Act I, Scene V
The world comes into focus above our eyes and we realise we're looking up at an extremely high ceiling. The blurred vision belongs to Bruce Wayne, who's slowly coming to in a very large and very empty bed. He glances to the side and sitting there on the bedside table is a full breakfast tray, the coffee still steaming. He rubs his eyes.
We cut to Bruce walking through the interior of Wayne Manor, through all of its empty corridors and huge expanses.
He's outside now, walking through his massive lawns, a fountain burbling ornately in the backdrop. The sun is shining overhead. It's a glorious day by anyone's standards and Bruce is the king of all he surveys, but his face displays nothing but dissatisfaction. He's troubled.
He's back in the house now, in the kitchen area. The polished yet retro-chic fixtures and fittings are immaculate. Unlived in. He touches a specific area of a specific part of wall and a panel slides aside noiselessly. He touches a button on the revealed panel and a set of doors open in the wall before him to reveal an elevator from nowhere.
He stares into the empty elevator for a long moment.
ALFRED: You know-
Bruce starts a little. Alfred is standing no more than four feet behind him.
ALFRED: -in England, people used to say a penny for your thoughts. Gawd knows if they still do, I mean…what's a penny worth these days?
Bruce touches the buttons on the panel and the elevator doors slide shut. He turns away and begins to walk, moving past Alfred, who stands aside as a butler should for his master, but not without giving him a searching glare as he does so.
ALFRED: Mind you, I wouldn't waste me money anyway.
BRUCE: Remind me why I haven't fired you yet?
There's a smile on the billionaire's face that is enough to detract from the barb for Alfred to grin back.
ALFRED: Because I've been in your family your entire life?
BRUCE: Nah.
ALFRED: Hmm. Because I've got incriminating pictures of you?
BRUCE: What? Me in the Batsuit?
ALFRED: Oooh. If only they were, sir. Still. Who am I to judge?
Bruce looks out of the floor-to-ceiling window they're standing alongside. Gotham glistens in the distance in the early evening sunshine.
BRUCE: You're all I've got.
ALFRED: Master Wayne-
BRUCE: (holding up a hand) It's not self-pity, Alfred. It's simple fact. I trust precisely three people with the full details of my life and one of them is dead. And, no offence Alfred, but you and Lucius are not as pretty as Rachel.
ALFRED: Well I'm quite pleased you said that, sir. What with us two living alone in this big house together.
BRUCE: Tabloids still publishing those rumours? They'll have me adopting a ward next.
ALFRED: I have a message for you.
BRUCE: From Gordon.
Alfred nods.
Bruce walks to the window and leans against it. In the distance, a plane is taking off from Gotham Airport. It gains height, soaring into the skies, escaping the bounds of the city. Bruce watches it go.
BRUCE: Aren't you going to give it to me?
ALFRED: Is there any point? You're the world's greatest bloody detective after all. You know what he told me. You know what he wants you to do. For your own sake, Master Wayne.
BRUCE: My father helped build that city, Alfred.
ALFRED: And his son helped to protect it. For a time. But that time has come and gone, Master Wayne. Your house is rebuilt, but you don't live in it. You skulk in it. You go into a city night after night to protect people who hate you. For God's sake, just accept it. Batman's time has come to go back into the night.
BRUCE: I can't. I won't. Gotham needs Batman, Alfred. Right now it needs to hate him, but that may change. And if it doesn't - it doesn't make a difference.
ALFRED: I buried your father and your mother, Bruce, God rest their souls. I buried Rachel. Don't make me stand over another grave. If I am the only person you've got, listen to me.
He walks away, leaving Bruce alone at the window.
We cut to Bruce, back in the kitchen area. He presses the panel, presses for the elevator. The doors slide open. He stares into the empty space.
And he walks inside.
In the Gotham night, the Tumbler roars out of the Batcave, with Batman at the wheel.
Act I, Scene VI
Back in Clark's apartment. He flies back through the window as Superman and is Clark in a blur of motion. He checks on Jason and finds him asleep. Lois is dozing in front of the television in the living area. Clark leans close to her and whispers into her ear.
CLARK: Miss me?
Lois starts a little but smiles at the familiar voice. She kisses him and allows herself to be scooped up into his arms.
LOIS: How was it?
CLARK: The mugging? Oh. Great.
LOIS: (smiling sleepily) Mmm, good. Hope it hasn't sapped all of your energy, mister…
They go inside the master bedroom. We stay outside, discreetly. There's a giggle from within, and a gasp, and then-
CLARK: I'm sorry…
A sigh. A woman's sigh. Superman emerges from the bedroom that Clark just entered. We see Lois, sitting up on the bed, rather put out.
LOIS: Again?
SUPERMAN: Sounds like a bad fire. It's only ten miles outside the city limits. I have to-
LOIS: Yes. Yes. Go.
He goes. Lois remains sitting there for a moment and then throws herself back on the bed, hitting the pillows with a thump.
Act I, Scene VII
From the setting sun around Gotham city, we're suddenly blinded by the whiteout of the endless white tundra of the Antarctic. We zoom over the ice and snow until a different structure rears out of the desolation. A crystalline structure.
Inside, on a crystalline screen acting as a television, Superman's quake rescue footage that we watched rolling across the Daily Planet newsfeeds is being replayed for the benefit of a man dressed all in black. A small man, with a compact frame, a waspish expression and a thin line of facial hair. His eyes burn with intensity. With hatred.
Another shape descends from the heavens to land softly beside him. Like the first man, he is also clad in black, with a silver sash across his chest, a Kryptonian insignia. For a moment he flickers in and out of existence. The first man notices this.
ZOD: Your power levels are still fluctuating.
ERADICATOR: The effort of relocating to the opposite end of the planet and rebuilding another Fortress from minimal source material was not without difficulty, General.
He kneels and places his palms on the surface below, seeming to draw strength from the very structure around them, which rumbles almost imperceptibly as he does so. His appearance solidifies.
ERADICATOR: In time the geothermal energy will replenish-
ZOD: Time!
He gestures to the screens above, stalking off, hands clasped behind his back.
ZOD: You talk of time, when the son of Jor-El walks free on this world! Held up as the saviour of its pathetic inhabitants, their Super Man! (snorts derisively) He serves when he should rule. Pathetic. So like the house of El.
ERADICATOR: My assessment also. And the reason for your return.
ZOD: My return!
He walks up to the Eradicator and quite without warning, lands a punch square on the Eradicator's chin.
The Eradicator doesn't flinch. Doesn't whimper. Barely seems to notice the blow.
Zod, however, gasps in pain and pulls his hand away. He wrings his hand ruefully and glares daggers at his companion.
ZOD: How! How can I hope to topple him, with none of his abilities! How can he do the things he does and I, General Zod, have no more strength than a miserable Earthling?
ERADICATOR: General. Pulling you from the Phantom Zone came at some cost. In time, your cells may begin to store enough solar energy to-
ZOD: Time!
He picks up a crystal lying nearby and hurls it in disgust. It bounces and clatters off the surfaces of the Fortress until rerouting itself and homing in on the Eradicator's outstretched hand.
ZOD: A mere human cannot hope to succeed against him. You know this. We need the Red Sun Chamber.
ERADICATOR: (taken aback) The technology is unproven. There is no telling what-
ZOD: Enough! Did you not seek me out for my leadership qualities? Then cease to question my orders! Construct the Chamber!
ERADICATOR: (bows his head) As you command, General.
ZOD: Our problem then becomes how to lure him to use it…
A thought crosses the Eradicator's face.
ERADICATOR: There was one. One who hated him. One who stood against him.
ZOD: Bring him to me. Perhaps we can be of use to one another…
Act I, Scene VIII
Night in Gotham. A shootout taking place between a gang and the police. Commissioner Gordon's car screeches to a halt and out he pops, wearing full body armour and packing a shotgun. He crouches behind the car. The gang are holed up in a building and taking potshots at the police gathering outside. Helicopters are closing in on the position from above.
Gordon bellows orders to his officers. One takes a round in the chest and spins to the ground, his gun clattering to the street below. Others dive for his body and drag him to cover; he's still breathing, the Kevlar has done its job, but he's dazed and out of the action.
One of Gordon's Lieutenants sits heavily beside him. It's Anna Ramirez. She and Gordon exchange brief world-weary looks, as if this is not an isolated incident of violence.
RAMIREZ: You think it's the new boss?
GORDON: Firepower certainly suggests it. Where is he getting these damn guns?
RAMIREZ: We've got his exits blocked and the place is surrounded. His guys aren't getting out of this one.
GORDON: Good. We need a few of these monkeys in custody. I want to know who the organ grinder is.
SWAT TEAM LEADER: Commissioner - aerial strike team is closing on a rooftop landing.
He gestures above to a helicopter approaching their position-
-just as an RPG streaks from one of the top floor windows of the building currently under siege. It misses the copter by a whisker. The pilot wisely banks to the right and throws the bird into a steep evasive.
GORDON: Snipers! Keep a bead on all windows! No more rockets!
He stands and fires off a few rounds, as much to let off steam as anything else. When he sits back down, he takes a moment amidst the chaos to stare into space. Ramirez doesn't miss the look.
RAMIREZ: Nights like this we sure could-
GORDON: I don't wanna hear it. Where are my eyes on the building?
We leave the streets and leap upwards to the adjoining buildings, and find ourselves staring down the barrel of a gun as it fires - not a bullet, but a zipline, which smashes through a window on the target building. A hand presses a button on the gun and the end of the zipline flowers open, shooting several small anchors at all angles to secure the far end into the ceiling, wall and floor.
A sniper scope further above belonging to one of Gordon's SWAT team members spots the line.
SNIPER: Batman on premises.
Back on the street, word reaches Gordon from the SWAT team leader. He looks up just in time to see the black shape zip across the buildings and vanish from sight. His frustration is visible, but so is his admiration.
GORDON: Here we go. Get ready.
RAMIREZ: We're going in?
GORDON: Maybe.
A body flies through one of the second-floor windows and crashes to the streets below ten feet in front of the police lines.
GORDON: Maybe they're coming out.
More vans arrive on the scene. The police lines push them back as much as possible to the designated safe areas - they're media vans. Reporters and media crew with cameras pour out of them. Gordon sees this and grits his teeth.
We go inside the building, rushing through the front door and up the central staircase (it's a department store) flying over two motionless bodies of former gunmen until we come to another would-be gangster. He's swinging his rather large gun to and fro in the murky darkness. A torch attached to the weapon illuminates the contents of a sporting goods section. He's terrified out of his wits, as is evidenced when the light reveals a baseball mannequin swinging a bat in a heroic action pose; the gunman's weapon sputters into life and the wretched baseball dummy is shot to pieces in a matter of seconds.
Something flashes across our - and the gunman's - vision. He whirls, firing.
GUNMAN: Cooney! Drennan! Anyone! Oh, Jesus…
A loudspeaker sounds from outside.
GORDON: (V/O) This is the Gotham City Police Department. Come out with your hands up and you will not be harmed.
BATMAN: (V/O) Sounds like a pretty good deal.
More blind firing. More mannequins destroyed. The gunman begins to retreat in the general direction of the main entrance. Whilst retreating he almost trips over the body of one of his former companions, knocked out clean and trussed up like a turkey.
BATMAN: (V/O) Better than you'll get from me.
GUNMAN: Okay! Okay!
He throws down the weapon and holds up his hands.
We cut to outside. Gordon motions for his squad to storm the building, which they do, officers pouring in from all sides, sweeping the interior for anyone still moving, finding only more gun-toting gang members out for the count, dangling from the ceiling, or simply curled up in a ball whimpering in pain.
Outside, Gordon's radio crackles.
BATMAN: (V/O) Plenty in there to interrogate, Commissioner. I'm borrowing one for myself.
A distant roar sounds - the unmistakable guttural throttle of the Tumbler waking up.
GORDON: You never listen, do you.
BATMAN: (V/O) I'll have him back to you safe and sound by morning. Mostly.
We cut to afterwards. The captured gang members, still somewhat dazed, are being led into a waiting police van. Gordon looks down at the seized weaponry, in particular the rocket launcher apparatus.
There's a presence at his shoulder. He glances sidelong.
GORDON: Get behind the cordon.
CLARK: Commissioner Gordon. Clark Kent, Daily Planet.
GORDON: Behind the cordon. Now.
He gestures to some of his fellow officers. They approach Clark and put a hand on his shoulders to move him to the permitted distance for journalists.
CLARK: You've talked to the Mayor today, Commissioner?
The officers tug Clark. We see frowns appear on their faces at their complete and utter failure to budge him even an inch.
GORDON: Why? Is he cutting my funding again, Mr Kent? Big surprise. If you'll excuse me I have police matters to attend to.
CLARK: It's about the Batman. And I really think we should talk before tomorrow morning's edition of the Planet hit's the newsstands.
Gordon looks up from the weapons. He studies Clark, then motions to the two officers. They release Clark, still eyeballing him with some level of puzzlement. Clark gives a little innocent shrug to one as if to say, no hard feelings. They move off.
GORDON: How long have you been here?
CLARK: Long enough.
GORDON: Enjoy the show?
CLARK: Saw enough to make me stop and think. Let's put it like that.
GORDON: Different from what you're used to in Metropolis?
CLARK: Usually I do the interviews, Commissioner.
GORDON: I'm trying to decide whether I like you, Mr Kent. As a journalist, you're not starting with a whole lot of credit in the bank. Now. What do you have to tell me?