Gotham City is my home. I know the reputation this city has throughout the rest of the nation. People from Metropolis, New York and even Bludhaven look upon Gotham as a black hole of crime, corruption and lawlessness. The place where dreams end. A lot of that reputation is deserved, but none of those people have to live here.
My name is Michael Gibson. I'm seventeen years old, and all I want is to get out of this city. In order to do that, I must keep my nose to the educational grindstone and stay out of trouble. When you're talking about Gotham, that's easier said than done.
Everyone likes to talk about The Bat, especially visitors and new arrivals. Live here long enough, and you learn you can't depend on him. Most likely, you'll never even see him. Don't get me wrong, what he does is great. Nobody is better at tracking down the costumed freaks that infest this city than him. The thing is, even The Bat can't be everywhere. The newspapers and television are still full of every crime imaginable, and some I desperately wish I couldn't.
Survival skills are important, and most Gothamites learn them early. On the street, avoid eye contact. Stay out of the path of any wolfpack on the prowl. Blend in and don't draw attention to yourself. When there is an escape from Arkham, stay inside, lock your doors and pray.
You can get used to anything. The underlying fear that gnaws away at a person on a daily basis must be put away if you are going to get on with your life. Last week, Jimmy Hoskins, a classmate of mine, was abducted off the street by a carload of thugs in broad daylight. He was wearing the wrong color. They beat him senseless and then dumped him out on the sidewalk where they found him. Jimmy is still in the hospital. Wrong place at the wrong time, I said at the time. Mom told me I was too young to be a fatalist and a cynic. I replied if that was the worst this city does to me, I'll have made out like Bruce Wayne.
My parents are blue-collar working class people. Dad works as a foreman at Gotham Iron and Steel, while Mom is a nurse at the Kingdom Come Rest Home. They have both lived in Gotham their entire lives, and have seen first-hand its fall from grace. They want me to go to an upstate college next year. Anything to get me out of Gotham. I cannot imagine the sacrifices they've made on my behalf over the years.
So, I know the Gotham environment. The little tips and tricks it takes to get by. But, the hand of fate can be heavy, and you roll the dice whenever you step out on the street.
I was researching a school project on mythology at a branch of the Gotham City Library. I was deep into The Saga of the Volsungs, when the librarian announced it was closing time. I had stayed too late.
Grabbing up all my stuff, I busted out the door, calculating that if I hurried, it was still possible to catch the last bus heading back to my neighborhood. I'd have to take a shortcut, but it was one I'd used before. There was some risk taking it this late at night, but I didn't think it would pose a problem. The important phrase being, "didn't think".
My shortcut ensured that I would have to walk a little way down Monaghan Avenue, a street most people try to avoid after the sun sets. And that is where I found trouble waiting for me like a grim specter.
I first saw her come out of the dark about a block away from me. She was running, which is an excellent way to draw attention to yourself. I stepped well out of her way, but she changed direction and made a bee line straight for me. I moved again, this time to the middle of the street, but she again changed course to match me. By this time, she was close enough that I could make out some details. She might have been on her way to a party or club, or maybe she was a working girl. Whatever plans she had for the night, they had been abruptly changed. The short skirt, hose and platform shoes looked fine, but the gauzy blouse was ripped along one shoulder, Her lipstick was smeared, and her mascera had run down her face. She fell against me and said, "Please, you've got to help me....please." I could see now she had a red whelp on the left side of her face, and that she was terrified.
"Look, I don't...," I began, the stopped when I heard, "Here chick, chick, chick. We're not through playing with you yet." I snapped my head back up the street and felt dread explode in my gut like a grenade. There were five of them, all wearing Diablos jackets. The lead on said, "C'mon sweet thing, leave your boyfriend and come with us. I got some things to show you." I looked at the woman, as she searched my eyes for salvation. The trouble was, I was no kind of savior. "Please," she whispered.
All the survival skills I knew, and everything I had learned about living in Gotham suddenly fell away. The only thing I could think of was something my dad was fond of saying, "when the time comes, you have to stand up and be counted, no matter the cost."
I grabbed the woman and said, "Run. That way.," pointing to the nearest brightly lit street. "Don't stop and don't look back. Go. Now." She took off like a shot. I looked up again, and the Diablos were way too close. She'd never make it. They'd run her down, unless...unless I did something very stupid.
I stepped in front of the gang members and said, "Fellas, couldn't you find your entertainment somewhere else tonight?" They looked at me like I had lost my mind, which was a fair assessment. One of them sneered and said, " Ace, go drag the bitch back here while we introduce our friend to reality." One of the Diablos turned and started to run after the woman. I lunged and tried to tackle him. but he pounded me on the back of the head and kept going. Then the other four were upon me.
I lashed out with a fist, and connected to the jaw of the first one in range, but that was the only shot I got in as they began to rain blows down on me. A hard punch crashed into my nose, and I fell to the ground. When the first kick hit me in the ribs, I knew I was in for hard time.
I never heard him enter the fray. I was so intent on protecting myself, I didn't see anything either. The first clue I had that something had changed, was that the beating had stopped. I looked up and saw him standing behind the gang members. The Bat. He was staring at the Diablos, his cape pulled close to his body. I could feel the fear and tension radiating off the Diablos as the severity of their situation began to sink in. One of them said, "Shit.", and Batman exploded into action.
One heavy boot smashed into the solar plexus of the nearest punk, knocking him into a wall. The impact knocked the air from his lungs in a loud whoosh. Batman moved like a swirling shadow, his every motion a terrible combination of grace and power. There were no snappy one liners. No taunts or threats. Just a laser-like focus on the job at hand.
The moment the first Diablo hit the wall, Batman turned and swept the legs out from under another. The next gang member stepped in and threw a roundhouse punch. Batman blocked it with his arm, then delivered a knee strike to the gut, rapidly followed by another to the chin. The Diablo who had been knocked down by the leg sweep began to rise, but a kick to the head sent him sprawling. The last standing Diablo pulled a knife. Batman dodged the thrust and wrapped up the blade in his cape. He punched the gangster in the face, then turned and broke the knife arm over his shoulder. The Diablo's scream was cut short when Batman threw him head first into a large metal mailbox. It was all over.
I sat there, pain forgotten, with my jaw hanging open. Batman walked over to me and held out a gloved hand. I took it and he helped me to my feet.
"Are you all right, " he asked.
"Yes sir. I...", then a thought crashed through my brain like a freight train. "There was a girl," I blurted, "she ran that way, and..."
"Relax," said The Bat. "She's fine. I took care of that situation first." He took my face in his hands, and turned my head one way, then another. He touched my nose, and I winced in pain.
"Your nose is broken," he said. He turned and went to tie up the unconscious gang members. I just watched him work. When he was finished, The Bat stood up and faced me. "I saw what you did. It was foolish," he said. "You could have been badly hurt or killed."
"Yes sir." That was twice in the last two minutes I had called him sir. "But I didn't know you were around. I was just trying to buy the girl some time."
"You put yourself in danger for someone you've never met?"
"You just did the same thing," I pointed out.
" I was never in any danger," he replied. I couldn't argue with that.
He cocked his head as if listening for something, then said, "The police are on their way. Stay here until they arrive."
"Yes sir." Three times. Damn.
He turned and took out a grappling hook out of his utility belt. "Wait," I said. He paused for a moment. "Thank you." He looked at me over his shoulder, not saying anything, then triggered off the grappling hook. In the blink of an eye, he was gone.
The police took my statement and sent me to the hospital to get checked out. I called home from there, and my parents appropriately freaked out at my brush with greatness. Outside of the broken nose, all I had were some deep bruises and a slightly wounded pride.
I had to go to school the next day with a big bandage on my face. I made up some story about slamming into a wall while skateboarding. Nobody would have believed the truth. With that, I thought my adventure had come to an end.
Three days later, I got a letter in the mail. I wondered when I picked it up why I would be getting anything from Wayne Enterprises. It's a good thing I was sitting down while I read it. The letter explained that I had been chosen by a special committee to receive a full scholarship to any in-state university of my choice. It went on to say that if I kept my grades up and stayed clean, there would be a job waiting for me at the company after graduation. Shock is an awfully mild word for what I felt at this deus ex machina turn of events, especially when I never remember applying for the scholarship.
When my mom read the letter, she just sat there and cried.