Summary: Bruce Wayne chooses a very different path from what we know he became in Batman Begins... When he returns to Gotham he becomes a greatly feared and respected Gotham City cop, working alongside James Gordon. Not one criminal has yet escaped the hands of Bruce "Black Panther" Wayne and Jim Gordon, but there are always firsts... An AU take on BB, featuring a completely new, and original, story and situations.

Rating: T for violence, some language, and darkness.

Notes: This story begins after Bruce escapes from Ra's al Ghul's monastry. You'll recognize the dialogue near the end of the chapter from the movie. I referred to the novelization by Dennis O'Neil when writing this. Just to let you know that I didn't make that part up. And as for Bruce becoming a cop... I know it sounds kooky but I hope it isn't as silly as the story progresses.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Batman Begins universe or any of its characters, places, or things.

Black Panther

A Batman Begins fanfic by Haladflire65

Prologue

"Are there any cops in the world that can't be bought? I want to be one of them."

"What's your name?" The young cop gave a handcuffed Bruce Wayne a nudge with his toe. Bruce felt anger flare up from within him but gave no response. He spat out blood to one side and glared up at the policeman.

"I don't wish to tell you my name." Bruce said in English.

"Fool," sneered the cop. "We'll find out soon enough." He nodded to his men. "Take him away."

The others dragged Bruce up to his feet and roughly tossed him into the back of their truck. He was left in the darkness when the men slammed the door shut. Apparently he was alone - no criminals today, it seemed.

Bruce closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall of the truck. The vehicle began to movie; he had no idea where these so-called police were taking him. It no longer mattered, really. He had been a fool. Since he had escaped from the monastary he had nothing to eat. And that had been nearly two days ago. It had been a while since Bruce had been so desperately hungry.

He stole.

Ra's al Ghul had taught him much, but that didn't stop Bruce from bringing out his inner criminal once more. He had no choice. If he couldn't get something to eat soon he would collapse, die, and rot away in this unknown corner of the world. That wasn't how Bruce planned to live the rest of his life.

Perhaps it was because of his weakness, perhaps not. Something went wrong, and the police had caught him. Of course, he could have fought them off easily enough, with all his training, but something - instinct - told Bruce it wasn't the time. He let the police knock him to the ground, beat him a little, and handcuff him.

Now they were taking him away to some unknown prison in the middle of nowhere.

Bruce felt an idea taking shape in his head. It was time to call home.

"Hey! Hey!" Bruce banged his fist on the front of the truck. Only when he shouted for the fourth time they finally responded.

"What the hell do you want?" A cop answered, peeking through the barred flap at Bruce.

"I need to make a phone call."

The cop chuckled. "Forget it. You're a goddamned prisoner, for God's sake." The cop was about to turn away.

"I can give you money." said Bruce. He could tell the policeman was interested.

"How much." This was a command, not a question.

"Twenty dollars."

"You're plumb crazy." The cop chuckled again, but Bruce could see the greedy glint in his eye.

"Just let me make one phone call." Bruce reached into his ninja suit where, for seven years, a twenty-dollar bill had been sitting. He showed it to the man.

"All right. Make it quick." The cop snatched the money from Bruce and handed him a cell phone.

Aren't there any cops that can't be bought? Thought Bruce as he took it. He was almost surprised that he remembered Alfred's phone number.

"Hello?" Bruce could have fainted with joy and affection when he heard his butler's familiar English-accented voice.

"Alfred, it's me."

"Master Wayne?" Bruce could hear the surprise in Alfred's voice, and smiled.

"Yeah, it's really me. Listen, Alfred, I'm in a bit of a... situation here." Bruce very nearly used the word 'mess'. "Do you think you could fly over to Tibet by tomorrow morning in my jet? You'd better bring some cash, too..."

"What in the world is going on, Master Wayne?"

"I'll explain when you get here." Bruce sighed. "You can track a phone call, can't you?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Then track down this phone... I hope you can do it, because if you can't..."

"You'll be lost forever in an unknown part of the world, I think I got that, sir."

Bruce smiled again. "Then good luck with it. I'm being hauled away to prison here, so you'd better hurry."

"Excuse me, Master Wayne, prison? What -"

"See you later, Alfred." Bruce hung up.

"You aren't doing something stupid, are you?" The cop eyed Bruce suspiciously.

"Whatever I'm doing, it doesn't concern you." Bruce leaned back against the wall again, and smiling, despite his rumbling stomach, he mangaged to fall asleep.

"You look quite fashionable, Master Wayne."

Bruce looked down on himself. His black ninja suit was covered in soot, dirt, and some blood. It was the same one he had been given on the day he arrived at Ra's' monastry. Somehow he had managed not to lose his bronze gauntlets, which had proved to be very useful weapons indeed.

"Thanks, Alfred. It's been a while." Bruce smiled and warmly shook Alfred's hand.

Alfred showed Bruce inside the jet.

"What in the world have you been up to, Master Wayne?"

"Now, that's a tricky question to answer." Bruce sat back and sipped the orange juice Alfred had given him.

"Don't you think I deserve a little information, sir? You've been gone seven years."

"I'm sorry, Alfred. But I can't tell you anything right now. Perhaps later, when I'm ready to do so." Bruce did feel guilty, leaving Alfred in the dark like that. He had rescued him, indeed - bribed for Bruce's freedom with the cash he had brought. The cops, in the end, had let him go for an outrageous two hundred and fifty dollars.

"I understand, sir." Alfred sighed. "You were always a private sort or man, were you not?"

"I believe I was."

The men sat in silence for a few moments. Then, Alfred spoke. "What do you plan to do now, sir?"

Bruce remained thoughtfully quiet for a minute. "I'm not sure yet. But... I think... I'm going to become a cop."

"Pardon me, sir? A cop?" Alfred choked on his juice.

"Yes, you heard me right." Replied Bruce calmly. "Over the last seven years, Alfred, I've seen much - but the things that disgusted me most were the the policemen. I've been all over the world. Everywhere, the cops seemed to be more corrupt than the criminals themselves. Take today as an example. Give the bastards money, they do whatever you want them to do. Are there any cops in the world that can't be bought? I want to become one of them."

"But, sir... Do you think you have the... necessary skills to be a part of the Gotham PD? For one thing, the city's teeming with dangerous criminals... And as you said so yourself, you'll be heavily outnumbered by corrupt policemen on your own side."

"I'm trained physically, if that's what you mean about the danger," Bruce tapped his bronze gauntlets. "As for being outnumbered... I'm sure I'll be able to find someone to work with."

"I suppose I'm not in a position to stop you, Master Wayne... But I beg you to make a wise, and sensible, choice."

"I made up my mind long ago, Alfred. I won't turn back now."

Alfred nodded silently in response and gazed out the window. Bruce leaned back and closed his eyes, enjoying the comfort that he hadn't felt for the last seven years.

"Have you told anyone that I'm coming back?" He asked Alfred without opening his eyes.

"I haven't figured out the legal ramifications of raising you from the dead."

"Dead?" Bruce snapped his eyes open and sat up.

"It's been seven years."

"You had me declared dead?"

"Actually, it was Mr. Earle. He wanted to liquidate your majority shareholding. He's taking the company public. Your shares brought in an enormous amount of capital."

"Good thing I left everything to you, then."

"Quite so, sir. You're welcome to borrow the Rolls, by the way. Just bring it back with a full tank."

Bruce smiled, and nodded. Lying back once more, he thought of the horrendous state Gotham would be in right now... And about what he would be able to do to set the city straight again. How much harder than fighting Henri Ducard in a room full of smoke could it possibly be?

Later, Bruce knew the answer - a lot harder.