Hello!

This story is hardly a story, I think. The idea I had was to make a bunch of one shots, introspective ones, about how a few characters would react if Batman died. It turned out to be a bunch of one shots with a common story, mostly trying to show how those characters see Bruce Wayne and Batman.

Also, the idea of death is something that I think should be more discussed, especially in comics – we see death all the time in heroes' stories, but they are mostly treated in a very superficial way. I tried to go deeper than we usually see, even though I realize I'm no expert.

I first wanted this story to have just one chapter, but it would be too long, so I think is more comfortable for the readers if it's divided in the six chapters you will see. And it gives to each chapter a more individualistic nature, that, in the end, turned out to be better for the story, I think.

It must be said that I don't intend to write more in this story, but I do realize that much more could be added into it. I'm open to suggestions, but I make no promises. I'm kind of satisfied with what I have so far, and, most likely, no new chapters will be added.

Finally, I apologize for the mistakes you will most certainly find in this story, and I would appreciate any feedback about grammar mistakes or bad use of words that you might notice. Reviews are always welcome, and I hope you can enjoy this story.

And, of course, none of the characters in the story belong to me. Not even one. However, I hope my job writing them wasn't all bad…

Thanks to all readers,

AliaAtreidesBr

I've been to too many funerals.

I've seen too many deaths.

It started too soon for me. The first loss, the first corpse, the first pool of blood from a lifeless body.

Too soon. All too soon.

I've always seen death as the most dreadful thing. Death is a pair of cold, dark hands that rip off from you the most precious thing… the most precious person. Death is a loud blast, a burning dark hole that transforms... that changes one you know into vitreous, immobile eyes, and expressions of fear and pain.

That's death for me.

Death is my enemy. Death is the one thing I fight against. Death is the one I dare night after night. Other people death. My own death.

I play with it. I make its territory my own. It can't reach me using weapons, or heights, or people, or luck… I've fooled them all, one by one, and all together. I took chances, and I won.

So death got its revenge. It attacked me where I'm most vulnerable. It went for my friends, for my family, for the kids, for the innocent. I fought those dark claws.

And sometimes I lost.

However, I never gave up. I wouldn't. I won't. I put myself in harm's way. I showed it my chest, I offered it my face. I knocked out the blades and the guns, the falls and the fires.

I survived.

And yet, somehow, I just kept wondering…

It's not a matter of "if"… it's a matter of "when".

It's a matter of how.