Sins of the Son
A Tale of Pre-Batman Gotham
Chapter Two
Wayne Manor was one of the few seemingly unchangeable pieces of Gotham. Even during the lean years of the war, it had sat intact, aloof, resting in the hills beyond Gotham's limits. For Thomas Wayne, just barely thirty years old, it was as alien and changed as the furthest desert he had ever seen. He walked its halls alone for the first time in his entire life. It seemed as if, in the past few years, the world had conspired to increase the weight that Thomas Wayne bore on his shoulders and decrease his ability to do anything about it. First his father, then Winifred. and even now, there were rumblings from Gotham's underworld.
He found himself at that same study window of years before. It was before that window that he had contemplated Gotham's future. It was before that window that he had mourned Walter Donne and it was, before that very window, that the Gray Ghost had been born. Now he stood before it again, looking for answers, praying to whatever god might answer him that he be given a solution, an answer, anything to help him understand why it would always be those who deserved life the most had it stolen from them.
The grandfather clock in the study chimed twelve and Thomas began the long walk to his upstairs bedroom when he heard a soft buzzing from his office. Some months ago, he had installed an experimental device in the warehouse where the Gray Ghost operated. It was designed to trigger an alarm if any attempt was made to breach the premises by force. Racing down the stairs, he grabbed a small satchel containing a spare costume and bolted for the garage.
The neighborhood which housed the dilapidated Maroni Brothers' warehouse had grown even seedier in recent years, but the locals all knew that it was little short of sheer stupidity to go anywhere near it. The fact that someone was attempting to penetrate the Gray Ghost's lair was either a tribute to their genius or their idiocy.
His cloak and mask donned, Thomas Wayne, the Gray Ghost, sped away down the winding road that led through the woods to Gotham City. The police had long since given up trying to follow the gunmetal gray car that sped through the city streets. In the years before he had returned to take his father's place at what had recently become Wayne Enterprises, he had toured Europe and had even spent several years racing cars through the streets of such ancient glories as Paris and Rome. The well planned streets of Gotham presented no challenge to him.
There was no car parked in sight of the Maroni Brothers' building, but that meant little. If anything, it meant that whoever was attempting to gain entry had enough presence of mind not to leave his vehicle in plain sight. Thomas quickly climbed the ladder that led to the roof and moved to the skylight entrance. He saw, from his vantage point, a slender figure descending down a line from the other skylight to the floor. The intruder made almost no noise as he slid along the floor, examining the various neatly organized workspaces that made up the Gray Ghost's base.
Slowly, he slipped beneath the skylight and stood on the catwalk that ran the length of the warehouse. Theatrical effect, he'd found, was always a valuable tool. He was backlight by the light of the moon as he stepped forward and spoke.
"Many have tried to find their way here. You are the first to succeed. You will live to regret it."
The black clad figure spun around and bolted for the line that was still dangling from the skylight. With astonishing quickness, he began to climb the rope. The Ghost pulled a small metal disk from his belt and hurled it toward the figure, intending to stun him. The rope, however, had been jostled by the sudden ascent, and slipped just a bit from its mounting on the roof. Where the intruder's head had been, there was now just rope, and the thin projectile sliced through it with ease. The figure began to hurtle to the floor, but the reflexes of the Gray Ghost were such that before the rope had even begun to tumble, he had attached a second line to one of the overhead pipes and was swinging downward to catch the falling figure. His arm wrapped around an impossibly thin body and his nose caught a whiff of something almost familiar. He landed and saw, for the first time, the figure in the clear outline of the moonlight. The curves of the body were unmistakable.
"You're a woman!"
A cool voice emerged from behind the cloth mask.
"How perceptive of you."
He reached a hand for it, but snatched it back in pain as it was hit hard by the trailing foot of the woman as she finished a backflip, evading his grasp.
"I must apologize, but I really can't stay. Adieu!"
With that, she pulled something from her belt and a line seemed to shoot straight up, attach, then pull her toward the roof.
By the time Thomas made it to the roof, she was gone. All that she left was a small note.
"Lovely meeting you, we must do it again some time. The Sparrow."
He tucked the note into the pocket of his jacket and went downstairs. He had to pack.
Chapter Two
Wayne Manor was one of the few seemingly unchangeable pieces of Gotham. Even during the lean years of the war, it had sat intact, aloof, resting in the hills beyond Gotham's limits. For Thomas Wayne, just barely thirty years old, it was as alien and changed as the furthest desert he had ever seen. He walked its halls alone for the first time in his entire life. It seemed as if, in the past few years, the world had conspired to increase the weight that Thomas Wayne bore on his shoulders and decrease his ability to do anything about it. First his father, then Winifred. and even now, there were rumblings from Gotham's underworld.
He found himself at that same study window of years before. It was before that window that he had contemplated Gotham's future. It was before that window that he had mourned Walter Donne and it was, before that very window, that the Gray Ghost had been born. Now he stood before it again, looking for answers, praying to whatever god might answer him that he be given a solution, an answer, anything to help him understand why it would always be those who deserved life the most had it stolen from them.
The grandfather clock in the study chimed twelve and Thomas began the long walk to his upstairs bedroom when he heard a soft buzzing from his office. Some months ago, he had installed an experimental device in the warehouse where the Gray Ghost operated. It was designed to trigger an alarm if any attempt was made to breach the premises by force. Racing down the stairs, he grabbed a small satchel containing a spare costume and bolted for the garage.
The neighborhood which housed the dilapidated Maroni Brothers' warehouse had grown even seedier in recent years, but the locals all knew that it was little short of sheer stupidity to go anywhere near it. The fact that someone was attempting to penetrate the Gray Ghost's lair was either a tribute to their genius or their idiocy.
His cloak and mask donned, Thomas Wayne, the Gray Ghost, sped away down the winding road that led through the woods to Gotham City. The police had long since given up trying to follow the gunmetal gray car that sped through the city streets. In the years before he had returned to take his father's place at what had recently become Wayne Enterprises, he had toured Europe and had even spent several years racing cars through the streets of such ancient glories as Paris and Rome. The well planned streets of Gotham presented no challenge to him.
There was no car parked in sight of the Maroni Brothers' building, but that meant little. If anything, it meant that whoever was attempting to gain entry had enough presence of mind not to leave his vehicle in plain sight. Thomas quickly climbed the ladder that led to the roof and moved to the skylight entrance. He saw, from his vantage point, a slender figure descending down a line from the other skylight to the floor. The intruder made almost no noise as he slid along the floor, examining the various neatly organized workspaces that made up the Gray Ghost's base.
Slowly, he slipped beneath the skylight and stood on the catwalk that ran the length of the warehouse. Theatrical effect, he'd found, was always a valuable tool. He was backlight by the light of the moon as he stepped forward and spoke.
"Many have tried to find their way here. You are the first to succeed. You will live to regret it."
The black clad figure spun around and bolted for the line that was still dangling from the skylight. With astonishing quickness, he began to climb the rope. The Ghost pulled a small metal disk from his belt and hurled it toward the figure, intending to stun him. The rope, however, had been jostled by the sudden ascent, and slipped just a bit from its mounting on the roof. Where the intruder's head had been, there was now just rope, and the thin projectile sliced through it with ease. The figure began to hurtle to the floor, but the reflexes of the Gray Ghost were such that before the rope had even begun to tumble, he had attached a second line to one of the overhead pipes and was swinging downward to catch the falling figure. His arm wrapped around an impossibly thin body and his nose caught a whiff of something almost familiar. He landed and saw, for the first time, the figure in the clear outline of the moonlight. The curves of the body were unmistakable.
"You're a woman!"
A cool voice emerged from behind the cloth mask.
"How perceptive of you."
He reached a hand for it, but snatched it back in pain as it was hit hard by the trailing foot of the woman as she finished a backflip, evading his grasp.
"I must apologize, but I really can't stay. Adieu!"
With that, she pulled something from her belt and a line seemed to shoot straight up, attach, then pull her toward the roof.
By the time Thomas made it to the roof, she was gone. All that she left was a small note.
"Lovely meeting you, we must do it again some time. The Sparrow."
He tucked the note into the pocket of his jacket and went downstairs. He had to pack.