Gotham Cemetery high on the hill above the City. The sky is an ominous purple and a bitter wind gusts in relays across the hallowed ground.
Within sight of the Wayne mausoleum, a young boy and a few adults stand silently around a newly dug double grave as the priest mutters his intonations. As he finishes, the young boy lets earth slowly drip through his fingers onto the coffins. As rain begins to fall, big gobbets pinging onto the polished wood, Bruce Wayne, who had been standing alone further away, steps forward from the foot of the graves and gently throws one red and one white flower onto the now shining coffins. Briefly, his eyes meet the young boy's but he is unseeing. Desolate. Alone. Numb. Uncomprehending. Empty.
Three days earlier.
Rush hour in Gotham City. The main streets are gridlocked and, as the offices and shops vomit their workers back to their lives, the sidewalks fill with the human drones. Suddenly, there are screams and shouting as people throw themselves left and right parting a way for a motorcycle screaming between them. The maniacal cackling of The Joker rises above the pedestrians as he guns his bike relentlessly through the human stream.
On the main highway, some way behind the same thing is happening as motorists struggle to get out of the way of the Batmobile.
Up ahead, at a crossing, a man with his wife and young son set out across the road. The Joker, now having zig-zagged off the sidewalk and back on the highway, sees them. At full throttle he hurtles towards them, making no concession for the woman or child. At the last second the man manages to throw his wife and son out of the way. But too late. Both he and his wife are killed instantly.
Batman steps out of the Batmobile and looks down at the young boy. He is paralysed with fear, shaking uncontrollably. He walks away, gets back into the Batmobile and screeches off back in the direction he has come.
The night of the funeral.
In a small study on the ground floor of Wayne Manor a fire spits and crackles, sinister shadows filling the room echoing the darkness outside and the mood within. Bruce Wayne sits in a leather chair lit only by the fire and a small directional light, tapping on his tablet.
The door opens and closes again as Alfred is lit briefly by the light from corridor. He strides slowly and deliberately towards Bruce:
"Here are the current Wayne Foundation beneficiaries you asked for", he said leaning forward and handing Bruce a USB stick.
"If I may say so, Master Bruce…"
"No you may not! Not tonight, Alfred", Bruce said sharply, immediately regretting his tone. Alfred carried on, ignoring him:
"….the ability to feel is what sets you apart from the psychopaths in The Asylum. There is nothing wrong or weak in that". And he turned and left the room, slowly and deliberately as before.
In his chair, Bruce Wayne visibly slumps.