Hero's Blood
Chapter Two
Shadows flickered across the walls of Thomas Wayne's study. They cast an eerie light on the large paintings that adorned the walls; paintings of the men and women of the Wayne line. They were all powerful-looking people, men and women alike. Though the images spanned fifteen generations, they all bore features in common. When one looked into the eyes of the men in the family they were struck by the grimness there. Every Wayne man seemed to have an expression of stern resolve on his face, and eyes that bespoke the heavy weight of duty that they felt. Always counterbalancing that look, though, was the look in the eyes of the Wayne women. A wonderfully alive companion always accompanied those men who bore their duty so heavily. Their eyes twinkled with the joy of simply being alive and their faces seemed to drift back and forth between angelic and playfully devilish. Those grim men seemed to have found comfort there, for the only hint of gentleness in their visages appeared to be in the hand that grasped their mate's shoulder.
For young Thomas Wayne, there was no such soft touch, no such comforting closeness. His face was dark and clouded as he scratched away in the thick, leather-bound journal on his broad desk.
July 30th
"I watch as the city rots. Today, as I drove home, I passed a small theater. The doors had obviously been shut for years, the windows boarded, yet, for some reason, there was smoke emerging from a hole in the roof. Curious, I decided to investigate. After prying open one of the doors, I entered to find two small children sitting, huddled about an open fire where the seats had once been.
Until that moment, I had not truly understood the depths to which this city had descended. I had become able to read the news in the morning and, while disgusted, not be terribly shocked at the villainy that occurs daily. I could hear sirens from my office window and ignore them. I could see smoke at night and dismiss it. But to see those two, who couldn't have been a day over seven years of age, sitting there, it made me sick.
I knelt beside the older of the two, the sister, and asked her how they had come to be in that theater.
'We'd nowhere else to go, sir." She'd said. "They missed us when they came for pa, but then we'd nowhere to go."
I asked her what she meant; who had come for her father.
"The Boss's men. Pa worked for the Boss."
"What did your father do?" I asked her.
"Pa's a policeman." The little one murmured, his face a mixture of angelic pride and crushing sadness.
Suddenly I began to have an inkling of what had happened to these children. The more I grew to understand, the greater the fury boiling within me became.
"Why did these men come for your Pa?"
"They said it was 'cause he didn't make things work. He owed 'em favors, they said."
I found out that their names were Joan and Johnny Napier. I took them from that theater and delivered them to an orphanage on State Street, where I gave the headmistress a substantial sum to ensure that they were well-taken care of. With some little amount of effort, I discovered that their father had been Detective-Lieutenant Bob Napier, late of the Gotham PD Internal Affairs Division. Apparently he'd failed in his duty to "The Boss" in protecting those officers on the force who were in his pocket. He'd paid the price, and the mob had orphaned his children, then tried to see to it that they rotted on the streets.
This can not be allowed to continue. My attempts to speak with Comissioner Hargrave have been met with polite refusal. The Globe refuses to print my letters. I am left with little recourse. If Gotham's wounds are to be dressed, I must see to them myself."
With a thud, the book slammed shut. Thomas dropped it into a desk drawer and walked out of the study into the garage. Waiting for him in the anteroom were five men, all dressed in black.
"Gentlemen. You know why you are here."
There were soft nods from around the room. These men that he had gathered were of the rarest sort. They were men of means, men of influence, but not enough to change the world in which they lived.
"Tonight we begin. For too long we have sat and watched our city descend into darkness, watched as its people are driven into the abyss. Tonight that ends. For every policeman that they pocket, we will find one who we can sway to good. For every crooked politician that they maneuver into office, we will match them.
This is not without risk. We dare the men who control this city to strike us down. We challenge the authorities to hunt us. With every inch we take, they will hate us more. I do not tell you this to scare you, but to ensure that you know that we may not live to see our city brought back into the light."
There was silence in the room as Thomas turned his back to them for a moment.
"This is not a battle that can be fought with money alone. I came to you men not only because of the potential power you wield, but because this is a task that will require us to be strong in body as well as mind. We are not knights of old, nor are we soldiers. But we are strong men and, together, we can remake Gotham into what we dream it should be."
Turning to them, he held a hunting rifle in his hands. His intent was clear.
"Who stands with me."
Silently, man after man stood from his chair, and with each, Thomas felt his heart swell. It was a beginning.
Chapter Two
Shadows flickered across the walls of Thomas Wayne's study. They cast an eerie light on the large paintings that adorned the walls; paintings of the men and women of the Wayne line. They were all powerful-looking people, men and women alike. Though the images spanned fifteen generations, they all bore features in common. When one looked into the eyes of the men in the family they were struck by the grimness there. Every Wayne man seemed to have an expression of stern resolve on his face, and eyes that bespoke the heavy weight of duty that they felt. Always counterbalancing that look, though, was the look in the eyes of the Wayne women. A wonderfully alive companion always accompanied those men who bore their duty so heavily. Their eyes twinkled with the joy of simply being alive and their faces seemed to drift back and forth between angelic and playfully devilish. Those grim men seemed to have found comfort there, for the only hint of gentleness in their visages appeared to be in the hand that grasped their mate's shoulder.
For young Thomas Wayne, there was no such soft touch, no such comforting closeness. His face was dark and clouded as he scratched away in the thick, leather-bound journal on his broad desk.
July 30th
"I watch as the city rots. Today, as I drove home, I passed a small theater. The doors had obviously been shut for years, the windows boarded, yet, for some reason, there was smoke emerging from a hole in the roof. Curious, I decided to investigate. After prying open one of the doors, I entered to find two small children sitting, huddled about an open fire where the seats had once been.
Until that moment, I had not truly understood the depths to which this city had descended. I had become able to read the news in the morning and, while disgusted, not be terribly shocked at the villainy that occurs daily. I could hear sirens from my office window and ignore them. I could see smoke at night and dismiss it. But to see those two, who couldn't have been a day over seven years of age, sitting there, it made me sick.
I knelt beside the older of the two, the sister, and asked her how they had come to be in that theater.
'We'd nowhere else to go, sir." She'd said. "They missed us when they came for pa, but then we'd nowhere to go."
I asked her what she meant; who had come for her father.
"The Boss's men. Pa worked for the Boss."
"What did your father do?" I asked her.
"Pa's a policeman." The little one murmured, his face a mixture of angelic pride and crushing sadness.
Suddenly I began to have an inkling of what had happened to these children. The more I grew to understand, the greater the fury boiling within me became.
"Why did these men come for your Pa?"
"They said it was 'cause he didn't make things work. He owed 'em favors, they said."
I found out that their names were Joan and Johnny Napier. I took them from that theater and delivered them to an orphanage on State Street, where I gave the headmistress a substantial sum to ensure that they were well-taken care of. With some little amount of effort, I discovered that their father had been Detective-Lieutenant Bob Napier, late of the Gotham PD Internal Affairs Division. Apparently he'd failed in his duty to "The Boss" in protecting those officers on the force who were in his pocket. He'd paid the price, and the mob had orphaned his children, then tried to see to it that they rotted on the streets.
This can not be allowed to continue. My attempts to speak with Comissioner Hargrave have been met with polite refusal. The Globe refuses to print my letters. I am left with little recourse. If Gotham's wounds are to be dressed, I must see to them myself."
With a thud, the book slammed shut. Thomas dropped it into a desk drawer and walked out of the study into the garage. Waiting for him in the anteroom were five men, all dressed in black.
"Gentlemen. You know why you are here."
There were soft nods from around the room. These men that he had gathered were of the rarest sort. They were men of means, men of influence, but not enough to change the world in which they lived.
"Tonight we begin. For too long we have sat and watched our city descend into darkness, watched as its people are driven into the abyss. Tonight that ends. For every policeman that they pocket, we will find one who we can sway to good. For every crooked politician that they maneuver into office, we will match them.
This is not without risk. We dare the men who control this city to strike us down. We challenge the authorities to hunt us. With every inch we take, they will hate us more. I do not tell you this to scare you, but to ensure that you know that we may not live to see our city brought back into the light."
There was silence in the room as Thomas turned his back to them for a moment.
"This is not a battle that can be fought with money alone. I came to you men not only because of the potential power you wield, but because this is a task that will require us to be strong in body as well as mind. We are not knights of old, nor are we soldiers. But we are strong men and, together, we can remake Gotham into what we dream it should be."
Turning to them, he held a hunting rifle in his hands. His intent was clear.
"Who stands with me."
Silently, man after man stood from his chair, and with each, Thomas felt his heart swell. It was a beginning.