I promised to myself years ago that I would never become the Batman again. Not after the horrors I've seen. Not after what happened to Jason. I swore I'd never let the people close to me die on my account ever again. But why is that guilt-ridden, forsaken thought emerging from the shadows of my scarred mind now, of all times?
Through all the years of keeping a vigilant eye on Gotham, bringing justice to the evil of my once great city, it had repaid me with long, restless nights, broken bones, and a permanent state of weariness. There was nothing to my life besides becoming the Batman. It felt as if being the Bat was my only escape from everything in my life. It became an escape from my past. From my duties as Bruce Wayne. It was an escape from myself.
The moment I entered the cave and habitually put on the cape and cowl, I felt like I was powerful. I felt like I could make a difference in the world. I maintained the idea that Gotham needed Batman more than it needed Bruce Wayne each time I stepped out of the cave and into the night. Bruce Wayne could not avenge the victims of crimes and gangs and bring justice to the ones that turned its back toward it. Billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne could not stand up to the casualties of transgression without being perceived as acting for a publicity stunt in the Gotham Gazette. He can not do certain things that the Batman can. Batman wore no mask. The Batman embodied the genuine beliefs and persistence of a man who could not express his desire for righteousness as his former self. He represented a dependable hope for a dying city that Bruce Wayne could never be.
Even after weeks of no sleep and living double lives, I still put on the persona of business man and Gotham's savior each day and night. I would greet Alfred with a hug, talk with him for a while, and he would lead me down to the cave ready to be handed my business clothes without a comment on my adventures for the evening. I felt bad for doing that to him now and I still do today. He would watch the boy he once tucked into bed go out each night, get beaten to a pulp, and return at sunrise with broken bones, bruised skin, and bloodshot eyes every day. Through all the arguing, conflicts, and spurts of tears and yelling, I ignored his words for the sake of Gotham. Gotham would cave in on itself and rot away in the breeze if I didn't go out and do something about it. He no longer questioned my motives after a while and did as he was told. The thought of putting Alfred through all that makes me sincerely hate myself. But he understood why I did it.
It was after the time of Jason's death that the walls of Wayne Manor came crashing down on me, burying me alive with my regrets. I had experienced loss and sorrow on numerous accounts, but something about the death of my partner Jason sparked a hatred that was building up inside me for so long, climbing up through the dark depths of my soul on a ladder woven of the nightmares I've held back for so long and they were nearing the top. There was so much hate toward myself that it physically sickened me. Jason was so young. He had so much ahead of him. No amount of bullets to my body can constitute the amount of pain and loss I feel each day because of his death. I wanted to kill Joker so bad… I wanted to cross the line I swore I would never take. But killing him would make me stoop down to his level. I would be no different to all the murderers and psychopaths I've locked up over the years. Does that make me any different from them? Was Joker right all along, are we really so much alike? Am I really seen as one of them to Gotham?
So I did the only thing I could do; I stopped being the Batman. It was the only thing I could do to control myself.
Hanging up the cape and cowl had made an easier life for Bruce Wayne. I focused on rebuilding my father's company better than before and my relationship with Alfred grew stronger. I had funded the GCPD with better equipment and weapons to protect the city that Batman no longer did. Security and safety in homes and on the streets became stronger. I conducted many charities, donations, and gatherings to raise awareness to the problems of Gotham. It seemed like I was truly making a difference without being the Batman, a feeling I had never really felt before. I was no longer exhausted each day and the immense responsibility of being the Batman was lifted off my shoulders. Leaving the Batman behind made me realize that I could change the world without being him. Everything seemed so right.
That feeling washed away quickly as I was sitting on the couch watching the news with Alfred. We were laughing and looking back on old memories when the power suddenly went out. Alfred stood up and grabbed a flashlight from the kitchen and journeyed to the circuit breaker to see what caused the power outage. No light was visible as I looked out where Gotham City once buzzed with electricity. I stumbled over desks and chairs as I blindly made my way to the kitchen looking for an extra flashlight. I fumbled through a drawer and grasped the handle when the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I heard a deafening noise cry from the living room. It was all pure static and white noise. As I turned back, I could see bright, white light emerging from the room I was just in. What was going on? What was this?
I leave the flashlight on the counter and creep behind the corner toward the ominous white light. The static is growing louder and fierce. As I peer around the corner, I see the source of the light. The television was flashing, which meant that Alfred must have turned the power back on. That relief left my mind as four bone-chilling words resonated out of the speakers and crept up my spine.
"You are not alone."