CHAPTER 1
THE NIGHT THE WAYNE FAMILY DIED
It was Christmas Eve; the happiest time of young Bruce Wayne's life. He had turned eight this year, and asked for so many gifts, the envelope hardly fit into the mailbox for Santa Claus.
Bruce was your typical eight year old boy, besides his billionaire status and education. Thomas, his father, believed in nothing but the best education for his son. Bruce had been taught by high-ranking professors ever since the age of four, mastering multiple languages, and studying at advanced levels in all forms of education. For an eight year old boy, he knew more than most high school students.
Martha, Bruce's mom, held tightly on his hand, as they walked through the darkness of Gotham City. They had just left the cinema, where Bruce witnessed his first ever Zorro movie; his hero. The masked vigilante who operated outside the law in times so long ago, to help stop crime, and promote justice across the land.
"Hi-ya!" Bruce shouted, as he punched and kicked the air. His parents chuckled at his ambition.
Taking a shortcut to their vehicle, the family slipped into the darkness of an alleyway. Young Bruce, even though courageous, was still a little scared of the dark. He retreated into the middle of his parents, and held on both of their hands. This was all the protection Bruce needed. His mom's warm hand, and his father's bold smile.
Out of the blackness came a shadow, a few feet in front of the Wayne family. A cold shiver ran down Bruce's neck. His eyes widened as the shadow drifted closer. Suddenly, his parents stopped, and so did he.
Bruce didn't understand, but this shadow had blocked their way, and there was a glistening object in the man's hand. As the shadow stepped into the light, Bruce now knew what was happening.
The man held a gun, aimed right at Thomas's heart.
"Money... Jewelry..." The man's grumbled voice was nearly inaudible. Bruce hid behind his mother, who sheltered him from sight. Thomas reached into his pocket, and drew his wallet. He handed it over. The man turned the gun to Martha, and looked straight at her necklace.
"Pearls." The man growled.
"Don't point that thing at my wife!" Thomas yelled, stepping in front of Martha. And then came two shots; two flashes; and two bullets.
Thomas and Martha both fell to their knees. The man turned, and ran back into the darkness in which he came.
"Mom! Dad!" Bruce cried out, falling to his knees beside them.
"It's okay, Bruce," Martha whispered, her eyes filling with tears, "Give your mom a kiss."
Bruce leaned forward and kissed his mom on the cheek. He could feel the cold hand of death creeping over her. He took her hand in his, and looked to his father.
"Son, it'll be okay... You'll be okay..." Thomas murmured, his eyes slowly fading.
"I love you, Daddy!" Bruce whimpered, taking his father's hand.
"I love you too, Son... Make me proud." Thomas made himself smile, as the breaths came slower, and gulping was the only way he could get air into his lungs.
Bruce turned to his mother, who was now motionless; and then, back to his father, who looked at him one last time. Tears streamed down Bruce's cheeks, and then came a horrible sobbing cry, filling the darkness with sorrow and pain.
Bruce bowed his head as the snow fell, covering up the red-stained snow...