Chapter Two

From The Harbour

Alfred Pennyworth had long been in the employ of the Wayne Family. He had a very close friendship with Thomas and Martha Wayne, serving them for years in their enormous estate. They gave him everything he could ever want, a home, a job and a family. Bruce was the closest thing he had to a son of his own, although he saw him as more of the mischievous nephew he never had.

Some say that a butler would be a demeaning and degrading job, serving someone, having to follow orders and clean up after other people all day long. But Alfred thought otherwise. It was the best job he could have. It wasn't even really a job for him, it was his life. Keeping the Thomas, Martha and Bruce all happy is all that mattered to him. He had everything, until that night almost twenty-years-ago. That night that he had off while Thomas and Martha took Bruce out to see a film. That night that he answered the door anyway.

"Are you Mr. Pennyworth? The butler?" a policeman asked, standing in the doorway, his police car idling in the driveway with the red and blue lights flashing, but the sirens turned off.

"I'm afraid there has been an incident," he said, "Mr. And Mrs. Wayne have been murdered."

Since then, his life revolved around raising Bruce. Raising that nephew he never had. In so many ways, Alfred lost his family that night. Thomas and Martha, both of them gone. Victims of Gotham City. But Bruce was young, he saw it all, his innocence was taken in that one moment.

Two shots. And his life was changed.

Alfred devoted his life to raising Bruce to the best of his abilities. How Thomas and Martha would have wanted. Would they have wanted their son to grow up fighting crime? Maybe not. But no one will ever really know. No one even really knows Bruce's motivation to fight crime. Is he really as righteous and virtuous as he claims to be, trying to save Gotham City and drive out the criminal element that have taken and changed so many lives? Or was he simply out for revenge. Bloodthirsty and angry, wanting vengeance for what this city did to his parents, did to his entire life.

Bruce would claim that it's not about avenging his parents, it's not about satisfaction, it's not about him, it's about Gotham and making it safe. Making it so people don't have to be scared to leave their homes.

Alfred stepped down the large curved staircase into the darkness of what Bruce jokingly called "The Batcave." It was his lair, his method of escapism, putting on a cape and going into his cave. That's when he would cease to be Bruce Wayne, CEO of Wayne Industries and become Batman, The Dark Knight.

In Alfred's hands was a silver platter, on top of the platter was a bowl of soup with a side of bread and a glass of red wine.

"Your dinner sir," Alfred said, placing the platter on the table next to Bruce.

Bruce sat there in his chair, half in costume, his mask and cape weren't on, but the rest of his suit was. In front of him was a giant computer screen, taking up a large portion of the wall in front of him. At his fingertips were various keys, buttons and knobs, all controlling one of the most powerful computers in the world.

Bruce Wayne had the computer designed to be fast, powerful, reliable and have access to any intranet in the world. If he needed a file on someone, his computer would be able to get it.

"It's chicken soup sir, you'll be needing to eat something warm if you plan on going out in the cold tonight," Alfred recommended.

"Thankyou Alfred," Bruce noted without looking away from the screen.

The most powerful computer in the world and he still couldn't find out where Waylon Jones was hiding.

"Master Wayne, might I suggest taking a night off? You've been out searching for this crocodile man for weeks. If he has any sense, he'll be staying inside hiding from the rain tonighth, as you should be too sir."

"I can't Alfred," Bruce stated, pushing more buttons, bringing up more files on his screen, "the more time I waste, the more lives Jones will take. Besides, if what they're saying on the news is true, and Gotham is headed for a flood, then maybe that will flush Croc out in the open."

A red light began flickering on the screen with the words relevant news alert glowing on the screen. Bruce clicked it, bringing up a streaming video from a news website. On the screen was a red haired woman, done up in make up with a microphone brought up to her mouth. In the background, waves were smashing against rickety boardwalks, boats were rocking up and down on the heavy current and a mist seemed to fog up the surroundings. The sound of heavy rain and hail pelting against tin warehouses sounded more like machinegun fire an

"THIS IS VICKI VALE, REPORTING AT GOTHAM HARBOUR," the woman on the screen had to yell into the microphone as loud as she could as strong gusts of wind lapped against her and the video camera filming her, "WHERE A KIDNAPPING HAS OCCURED, ACCORDING TO WITNESSES, A YOUNG GIRL WAS CARRIED OFF FROM A BOAT DOCKED HERE BY A LARGE DEFORMED MAN IN A TRENCH COAT. THE POLICE ARE SPECULATING THAT IT COULD BE THE WORK OF WAYLON JONES, ALSO KNOWN AS THE KILLER CROC!"

By the time Alfred had picked up the platter of soup, Bruce had already put his mask on and was turning the ignition on in the Batmobile.

Another night of crimefighting for Bruce, and another night home alone for Alfred, with his only surviving family out searching for a seven-foot tall crocodile at the Gotham Harbour.