So, I'm a big fan of superheroes, especially Batman, and I've been thinking for a while about putting together my own version of the DC universe (possibly with crossovers to Marvel or other franchises). I don't have the time or patience, frankly, to take on a new full-length story right now, though, so I'm going to be doing this as a series of interconnected shorts, probably no more than 500 words apiece, each one focussing on a different point in a particular character's life.
The first one, naturally, will be Batman.
Disclaimer: I don't own DC or any characters originating therein, etc. No money is being made off of this story.
BEGINNING
CRIME ALLEY
HALLOWEEN
A young man stood on a rooftop, his coat flapping slightly in the breeze off the bay. It would have been refreshing, if not for the faint stench of fuel and sewage.
Fitting.
He gazed at the alley below. He'd set foot their only once, since that night. Once to prove to himself that he could, that the memory of the place did not control him. He had been surprised by how normal it looked. Just another dingy Gotham alley, no trace of the ghosts that haunted it. From up here, it looked small. Unimportant. Lost in the endless maze of the city streets.
Gotham didn't care. The world did not care that two lives had been destroyed here, torn from this world by a the random act of a vicious animal. No, not an animal. A man. Another fine citizen of Gotham City. He turned away, and descended to the streets, lost in thought.
He had tried to fix Gotham. The foolish, naive fumblings of an angry young dilitante. He had poured millions of his family's money into fixing Gotham, in memory of his parents. He had bought races for DA and mayor and council and given them to the best men he could find, all of whom had proved to be disappointing in the end. He had given funding for more equipment and training to the GCPD, he had funded soup kitchens and free clinics and homeless shelters. He had thought, foolishly, that peace and justice could be bought like a new suit or a sports car. Alfred assured him that his efforts mattered, that they helped people, and intellectually he knew that that was true. But there were always more, more people, more need, more violence and despair, and even his wealth had not been bottomless. His hands clenched reflexively into fists.
Nothing he did mattered.