Lesson Number One:

Keep Your Friends Close and Your Enemies Closer

Viewpoint: Barry Harmon

"You son of a bitch!"

Again, his fist met my face. Again, and again, and again…

At first, I was trying to resist. I really was. Part of me even thought I could manage to push him off. And then maybe I could bolt for the door.

Yeah right…

"You don't know a goddamn thing about me!" he yelled.

His voice… It sounded… different. I mean, I had heard Bruce when he was angry. He was angry a lot. And I mean a lot. More than any normal person ever should be. But like I said, this was different. Scary different.

He sounded like… a demon.

"I'm sorry!" I sputtered. I felt something small and wet trickle off my lip.

A tooth.

"I'm sorry!"

Another blow to the face.

Does this guy ever let up?

"You are sorry!" Bruce sighed, finally picking himself up. He stared down at me. His eyes looked as cold as ice… "You're a sorry excuse for a man. And that's all you'll ever be."

He turned and ripped his towel from the floor, used it to wipe his brow. I didn't dare move from my spot on the floor, right beside the punching bag.

Ironic, isn't it? He came there to punch a bag. And he ended up punching his best friend.

Over and over again.

In the face.

I guess I had it coming.

All I wanted was for Bruce to have some fun.

But Bruce never has fun.

Take the Christmas before this night. Perfect example.

There was a party at one of the sorority houses. Alpha Phi something or other.

And when I say party, I mean a party. Girls, booze, the works.

And did Bruce partake in any of the holiday cheer?

Of course not! He stood outside, brooding like the brooder he is.

I tried to lighten his spirits… But I think you know where that gets me.

Punched over and over again.

In the face.

… Okay, like I was saying, maybe I deserved it.

Maybe I got frustrated with him. More so than usual.

And maybe I said something I shouldn't have.

Viewpoint: Bruce Wayne

I don't know why I've been thinking back to that night…

What am I saying? Of course I know why.

Because I feel guilty.

I've depended on Barry a lot lately. Without him, I don't know if The Batman would still exist.

He'd be just another urban legend, left dead in some alleyway dumpster.

Lunch for the rats.

It's strange to remember my life before all… before all of this.

Of all the people I could have chosen to help me on this… crusade of mine, I chose the one guy who gave me the most hell.

As if my life weren't Hell enough.

I remember it clearly. It was my senior year at the university. I was in the gym. I was alone. With the punching bag.

With "Joe Chill."

Joe Chill. Such a simple name. A simple name for a simple man who committed one simple act.

If only my life were simple… I hardly know the meaning of simplicity. And I refuse to see it.

To me, there is no black or white. There are only shades of gray.

I resolve to be the lesser of two evils.

Nothing sounded better than my fists colliding with that bag. Again and again.

Like music to my ears.

Each time, it felt like I was making myself… better.

I was a machine. Rage was my fuel.

And that was just the way I liked it.

"Bruuuuuce?" a voice called from behind.

To be honest, it startled me. And I don't startle easy. I was usually alone in the gym. Especially on Saturday nights.

Between breaths, I answered him. I wasn't about to stop my work-out.

"What do you want, Barry?"

I could feel his sigh.

"Bruce. You've changed, man. You used to have a little fun. Not much. But some. And before, I didn't really mind."

Barry stepped around to face me. I didn't look at him. I just kept punching the bag. Living life on auto-pilot becomes a habit when you…

…When you don't have many friends.

"I didn't mind before, really," he continued. "But now, this is getting ridiculous. One man can't handle the party alone. I mean, a few chicks, sure… But the whole freshman class…?"

He smiled that strange grin of his.

"Come on, Bruce. You know you could use a break from exercise. Or at least substitute for a different kind of exercise."

I still remember… I couldn't help but smile. Barry was annoying sometimes, sure. But to be honest, he was the closest to a friend I ever had. Still is. And he still knows how to get to me.

"Aha! There we go!" he cheered. "The invincible Bruce Wayne is smiling. Mission accomplished."

I stopped, caught the bag. Grabbed my water bottle from the floor and took a drink.

"Barry… I know how hard it is for you to pick up girls without me there. But I'm not finished here yet."

"Not finished?" he yelped in disbelief. "Man, you talk about this stuff like it's homework. I'd hate to see your to-do list. One o'clock: brood. Three o'clock: brood some more. Five o'clock until one in the morning: beat the living daylights out of a bag. Or an old lady. Or whatever I can get my hands on."

Again, I chuckled. "Barry… This is just… who I am. I have to do this."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he said. "You're gonna be a big, bad FBI agent some day. And they only accept guys in top physical condition. Yadda, yadda, yadda. But you know what I say, Bruce? I say there's no point in having a body like that if you're not gonna use it to take advantage of the endless supply of pu.."

I cut him off.

"Barry. Tell everyone I said hi."

Again, I buried a fist into the bag.

He began to walk away.

We both wish he hadn't stopped…

"You know, Bruce," he said. "Just because your parents are dead, that doesn't mean you have to be."

Again, I caught the bag.

I turned to face him.

And for the first time, my rage truly got the best of me.

I was on him, beating his face in before I knew what had happened.

"You son of a bitch!" I yelled.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

That's all he could say for himself.

But that doesn't really matter…

What matters is, what can I say for myself?

Years and years have passed since that night.

At that time, my training had only just begun.

Now, I am infinitely more disciplined, more capable…

But nothing can prepare me for what I'm about to do.

This may be the hardest challenge The Batman has yet to face.

I'm sitting at the computer. The cave is cold, especially at this hour.

I don't mind.

"God… You're a billionaire and you still can't pay for a decent heating system in this dump?"

I stand and turn, removing my cowl. Barry stops in his tracks, looks me and up down.

I don't get it. He's seen me like this hundreds of times. But he never loses that look, that face that says, "Wow… I can't believe it."

"I can't believe it," he says. "You wear that thing all the time. Like it's your friggin' pajamas."

I smirk. "Barry. Shut up. I want to tell you something."

"What is it, Bruce? Need me to dry-clean your tights again?"

I want to tell him I'm sorry. I really do.

"I… I think there's a problem with the computer again."

He sighs. "Again? Bruce, it's settled. The only reason you ever befriended me was because you knew you'd need a nerd. Am I right? Someone to fiddle with your gizmos and gadgets while you pound the bad guys. Hmmm?"

"Yeah, Barry," I say, stepping towards the car.

"Something like that."