Bruce does nothing but wince. His eyes close. He wants to stand up, he wants to throw down his cotton-fiber slippers and put on the cowl. He wants to deal-out justice, although every time he thinks about it, the images come flooding back. Images that he can't bring himself to believe. To fully remember.....His eyes snap open, he clanches his teeth and he squeezes his fingers together into fists. The house is empty, he's the only one who's stepped foot into the house for years, Bruce Wayne is but folklore now, but WayneTech still thrives. Bruce stands, and lets out a scream as blood splatters against his mental barriers. the images. the laughter, it all floods back. But he must...He knows he must...
Bruce walks over to the book-case slowly. Cracks and pops howling from his sore joints. He pulls on 'Gone with the wind' and a high-pitched whining can be heard, followed by a fowl rattling sound. The book=case swerves over and comes to haulting stop. Revealing a dark corridor. A stair-case.....He steps in....He walks down the long and winding staircase. His breath the only distinct sound. He finally makes it to the bottom. Pitch Black. This is a position he's been in far to many times. The darkness seems to bother him now, not very much, but it is a fear. His heart thumps quickly before he lifts his arm, and wraps his fingers around a lever, he pulls down as a large 'thwap' can be heard. A soft ticking sound hits his ears and lights turn on, directed from the rooftop. Bats fly, and whine. The Batmobile. the bat-computer. the Bat-Plane...It's all there....Even the Bat-Suit. Black and Grey. His history. His life-story. It was all there.....
He makes his way to the display case and opens it. He stares at the bat-crest in the chest of the suit.
".....I'm coming....."
He whispers before pulling it from it's place. In minutes, the ignition starts on the Batmobile and he speeds out of the cave, through the old waterfall and onto the 66. On his way from the Outskirts of Gotham to the hub of the city....Tonight...The bat flies....It takes fourteen minutes for him to reach crime alley. He pulls to a stop and leaps from the batmobile. His cape catching the soft wind behind him and curling up, doing it's night dance to the pressure of it. The howling laughs can be heard from a nearby alley, and he knows he's close....close to justice.....His legs move faster than he could ever imagine. Faster than he's moved in years. Adrenaline, before the battle. He twists the corner and see's the three of them. Faces painted likes clowns, stained suits. His nostrils curl up and he snarls. They turn their heads, awestruck before grinning.
"Look what we got here....Must be some little kid tryin' to be the Batman....Newsflash, kid....Batsy's dead....And so are you..."
One of them says, flicking open his switchblade. Bruce smirks beneath the cowl...Kid....Ha. If only they knew.
"Justice."
Bruce found himself saying before leaping into the air. The cape flying behind him. His arms flew out in front of him, releasing three batarngs from his grip. Each landing directly into their solar-plexus. They all gasoed before falling. The Batman came down on top of the one that had spoke. He lifted his fist up and brought it down on the clowns face, he hated him. He hated him because he was filth, the same filth that he had refused to kill before. Something he regretted so much now.
Bruce's knuckles contacted the clown's face and there was a warm feeling on his hand, everything went soft as his fist sunk into the clown's head. Splattering the crimson-red liquid all over his suit and the pavement. He stood. Staring down at the clown. Justice....Justice....Justice......The other two were already dead. One had suffered from a heart-attack, the destruction of your friends head at the hands of a bat-suited creature will do that to you. the other blead out, the batarang having ripped through his skin to severely. Good riddance....
Bruce found himself standing and turning to the brick wall of the alley beside him. He opened a compartment on his utility belt and pulled out a can. he shool it, and then spray-painted a Bat onto the wall. This was his city. And he would take it back....
HOURS LATER
The parapalegit-man sit in his wheel-chair listening to the news report about the bat and The Circus thugs. His long nose exhaling a line of thick smoke, he sucked on the cigarette while staring out of his monacle. He was the owner of this city, The Clown had been incarcerated for years and Two-Face had slipped off the grid. Probably dead. All the others were dead. Not including Catwoman who was now nothing but a pet-shop owner. All the others were dead. They had to be. they hadn't shown their faces in years, although if they weren't, Cobblepot knew that with this new Batman, trying to cash in on someone elses schtick, all the old rogues who were still around would show up....They had too...
TO BE CONTINUED.
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