The End and the Beginning

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Nick Gourley

20 years ago.

The rain was cold and Jason was already drenched. His snowy white shirt, which he had worn to church only hours earlier, was utterly and completely transparent. He could feel the dampness stick to his torso everytime he took another step.

Tommy, was another story. Already he was rolling and diving into the mud like he was a professional at this newly created sport. His tuxedo, once a rich jet black, was now covered in grime and sludge. Had you not seen his crimson colored hair earlier, you would've thought it to be dirty brown.

"C'mon Bruce! Join in!"

Tommy screamed to Bruce. Bruce, however, did not comply. He remained seated at the grand steps leading to the mansion holding his umbrella, sparing his clothes and body from the cold wetness around him.

"No thank you."

"Come on bro, you know you want to."

Bruce looked up to see his younger brother staring at him with his lush green eyes. Jason, younger than Bruce by 23 months, gave him the most innocent, puppy-eyed look he had seen in his 7 years of living.

"C'mon Bruce, don't tell me you're chicken."

Tommy then clucked, and strutted as a chicken normally does. You could tell by watching that Tommy had had plenty of practice at this act. His necklace, a green circular band laced on a silver chain, was swinging to and fro with every well placed strut.

"I'm just not quite sure if mother and father would want me to get my clothes dirty."

"Oh come on Bruce, look at Jason. He's every bit as dressed up as you and he looks like he just took a shower in his clothes."

"Well, I dunno. . ."

"Well, me and Jason are gonna go play hide and go seek and . . ." Tommy began to approach Bruce. Bruce eyed Tommy up and down suspiciously. Tommy swung his right hand playfully, but not necessarily gently, and slapped Bruce on his shoulder, leaving a nice wet handprint on his coat. "You're it!"

As if a man had pulled the trigger of a race gun, the two were off into the vastness of the Wayne courtyard. Bruce, unsure of what to do, continued to sit under his umbrella on the steps. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint his mother and father.

After a good half an hour passed by, Bruce concluded that he should at the very least go look for the two. He didn't want to get blamed for Tommy's and Jason's sudden disappearance.

Bruce searched near the gardens, behind the greenhouse, in the garage, and still couldn't find a single trace of either Tommy, or Jason.

He stepped onto a circular stone box to get a better vantage point of the area. Never had he thought his own property to be so enormous, and he had played in the gardens and courtyard countless times.

"Tommy! Jason!"

Bruce jumped to try and see just a little bit higher. When he expected to land back on his feet, he didn't. The top of the box gave way, and he fell. With a scream he was tumbling down a cold, wet, stone, circular shaft. He didn't land on his feet, but instead on his right side. The air drove itself out from his lungs forcefully.

"Bruce! Are you alright?"

He could hear his younger brother, Jason, calling for him, yet he was unable to answer. All around him was darkness, complete and utter darkness. When he looked up, he didn't see Jason nor Tommy looking down on him. He figured that they had gone and gotten his parents.

Just then, he could hear a shrill shriek, nowhere near human, and unlike anything else he had heard in his 7 years of living. He looked towards the source of the sound, finding what appeared to be a hole in the stone wall.

Not a stream of light pierced the hole's darkness. It was a mass of ebony, unpenetrable. However, it wasn't unmovable, and henceforth, the mass of darkness shifted and took shape.

They exploded from the hole and swarmed around Bruce. All he could do was scream and swat, trying to create some distance from him and the small creatures. They rushed at him, and continued their assault.

In this moment, the 7-year-old blonde-haired Bruce Wayne's life was forever altered by a creation of nature.

Bats.

--

20 years later.

Bats.

They are the company that he lacks. They are his inspiration, and his symbol.

Earlier that night, someone had knocked over a bank. This wasn't just any bank, however, this bank was owned by Sal Maroni, also known as, the Boss.

An imposing cime figurehead, he battled over control of Gotham's underworld with the current "owner" of the downside of Gotham, Carmine Falcone. The two had never had a gang war over control, for Carmine owned more muscle and had more indirect control of Gotham City than Sal. A war with Falcone would change, and possibly destroy Gotham forever. The two had a mutual relationship, and for Sal, that was enough.

He strapped his military kevlar boots and tightened his utility belt. As far as he knew, no one was to be investigating at the scene, they did that 30 minutes prior. The scene would be fresh, for cops in Gotham these days were nowhere near what they used to be. All bent and crooked, they had much rather stolen the rest of the money then do any thorough investigation.

He pulled his kevlar-reinforced cowl over his blonde hair. The suit was light, mobile, and protective. A product of Wayne Enterprises modified by Alfred and himself. The old man had suggested and urged the metal plating in the cowl to protect himself from head-shots. Which, if a common thug, would usually go for.

"Master Bruce?" The old butler emerged from the darkness, only to find something other than Bruce. A new being arose from the shadows of the cave. This was no man, but a creature of the night.

The utter horror and shock that eminated from Alfred's face gave Bruce the clarification he needed on the costume's effectiveness.

"Marvelous sir," Alfred stated, "dreadfully marvelous."

--

"Damnit."

Harvey Dent paced back and forth in his District Attorney's office. It had been only 15 minutes since he called his "mutual friend" and he was already getting more than a little anxious. The man he called was less than friendly. His voice sounded as if a low animalistic growl. He could only imagine what this guy would look like.

"What do you want?"

Dent whirled around to see a dark . . . was it a creature? Whatever it was, it was crouched in his windowsill and it had wings and horns.

"Y-y-yeah," he was shaking uncontrollably. "Listen, um, I just wanted to talk to you about the heist."

"What about it?" Whatever this thing was, it obviously thought it was wasting its time.

"Maroni's gonna blame Falcone for this heist."

"That's not my problem."

"It could be. Look, if things get out of a hand, we could have a full-scale gang war right here in Gotham City over a stupid bank robbery."

"What do you want me to do about it?"

"I want you to find out who's behind all of this."

"Wasn't that the point of my investigating this."

"I'm just," Dent turned around and sighed, "I just don't want Gotham going down on my watch."

"It isn't yours to watch. Not anymore."

Harvery spun back around only to find his windowsill empty.

"This relationship is going to be very interesting."

--

Gordon sipped his cup of warm coffee. He was glad that he could be working with an actual detective for once. The other guys liked to stir things up, not Dick. Dick was loyal, honest, and a former acrobat.

He lived with his parents and his younger brother Tim. They work for the Gotham City Circus. The Flying Graysons, people called them. A good strong family, one of the few since the Waynes had died.

The Waynes. Good people they were. Unfortunate that they died. They were one of the few families holding Gotham City together. With their death, everything had gone to hell.

Gordon decided to move with his family to Chicago. He had been gone for 20 years and had only returned a week earlier. The GCPD was nothing like it was when he left. New commissioner, new detectives, a completely new force. The change, was not for the better.

The entire city, along with the police force, was bent. All ruled by crimelords and drug dealers. The biggest names were Sal "The Boss" Maroni and Carmine Falcone. Combined, they owned all of the muscle in the town. Some of their muscle included detectives and cops.

Not Gordon and Dick. They were the two most looked up to and honorable of the entire police force. Because of this, they decided to investigate into the Maroni-owned bank robbery themselves.

Neither Gordon nor Dick denied that some cops had probably already beat them to the scene and made off with some of the remaining cash. Either that, or disposed of some of the evidence, assuming Falcone was behind the robbery.

Both prayed to God that Falcone wasn't behind the robbery. If he was, Gotham would be in flames in the next couple of days.

Dick grew uneasy with the silence. "Who do you think did it?"

"Probably just some coincidence. A disgruntled worker who wants to take it out on Maroni."

"Well, whoever it is, they couldn't have picked a worse bank to rob."

The car came up to an exquisite looking complex.

"They also couldn't have been less sloppy," finish Dick.

The glass-framed doors had obviously been blown out by a gun. The shattered remnants were all over the concrete. Dick and Gordon removed themselves from the car and walked through what was left of the door.

"Well, we know one thing for sure."

"What's that Dick?"

"He's never robbed a bank before."

The more and more they searched the more and more clear it became to them.

"This guy wanted people to know he did it."

Gordon looked up at Dick with surprisement. Dick really was as good as everyone had said.

"You're right."

"You think he's framing Falcone?"

"I don't know, there isn't enough evidence to say that he did. It sure does look like it wasn't just one guy though."

Gordon removed his hat to wipe the sweat off his brown brow. The very thought of someone framing Gotham's biggest crimelord was unnearving. It was unheard of, and, unfortuantely, untested. To put Falcone behind bars would be the biggest achievement since Gotham became as big as Metropolis.

Dick made his way over to the vault. The money, all of it, was gone. The door had been rigged with explosives and blown out. All that remained in the vault were open and overturned money cabinets. Drawers were lying on the floor, and the room was a mess.

"You really think Falcone did this," Dick asked.

"By looking at the mess, we sure are meant to see that a group of thugs walked in here and tore the place down, stealing all the money they could get their hands on."

"We got footprints or anything?"

"It looks like someone already beat us to the evidence."

"Or took care of it."

Gordon looked at Dick, and Dick stared back into Gordon's brown eyes. This certainly wasn't what they wanted to think about. They, however, couldn't help but think that one of their own had disposed of the evidence.

"Come on," Gordon replied, "lets take one last look around."

Gordon and Dick withdrew their Maclights and continued their search. Their shoes continued to crack underneath all of the remnants of shattered glass.

Dick looked on the floor for footprints, hair, remnants of clothing or anything that would be considered as evidence. Just then, he passed over a cross between a demon from hell and a man.

In a split second he saw a horrid looking devil, its black wings draped over its muscular body. The shape and form it took, was that of a crouching man. Dick could've sworn that he saw a yellow oval on the beast's chest with a black shape of a bat inside of it. However, when Dick returned his light to where the creature had crouched, it was gone.

Dick stood, erect and unmoving. A dark hand gripped his shoulder firmly and he rolled to his right, drawing his .9mm out from its holster and aiming both it and his light at the man. He was dark-skinned and had a black mustache that had a few hints of grey in it. His glasses and hat, along with badge, eased Dick's horror.

"You alright Dick?"

"Don't scare me like that Gordon."

"What's gotten you so tense all of a sudden?"

"It was just . . ." Dick looked again to where he had spotted the creature, flashing his light, only to again find nothing. "My imagination playing tricks on me."

--

The two police officers returned to their patrol car and made their way off. Rain echoed their passing. The rain brought back memories. So many memories.

The torn piece of red cloth provided a clue. Whether it was left purposely or not, remained to be seen. The footprints suggested a tall lanky individual, about 6'5" in height and 192 in weight. Those prints were the only in the entire vacinity.

One of the cops, the one that couldn't be any older than 20, had spotted him. He was sure that they would meet again. The other one, Gordon, was one of the only cops he knew that he could trust. All that was left was to introduce himself.

The gargoyles fitted the scenery, looking down at the crime scene from a block away. They crouched, guardians and witnesses Gotham. However, this night, they had a new creature among them, a new gargoyle crouching beside them.

That gargoyle stood, and vanished into the night.