High above the streets, in the centre of Gotham City, stood Wayne Enterprises. The hub of all business exploits in Gotham. From the pavement, one would perhaps be able to make out a dark speck blemishing the turquoise roof of the building. This speck was garbed in black combat gear, countless buckles and holsters scattered across its frame.
He stood with a single-minded solidarity, unmoving, his face a portrait of resolve. This high up, the temperature was considerably lower than at ground level. He did not notice the cold. He had other things on his mind.
As he craned his head over the edge of the blue-green rooftop, Robin John Blake once again experienced a terrifying rush of adrenaline. He wouldn't be of any use until that feeling left him.
His father had always told him not to look down. True, he didn't have this kind of altitude in mind, but still, it was good advice. But he needed to transcend childish comforts. He had to become much more than a child scared of heights.
Blake had been experiencing something of an existential crisis for the past nine months – though, perhaps for the first time in history, not about himself. About the Dark Knight. Yet as his frequent trips through the slums of Gotham reminded him, the city needed a Batman. He couldn't walk more than a few blocks without hearing the faint ringing of a burglar alarm or a terrified screech or a smattering of gunfire.
Bruce Wayne was alive; he knew that much. He did not know how he did it, or why he had abandoned the people of Gotham, but Blake was not particularly interested in finding out. If there was one thing the man deserved, it was peace.
He had spent most of his last nine months in the cave – it was the best training ground he could have ever asked for. Wayne had left everything in order, down to the last detail. It had taken him dozens of weeks to familiarise himself with the Dark Knight's equipment – batarangs, grapples of all shapes and sizes, explosive gel, the Batpod. There were enough facilities prepared for Blake to get himself into shape, eat, sleep; really, there was little reason for him to leave. Except the idea of living underground amongst a throng of bats 24/7. Once or twice he had thought of doing some job-hunting, but Wayne had taken care of that too. With all of the money left to him, Blake would probably never need to do an honest day's work ever again.
One of the many things Wayne had set in place before his disappearing act was contact with Lucius Fox. Blake had not yet met him in person, but he understood that at this very moment, an arsenal of toys was being constructed on his behalf. Unfortunately, these things take time.
Blake had ventured out into the world in a cape and cowl only twice, undetected, just to get a feel for maneuvering the night in a bat-inspired costume. When he had found the Batcave, there were two outfits left behind: one was a sturdy, solid piece of armour, the other made up of many separate plates and pieces. Blake had elected to test-drive the earlier, more restrictive design. He determined that the decreased mobility and lack of neck separation was made up for by the increased protection from knives and other weapons. That, and the fitting. While he and Wayne were a similar height, Blake was not as bulky as his predecessor, and he had found that the individual pieces that made up the second Batsuit caused quite a bit of noise during movement. What good was being able to turn his head if his prey could hear him approaching? If he was going to get stabbed, he might as well protect himself as much as possible and not afford his enemies a head-start.
Of course, there was a reason that the first suit did not last long – in addition to the restrictive design, it was almost unbearably hot in there and cumbersome to wear. But Blake did not have long to wait until he would finally be in possession of one of his own, custom-fitted and decked-out to his specifications, as relayed to Mr. Fox via coded letters. He hoped that the third time would be the charm, and with Fox's previous efforts serving as a trial-and-error jumping-off point, he had faith that his suit would be free of downsides. Good thing, too, since he needed all the help he could get. Might as well start with a perfected shell for his body.
Wiping sweat from his brow with a gloved hand, Blake's thoughts returned to the top of the skyscraper. His rappel line had been attached to the edge of the building for some time now. The wire extruding from his waist was waiting to be unfurled, tugging impatiently at his side.
The city of Gotham needed the Batman. An all-powerful creature of the night to strike fear into the hearts of criminals, a fearless symbol of hope capable of disabling a wave of corruption with one well-placed smoke pellet.
Inhaling sharply, Blake launched himself off the top of the Wayne Enterprises building and plunged down towards Hell with nothing but a near-invisible piece of wiring separating life from death.
For now, it would have to make do with him.