A one shot I invented while the internet was down over the weekend.
Birth of Batman: Part One:
My Parents…me…the movie…The Mark of Zorro….cutting through the alley…the mugger…he wanted the pearls…two gunshots, and bullets ripped through their bodies….the acrid smell of gunpowder….the bodies on the ground…lying in pools of crimson liquid…stone cold...Dead.
I’m awoken by a scream! For a moment I forget who I am, let alone WHERE! Bit by bit, it comes back to me; I’m Bruce Wayne, in Beijing, ready to test my skills I’ve acquired. I remember renting an apartment in the suicide slums for this sort of thing.
My instincts come back to me, and I shoot out of my bed quickly looking out the window to find the source of the bone chilling scream. One look gives the answer. In the apartment next to mine, a man beats his wife…just the kind of scum I set out to stop.
Making myself ready, I take a look down at the street below. I prepare for the leap across the building. Bracing myself on the ledge of my own window, I soar with a powerful kick off, and as I look below, time freezes. Cars pass by, street lights provide a gloom over the night, and airborne, above it all…that’s the greatest thrill in the world.
A thrill that quickly becomes nightmare when gravity comes into play.
The leap was just short, and not powerful enough. I make a desperate grab for the windowsill of the apartment of the wife beater. I knew the sound I made when crashing in was loud enough to divert his attention from his wife. Seconds later, he comes to the window, trying to peel my hands off of the windowsill. After much struggle, I grab his hands and use his arms as the leverage I need to crawl inside. The two of us trade blows, as my training vanishes. Our instincts take over and we both brawl like animals. My years of discipline and mental preparation unravel as my fist collides with his jaw. He goes for a punch, but I’m too quick. A trip up brings our fight to the floor. I hesitate for a second, giving him the advantage. He pins me, savagely beating me…going to black out soon…blood everywhere…my mind moves, and a memory stirs…
I was in China at the time, only just turned eighteen when I had come to the monk’s temple, already I had mastered the mandarin language. “Come, Mr. Wayne,” he told me, his voice soft, wise, and inviting, he motioned an old, feeble hand toward other pupils. “We were expecting you.” Awkwardly, I walked around, unsure of what to do. At that moment, another man, this one younger, fresher, and stronger walked in.
“This is Master Keodi Ken…he is my best pupil,” the monk said, “Please…fight him.”
I stared at him, aghast. “You want ME to spar against him, but I haven’t even trained yet!”
He gave me a sharp glance; I felt his eyes piercing my soul. “Your training starts now, then.”
I took what I thought was a ready stance, and he quickly dismantled it, breaking me arms apart and taking out my legs, a single blow to the face took me out of the battle.
“Enough!” The monk said, as if calling off an attacking dog. “Do you know WHY you lost?” He asked me.
“Because I wasn’t good enough,” I stated simply.
“Because you THOUGHT you would be defeated,” he corrected me, harshly.
His voice rings in my ears, as my mind goes back to the present day, almost no time had passed. I finally work up the nerve to strike back, as adrenalin rushes through my body and fills me with strength. And yet he still comes, the scum keeps coming at me, no matter how hard I beat him. I know I have to get some distance between us, so I launch a kick at his neck, he backs away, and with brute ferocity, I grab a nearby chair and bring it over his head.
“Who—who are you?” The woman stumbles for words.
“Smith….Winston Smith,” I curse under my breath, praying she’s never read 1984.
Within the week, I find myself in China, visiting a monk I haven’t seen in years.
“Mr. Wayne,” he says, somewhat unsurprised, “I thought you had finished your training here.”
I stare back, the way he had stared into my soul all those years ago. “I can do better…I want to be better…I need to be retrained.
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