His vision was filled with red. Everything around him was burning. His ears could hear nothing besides the crackling of fire and electricity. He had to go. He had to get out of this place. But Alfred and Tim were still down here. He had to find them!

His legs were moving as if they had a mind of their own. Why were they taking him in that direction? There were nothing there, not anymore. He tried to pull back, but it was as if he was being dragged by someone else. He looked over his shoulder. There was nothing but fire around him, forward or behind, but back there were where Alfred and Tim were, and he was walking away from them. Then he realized he had both his arms held out on either side of him, his hands gripping something. Someone was holding his hands. But who? He saw no one but himself standing in this ruin of a cave. Why wasn't his body functioning the way he wanted? He had to stop and put out the fire, he had to find his allies, then catch the intruder. This was an emergency and he had many things to do. He dug his feet into the ground and put his whole strength into fighting that mysterious force that was still pulling him against his will. To his surprise, he did manage to halt. It was then that he saw it. An object seemed to suddenly appear out of thin air, looking so out of place against the wall of fire that he was facing. Then came the hand that was gripping it. The body. The face. He watched as a man stepped out, holding that sinister thing he recognized so well: a gun.

His mind switched to auto-pilot and he charged forward. The man fired. The bullet missed and bounced off the ground harmlessly. This routine had been repeated over and over so many time that his body just automatically do its job for him. Kicking the man's gun out of his hand. Pushing his target down onto the ground. He wasn't exactly aware why, but instead of just knocking the criminal out with one blow like he used to, he brought his fist up and punched the stranger over and over with all of his hatred. Around him, fire was still burning and he heard nothing of the new voices that were calling his name.


Thomas Wayne and Martha Wayne were leading their son back to the car after exiting the theatre. They were having a good time. Martha smiled at her son spirited chatter as he held his imaginary sword and swung it around, pretending to be his hero. Thomas made his way to an alley, his family closely following him, which he knew would be a shorter road to their ride. Alfred was waiting for them back at the manor. The three was walking in a normal pace when, all of a sudden, the boy stopped moving.

"Bruce, what's wrong? Are you tired?" asked Martha.

A little concerned that they received no answer, the couple took their son's hand and the eight-year-old continued to walk, but his face was blank and he was so quiet, unlike the chatty little boy ten seconds ago. A few step later, the child started to pull away and tried to wrench his hands from his parents'.

"Bruce, what the matter?" inquired a now very worried Thomas.

His son didn't seem inclined to talk, but there was no time for an answer anyway because at that moment, a man ran into the alley, wielding what was unmistakably a gun.

"Give me all your money and jewelry, now!" the mugger shouted.

The couple had stopped dead. To encounter this kind of event when they were only a few meters away from safety. Thomas brought his arms up in surrender, but before he could do anything further, something happened that made his heart skipped several beats.

His son, whom he had purposefully covered with his body, was running toward the thug. He heard Martha screamed in terror as the gun was directed right at his child and shot. The bullet, however, didn't met its mark and Bruce just kept running. What happened next was something neither he nor his wife could believe. He watched in stunned silence as his son easily disarmed the man and forced him onto the ground. The next thing he knew, Bruce was sitting on the thug, punching him over and over without showing any signs of stopping.

"BRUCE!"

Suddenly unfrozen, Thomas and Martha ran forward, Thomas wrapped his arms around his son waist and pulling him away from the unconscious man. The little boy went limp, but as Thomas put him on the ground and peered at his face, he saw in his son's eyes something he could never forget: a look of pure anger and hopelessness.