Gotham City was draped in its familiar shades of grey and a stunning
umber, the night slowly descending upon the structures in its absolute
grasp. Cars filled the streets, blimps roamed the sky, and pedestrians
wandered aimlessly by the thousands, following their own paths that would
all lead down the same lane in the endgame; of this there was no escape. It
was a perfectly average scene for any urban community, but in this instance
the surreal backdrop that consisted of grey towers, looming sculptures, and
resilient glows, had taken an obscure atmosphere for its own, or at least
the media insisted it had. The papers flooded the city with falsities and
intimidating headlines, talk of corruption in the city hall, clouds
overhead that provoked warning of a ferocious storm, and even a front page
obituary grazed the majority of papers. Commissioner Gordon was dead, and
the sunless haven that Gotham was, could barely take its time to mourn for
the officer... there were worse demons ahead then the death of a seemingly
overdue cop.
"Is this it?" the man asked quietly, sitting laxly in the backseat of the taxi cab, his legs crossed; as were his arms. His head was tilted downwards, and a lean, erected top hat had begun to cant in response, veiling those onyx eyes. "Yes sir" came the gruff voice of the driver, the foreign face peering back anxiously at the passenger. "This is Wayne enterprise?" came another question, the tight lips of the passenger loosening as he became aware of the driver's leer, becoming a well feigned smile at the other's nod. "Wait here" the thin man ordered, pushing open the door with a brief connection with his knee, stepping out in the grey light and standing tall with pride, like an actor ripped from the golden age of film, a regular Humphrey Bogart. "If you leave, I'll kill you" the man said with an eager smile, a deep contrast with the reflection given in those grey, mirroring eyes. Grin or not, the driver knew the other was strict and seldom jested, but that only helped fuel his fear and in a moment, the car accelerated into full motion and flung down the super highway that made up the most of Gotham, a labyrinth of streets and alleys. The man pressed forward, ignoring the ignorant cab driver and swearing a silent oath to repay the favor, but he had other priorities at hand and with a tilted head, the towering force of Wayne's enterprise seemed to glare back at him. "I hope Wayne is prepared dear Willard. I'd hate for him to the bonfire".
He ambled towards the main, revolving doors that would lead into the skyscraper's lobby, but as he passed through the usher, he seemed to fade and became little more then a silhouette, and then, a memory. If possible, the light of Gotham dimmed furthermore at that moment, as if the city itself followed it's own instinct, it's own impulse... but that pulse skipped a beat as in a moment's time, the whole of the tower was in flames, and all that escaped from the inferno was smoke and screams, deafening wails that breached the walls; unfortunately no one could be seen. On cue, the Bat signal was etched into the sky in its blazing glory, drawing the eyes of every citizen who could manage to strain their eyes. But the only response was that of the thundering roar of the fire, and the mourning after.
"Where is Batman?" a small, adolescent girl asked, a few blocks distancing her from the building. Her question was replicated amongst all of Gotham, some spoken out loud, some kept to one's self, but none the less the notion was shared. A million eyes could see the beacon in the city's night, but none of those could compensate for those that were absent, for the blind eyes of a bat.
I suppose you expect me to beseech the lot of you for a review, but unfortunately I'm not that kind of guy. I'm obligated to be open minded however, and read what anyone (if anyone) has to say. But beware, don't flame me for critically afflicting the Batman world. I'm not admitting to any spoilers yet, but no one says Batman, or Bruce Wayne, is dead. Don't speculate when you read my writing, its third person yes, but it's not a monologue and I'm most familiar with artists like John Milton and Edgar Allan Poe, so expect it to be a cryptic outlook.
This is a prologue, not an introduction, not a chapter. The story hasn't even begun, and just to prevent complaints, I have not ruined Batman; this is not a universal affect. This is my own realm, and my own story, and in the dreamscape that is literature, anything is subject to change... so be prepared for a skip in the usual structure. It's my time to shine.
"Is this it?" the man asked quietly, sitting laxly in the backseat of the taxi cab, his legs crossed; as were his arms. His head was tilted downwards, and a lean, erected top hat had begun to cant in response, veiling those onyx eyes. "Yes sir" came the gruff voice of the driver, the foreign face peering back anxiously at the passenger. "This is Wayne enterprise?" came another question, the tight lips of the passenger loosening as he became aware of the driver's leer, becoming a well feigned smile at the other's nod. "Wait here" the thin man ordered, pushing open the door with a brief connection with his knee, stepping out in the grey light and standing tall with pride, like an actor ripped from the golden age of film, a regular Humphrey Bogart. "If you leave, I'll kill you" the man said with an eager smile, a deep contrast with the reflection given in those grey, mirroring eyes. Grin or not, the driver knew the other was strict and seldom jested, but that only helped fuel his fear and in a moment, the car accelerated into full motion and flung down the super highway that made up the most of Gotham, a labyrinth of streets and alleys. The man pressed forward, ignoring the ignorant cab driver and swearing a silent oath to repay the favor, but he had other priorities at hand and with a tilted head, the towering force of Wayne's enterprise seemed to glare back at him. "I hope Wayne is prepared dear Willard. I'd hate for him to the bonfire".
He ambled towards the main, revolving doors that would lead into the skyscraper's lobby, but as he passed through the usher, he seemed to fade and became little more then a silhouette, and then, a memory. If possible, the light of Gotham dimmed furthermore at that moment, as if the city itself followed it's own instinct, it's own impulse... but that pulse skipped a beat as in a moment's time, the whole of the tower was in flames, and all that escaped from the inferno was smoke and screams, deafening wails that breached the walls; unfortunately no one could be seen. On cue, the Bat signal was etched into the sky in its blazing glory, drawing the eyes of every citizen who could manage to strain their eyes. But the only response was that of the thundering roar of the fire, and the mourning after.
"Where is Batman?" a small, adolescent girl asked, a few blocks distancing her from the building. Her question was replicated amongst all of Gotham, some spoken out loud, some kept to one's self, but none the less the notion was shared. A million eyes could see the beacon in the city's night, but none of those could compensate for those that were absent, for the blind eyes of a bat.
I suppose you expect me to beseech the lot of you for a review, but unfortunately I'm not that kind of guy. I'm obligated to be open minded however, and read what anyone (if anyone) has to say. But beware, don't flame me for critically afflicting the Batman world. I'm not admitting to any spoilers yet, but no one says Batman, or Bruce Wayne, is dead. Don't speculate when you read my writing, its third person yes, but it's not a monologue and I'm most familiar with artists like John Milton and Edgar Allan Poe, so expect it to be a cryptic outlook.
This is a prologue, not an introduction, not a chapter. The story hasn't even begun, and just to prevent complaints, I have not ruined Batman; this is not a universal affect. This is my own realm, and my own story, and in the dreamscape that is literature, anything is subject to change... so be prepared for a skip in the usual structure. It's my time to shine.