Office parties. I hate them almost as much as funerals, but not quite.
Wayne dragged me to a couple in my youth. I hated them then because I didn't understand anything that was going on and because they were boring as hell. I understand them now, but they're still boring as hell.
You can't even really call them parties. They're more like a trial where everyone is the defendant. Lydia smiles at me from behind a tray of hors d'oeuvres.
At least I have someone else in this momentary prison with me.
"Terry!" I roll my eyes as Paxton Powers strolls over to me. He's not the careless young fighter anymore. Now he's more like his father, trying to take you down quietly and subtly. He can't do a thing against me personally, but he's becoming more and more slippery in terms of taking over the company.
"This is a very beneficial soiree you have here. Some prime investors have managed to show up." I glance around with him, totally uninterested.
"Shouldn't you be off courting them then?" Paxton glances at me. His hair's completely gray, but he loves the effect of looking like his father. The only advantage I have over him anymore is that people remember Bruce Wayne more fondly than Derek Powers. Other than that we're evenly matched.
"I would, Terry, believe me, but you see they only attended this party because it was held at Wayne Manor." He leans in closer.
"Meaning they remember the glory days, the days of Mr. Wayne. " He's mocking me.
"Also meaning that they want to talk to you, the inheritor of this museum of nostalgia." He finishes.
Yeah. Like I'm going to further torture myself by chatting up a bunch of investors, listening to their mindless spiels and giving half-hearted ones of my own.
"Sorry Paxton. I have to be a gracious host and make sure everyone's having a good time. It wouldn't look very good for the company if I ignored everyone else, now would it?" Paxton laughs cruelly.
"You're CEO, Terry. You don't have a choice. Besides, it's all for the good of the company. A very large company that Mr. Wayne trusted to you. You wouldn't want to betray his trust, would you?" I have no contact with Paxton outside of Wayne-Powers, but 46 years of fighting have gone by and we've gotten to know each other pretty well. He knows exactly which buttons to push.
Of course I can't let down Mr. Wayne. Have to do it right, have to do it the best. Have to do it just as well as he would have and have to make sure I never abuse everything he gave me.
I hand my drink to Powers and head toward the investors, hearing him chuckle as I do. He used to fight for control over stupid things like this. Now he lets me have it all, doesn't call meetings every week to try and disprove every move I make. He just lays low, making his own quiet plots around me, knowing that he doesn't have to fight and if he doesn't do these things, I have to do them, knowing that I hate corporate responsibilities and because of this hatred I'll make a slip-up sooner or later.
And I allow myself one guilty little thought in the back of my head, behind all the responsibility and the trust that's been placed in me.
I'd like to make a slip-up. I wish I could allow myself to mess up with something that used to be Wayne's, and just let Powers have it.
But I can't, and Powers knows it.
***********************************************************
I crouch on the top of the building, at first watching the reflection of the red bat on my chest in the moonlight, then watching the gang below me.
It's amazing how I can make such a swift transition, from one suit to another, in the space of a few hours.
I watch the leader of the gang laugh like he's having the time of his life and point up at me. He calls himself and his gang the Crimefighters because he thinks it's cute. They spent their time finding criminals, stealing what those criminals stole, and then beating the hell out of them.
It's not THAT different from what I do, but I'm still chasing them.
They turn around as they run and fire at me. I dodge most of their shots, but a couple are disarmingly close.
I miscalculated. Can't miscalculate out here.
I race across the buildings, towards the edge, ready to make a jump to the next building. When I was a mere citizen, that jump would have looked suicidal to me. As Batman, it's just a small step.
I leap. Don't land on the other side. My fingers grasp the edge of the other building, and I hang for a moment in the air.
Too many mistakes.
I pull myself up and continue chasing them. For a second I lose sight of them and stop on top of a building.
Can't lose them. Once you have them, you can't lose them.
I spin around frantically, looking in every direction. Then I feel a large object slam into my back. I fall to the ground, more from shock then actual pain.
I roll over and look up. They've got me surrounded. Another mistake. I begin to fight them off, but there's five of them and they're all trained.
Have to beat them. Have to win.
I have a couple of ribs broken. I hesitate for one second, wondering why the suit didn't protect me. They take advantage of the second- another mistake- and pound into me even more.
Ribs broken but have to keep going. Wayne kept going with bullets in his arms, broken bones, internal bleeding. Have to keep going.
I finally get four of them unconscious, but the leader's still up. The leaders are always stronger than the rest. He begins to run, but I'm not making another mistake tonight. I leap over in front of him, barring his path.
Then he pulls out his gun and fires. I find myself unable to move, frozen in stupid silence that I made such a gigantic mistake. I manage to adjust my position by about a hair before the bullet rips into my shoulder.
Pain. Horrible, horrible pain courses over me. All the time, I never felt a single blow out here. The suit protected me. Now I see blood flowing down my arm, feel like half of my torso's missing.
Have to keep going. Have to beat him.
I charge him, and he falls over with a loud cry of surprise. It takes a couple more minutes of struggling before I have him down too and I stagger off to hide from the police. I don't really have to hide from them, but that's Batman. Batman's never seen. I can't be seen either.
I feel hot tears rolling down my face as I gasp, clutching my shoulder. It's ripped through the suit, leaving a small hole where there once was a protection from pain. It probably doesn't hurt as much as I think it does, but when you haven't felt physical pain for most of your life, your perception of it is off.
Wildly off.
No. I have to stop. Wayne wouldn't be resting. Wayne would definitely not be crying. He wouldn't even notice. Just a flesh wound to him.
I want to move, but I can't when I think that if I hadn't moved by a hair, that bullet would be residing in the middle of my chest, probably happily nestled somewhere in my heart or lungs.
I could have died. Been exposed as the great Batman, sadly and easily stopped by a single bullet. I could have just died, on the top of a building in the middle of Gotham City. I would never see Lydia or my daughters ever again.
It's a reality that I've just realized. Batman's not the great infallible, unstoppable thing that Wayne believed and taught me to believe. All these years I haven't really been invincible out here, I haven't been the continuation of something immortal.
Batman can be silenced by one bullet. That's all it takes. And then where does that leave the man inside of it?
Wayne dragged me to a couple in my youth. I hated them then because I didn't understand anything that was going on and because they were boring as hell. I understand them now, but they're still boring as hell.
You can't even really call them parties. They're more like a trial where everyone is the defendant. Lydia smiles at me from behind a tray of hors d'oeuvres.
At least I have someone else in this momentary prison with me.
"Terry!" I roll my eyes as Paxton Powers strolls over to me. He's not the careless young fighter anymore. Now he's more like his father, trying to take you down quietly and subtly. He can't do a thing against me personally, but he's becoming more and more slippery in terms of taking over the company.
"This is a very beneficial soiree you have here. Some prime investors have managed to show up." I glance around with him, totally uninterested.
"Shouldn't you be off courting them then?" Paxton glances at me. His hair's completely gray, but he loves the effect of looking like his father. The only advantage I have over him anymore is that people remember Bruce Wayne more fondly than Derek Powers. Other than that we're evenly matched.
"I would, Terry, believe me, but you see they only attended this party because it was held at Wayne Manor." He leans in closer.
"Meaning they remember the glory days, the days of Mr. Wayne. " He's mocking me.
"Also meaning that they want to talk to you, the inheritor of this museum of nostalgia." He finishes.
Yeah. Like I'm going to further torture myself by chatting up a bunch of investors, listening to their mindless spiels and giving half-hearted ones of my own.
"Sorry Paxton. I have to be a gracious host and make sure everyone's having a good time. It wouldn't look very good for the company if I ignored everyone else, now would it?" Paxton laughs cruelly.
"You're CEO, Terry. You don't have a choice. Besides, it's all for the good of the company. A very large company that Mr. Wayne trusted to you. You wouldn't want to betray his trust, would you?" I have no contact with Paxton outside of Wayne-Powers, but 46 years of fighting have gone by and we've gotten to know each other pretty well. He knows exactly which buttons to push.
Of course I can't let down Mr. Wayne. Have to do it right, have to do it the best. Have to do it just as well as he would have and have to make sure I never abuse everything he gave me.
I hand my drink to Powers and head toward the investors, hearing him chuckle as I do. He used to fight for control over stupid things like this. Now he lets me have it all, doesn't call meetings every week to try and disprove every move I make. He just lays low, making his own quiet plots around me, knowing that he doesn't have to fight and if he doesn't do these things, I have to do them, knowing that I hate corporate responsibilities and because of this hatred I'll make a slip-up sooner or later.
And I allow myself one guilty little thought in the back of my head, behind all the responsibility and the trust that's been placed in me.
I'd like to make a slip-up. I wish I could allow myself to mess up with something that used to be Wayne's, and just let Powers have it.
But I can't, and Powers knows it.
***********************************************************
I crouch on the top of the building, at first watching the reflection of the red bat on my chest in the moonlight, then watching the gang below me.
It's amazing how I can make such a swift transition, from one suit to another, in the space of a few hours.
I watch the leader of the gang laugh like he's having the time of his life and point up at me. He calls himself and his gang the Crimefighters because he thinks it's cute. They spent their time finding criminals, stealing what those criminals stole, and then beating the hell out of them.
It's not THAT different from what I do, but I'm still chasing them.
They turn around as they run and fire at me. I dodge most of their shots, but a couple are disarmingly close.
I miscalculated. Can't miscalculate out here.
I race across the buildings, towards the edge, ready to make a jump to the next building. When I was a mere citizen, that jump would have looked suicidal to me. As Batman, it's just a small step.
I leap. Don't land on the other side. My fingers grasp the edge of the other building, and I hang for a moment in the air.
Too many mistakes.
I pull myself up and continue chasing them. For a second I lose sight of them and stop on top of a building.
Can't lose them. Once you have them, you can't lose them.
I spin around frantically, looking in every direction. Then I feel a large object slam into my back. I fall to the ground, more from shock then actual pain.
I roll over and look up. They've got me surrounded. Another mistake. I begin to fight them off, but there's five of them and they're all trained.
Have to beat them. Have to win.
I have a couple of ribs broken. I hesitate for one second, wondering why the suit didn't protect me. They take advantage of the second- another mistake- and pound into me even more.
Ribs broken but have to keep going. Wayne kept going with bullets in his arms, broken bones, internal bleeding. Have to keep going.
I finally get four of them unconscious, but the leader's still up. The leaders are always stronger than the rest. He begins to run, but I'm not making another mistake tonight. I leap over in front of him, barring his path.
Then he pulls out his gun and fires. I find myself unable to move, frozen in stupid silence that I made such a gigantic mistake. I manage to adjust my position by about a hair before the bullet rips into my shoulder.
Pain. Horrible, horrible pain courses over me. All the time, I never felt a single blow out here. The suit protected me. Now I see blood flowing down my arm, feel like half of my torso's missing.
Have to keep going. Have to beat him.
I charge him, and he falls over with a loud cry of surprise. It takes a couple more minutes of struggling before I have him down too and I stagger off to hide from the police. I don't really have to hide from them, but that's Batman. Batman's never seen. I can't be seen either.
I feel hot tears rolling down my face as I gasp, clutching my shoulder. It's ripped through the suit, leaving a small hole where there once was a protection from pain. It probably doesn't hurt as much as I think it does, but when you haven't felt physical pain for most of your life, your perception of it is off.
Wildly off.
No. I have to stop. Wayne wouldn't be resting. Wayne would definitely not be crying. He wouldn't even notice. Just a flesh wound to him.
I want to move, but I can't when I think that if I hadn't moved by a hair, that bullet would be residing in the middle of my chest, probably happily nestled somewhere in my heart or lungs.
I could have died. Been exposed as the great Batman, sadly and easily stopped by a single bullet. I could have just died, on the top of a building in the middle of Gotham City. I would never see Lydia or my daughters ever again.
It's a reality that I've just realized. Batman's not the great infallible, unstoppable thing that Wayne believed and taught me to believe. All these years I haven't really been invincible out here, I haven't been the continuation of something immortal.
Batman can be silenced by one bullet. That's all it takes. And then where does that leave the man inside of it?