The dark night held a cruel vice against him: it controlled every aspect of
his life. From the moment he woke up to the moment he finally collapsed
into his bed, the night loomed over him, a permanent presence in his life.
Relationships had been shattered by it, he had been beaten, bashed, burned,
and generally hurt by it, and he had seen lives taken by it. Ah, yes, the
night was cruel. So it was no wonder why his alter ego hated the "night
life" so much.
Bruce Wayne awoke on a cold morning in December and just lain there for a while, staring at the ceiling. His room was quite warm and spacious, so spacious that it sometimes brought the feeling of loneliness. The fireplace on the opposite side of the room was burning merrily, but Bruce felt as though it's cheery flames were an almost unwelcome presence in his room.
He stood, a tall, powerfully built man, and put on a bathrobe. He strode over to the window, and looked on in mild surprise at the amount of snow on the Gotham ground below him. He showered, got dressed, and headed downstairs to the kitchen, where, as usual, his butler Alfred Pennyworth, stood waiting.
"A pleasant night, sir?" Alfred asked as Bruce sat down.
"Hardly," Bruce said, picking up the paper and flipping it open. He read the usual things a man reads in the morning paper: real estate news, stock reports, and the funnies. When breakfast was done, he and Alfred walked down to the huge, museum-like garage that sat at the very base of the huge Manor the two of them resided in. Bruce strolled among the cars at a leisurely pace, dressed in an expensive Italian suit, until he finally rested next to an old, antique Bentley limousine. It had been ages since he and Alfred had driven in it.
It had been his father's favorite car.
Bruce walked past the Bentley and chose a Mercedes-Benz as his transportation for the day instead. Climbing into the back, Alfred joined him and soon the two of them were driving down the dusty road that led away from the prestigious and looming Wayne Manor.
The workday at Wayne Enterprises was a slow one, but day slowly started to turn to night, and Bruce finally decided it was time to leave. He and Alfred headed home, and by the time it was completely dark, Bruce decided that it was time.
He left the confines of his darkened room and walked silently past Alfred on the third floor. He continued down into the library, and finally ended up in the study, facing a large grandfather clock that didn't work anymore. He looked at it for some time, until he finally reached up and turned the hands so that the clock read 10:47 pm.
10:47.
The clock suddenly moved forward, and swung to the side, revealing a long, spiral staircase made of stone, leading into the ground. Bruce walked down this stairway at a quick pace, until he finally emerged into a large dark cavern. Lights slowly came on as he walked towards a room known only as "the Vault." Once inside, Bruce Wayne seemingly died, and in his place, a new figure emerged. This tall figure was adorned in complete black: black boots, black gloves, and a black, scalloped cape. The only thing that would have even suggested Bruce had been there was the fact that this figure hadn't yet put on his cowl.
The black cowl stretched over his head, and at last, Bruce Wayne was no more. The man who stood in his place was some who knew no fear.
The tall man was something you only saw in nightmares. His tall, looming figure crept slowly out of the shadows and walked towards a low, black car that was slowly rising out of the ground. In seconds, the car was racing down the long tunnel that led out into the night, and in a flash, the car burst into the December night, announcing the presence of the man known as to the common crook as "the Bat."
There had been no signal gracing the sky with its luminous call, but he still raced into the dark, dank streets of Gotham City at full tilt, until he finally left the car, protected by devices he had long ago devised, and scaled the building he had stopped at until he was leaping from building top to building top, following no particular pattern or trail.
His route took him to the darkest pits of the city; it was here that criminals usually took their victims, either to kill them or rape them or both. On more than one occasion, he had stopped such an event, but as he prowled tonight, all was silent.
His breath rose in steam before his face. He climbed atop the tallest building in the city, looking down at a very special place, a place that left a burning, hurting sensation in his heart.
Crime Alley.
It was here that Bruce had first been introduced to the mean streets of Gotham; his parents had been shot dead in that alley. Every year on their anniversary, Bruce brought two roses to this spot, in daylight or darkness, to mark their true final resting places.
Tonight was such a night.
He looked on in silence as he let the roses fall to the ground. The two roses met the cold pavement and reminded him of his silent vow; the promise he had made to this Hellhole city. He would have his revenge. He would make sure that it would never happen to someone else.
But along the way, he had lost himself.
CGM
Bruce Wayne awoke on a cold morning in December and just lain there for a while, staring at the ceiling. His room was quite warm and spacious, so spacious that it sometimes brought the feeling of loneliness. The fireplace on the opposite side of the room was burning merrily, but Bruce felt as though it's cheery flames were an almost unwelcome presence in his room.
He stood, a tall, powerfully built man, and put on a bathrobe. He strode over to the window, and looked on in mild surprise at the amount of snow on the Gotham ground below him. He showered, got dressed, and headed downstairs to the kitchen, where, as usual, his butler Alfred Pennyworth, stood waiting.
"A pleasant night, sir?" Alfred asked as Bruce sat down.
"Hardly," Bruce said, picking up the paper and flipping it open. He read the usual things a man reads in the morning paper: real estate news, stock reports, and the funnies. When breakfast was done, he and Alfred walked down to the huge, museum-like garage that sat at the very base of the huge Manor the two of them resided in. Bruce strolled among the cars at a leisurely pace, dressed in an expensive Italian suit, until he finally rested next to an old, antique Bentley limousine. It had been ages since he and Alfred had driven in it.
It had been his father's favorite car.
Bruce walked past the Bentley and chose a Mercedes-Benz as his transportation for the day instead. Climbing into the back, Alfred joined him and soon the two of them were driving down the dusty road that led away from the prestigious and looming Wayne Manor.
The workday at Wayne Enterprises was a slow one, but day slowly started to turn to night, and Bruce finally decided it was time to leave. He and Alfred headed home, and by the time it was completely dark, Bruce decided that it was time.
He left the confines of his darkened room and walked silently past Alfred on the third floor. He continued down into the library, and finally ended up in the study, facing a large grandfather clock that didn't work anymore. He looked at it for some time, until he finally reached up and turned the hands so that the clock read 10:47 pm.
10:47.
The clock suddenly moved forward, and swung to the side, revealing a long, spiral staircase made of stone, leading into the ground. Bruce walked down this stairway at a quick pace, until he finally emerged into a large dark cavern. Lights slowly came on as he walked towards a room known only as "the Vault." Once inside, Bruce Wayne seemingly died, and in his place, a new figure emerged. This tall figure was adorned in complete black: black boots, black gloves, and a black, scalloped cape. The only thing that would have even suggested Bruce had been there was the fact that this figure hadn't yet put on his cowl.
The black cowl stretched over his head, and at last, Bruce Wayne was no more. The man who stood in his place was some who knew no fear.
The tall man was something you only saw in nightmares. His tall, looming figure crept slowly out of the shadows and walked towards a low, black car that was slowly rising out of the ground. In seconds, the car was racing down the long tunnel that led out into the night, and in a flash, the car burst into the December night, announcing the presence of the man known as to the common crook as "the Bat."
There had been no signal gracing the sky with its luminous call, but he still raced into the dark, dank streets of Gotham City at full tilt, until he finally left the car, protected by devices he had long ago devised, and scaled the building he had stopped at until he was leaping from building top to building top, following no particular pattern or trail.
His route took him to the darkest pits of the city; it was here that criminals usually took their victims, either to kill them or rape them or both. On more than one occasion, he had stopped such an event, but as he prowled tonight, all was silent.
His breath rose in steam before his face. He climbed atop the tallest building in the city, looking down at a very special place, a place that left a burning, hurting sensation in his heart.
Crime Alley.
It was here that Bruce had first been introduced to the mean streets of Gotham; his parents had been shot dead in that alley. Every year on their anniversary, Bruce brought two roses to this spot, in daylight or darkness, to mark their true final resting places.
Tonight was such a night.
He looked on in silence as he let the roses fall to the ground. The two roses met the cold pavement and reminded him of his silent vow; the promise he had made to this Hellhole city. He would have his revenge. He would make sure that it would never happen to someone else.
But along the way, he had lost himself.
CGM