I. Prologue
A City of Snow
D'you know what the difference between a monster and a man is? For a start, the man is just as misunderstood by the monster as the monster is to the man. The monster cannot put into words why he cannot comprehend this thing, this normal thing; while the man, cannot and will not try to understand and accept this other thing, this freakish thing. Although the monster's nature is to break, tear and snarl; the man's is to kill, shun and judge. So, even if they could understand each other, there would really be no different outcome. They would still hate each other based on their similarities. There is no clear divide between man and monster, between a creature and a person – only what is perceived by those around them, fellow monsters and people. But they are all there. Each and every one of them fall into one category or the other, it doesn't matter what calibre; you will all be judged and denied.
How does one become a monster? Well, any number of reasons. Noble or wicked there are always motives for why a normal man would risk the enmity of the conventional masses and become a monster. After the Dent Act, though, they are all crushed and smashed together. It doesn't matter who did what and why; you will be judged and denied. Denied the sight of the sun, the whistle of the wind, the laughter of a fellow man; now, you be privy to the jeer of an equal monster, the violence of barbarous demons and the thrashing of their anger, their carnage.
It doesn't matter. It never matters. Everywhere is the same; you're thrown down into the pit of devils and told you will be confined there forever, not even until you've atoned. Simply forever.
"They made their choices."
"You had your chance."
Now you must rot. Now you must stay here for eternity. Blamed for things you did not do. Martyred for offences you did not commit. Scorned by people you did not wrong. Embraced by the so called monsters and lashed by the innocents. What has this life come to? A different class of justice. Justice with teeth they say. Willingly giving up your only means of anything, food, money, clothes for your back just so you don't get flung in a cell to be eaten alive by the inmates. So you starve, cold on the streets; your socks are wet, your shivering but at least you're abiding the law, but not because you're a law abiding citizen. Does that make you a monster? Yes and you will be judged and denied.
Forever. There is no end to this, it is an eternity and freezing to death, slumped in an alleyway praying for some miracle is the lesser of two evils. Something has to happen. Gotham needs something to happen. We can't hold out much longer, the snows are so cold at this time of year that even the flaming drums of old newspaper splutter, the flames choked by the cold. They gutter and die just like the starving, living under the elite; their boots stand heavily on our shoulders, our backs; breaking our spines beyond repair and all we can do like cornered dogs, is back up and snarl resentfully, our hackles up.
That's it, the cold's too much, one falls – face down in the snow. A desperate hand comes out for a railing, she's trying to grip the cold metal and pull herself free of this poverty but to no avail. A cough, a shiver and then a sigh at the futility of her plight. She'd steal a morsel of food if the penance were not so high. If the penance were not so brutal.
Something has to happen. It can't go on like this.