1.

Gotham. A city reeking with injustice. Crime rate the highest of any American city. How can it be called great? My father tried to make it so. He tried his best, but it wasn't enough. Using just money wasn't enough.

But then again, my father's dead.

We were at a cinema, the opening night of "The Mark of Zorro". The movie's about an orphan called Zorro. Little did I know that he and I would have something in common that night.

We never got to finish that movie. I started having a headache in the final act. My parents, concerned for my health, decided it would be a good time to leave. I should've stayed. Maybe then the following events wouldnt've happened. I could've prevented it, dammit! But it was not to be.

That night, my parents and I walked out of the cinema. Everything was fine and normal. We said our goodbyes. I started walking to my car. Then I heard a gunshot. Turning around, I saw my father lying on the floor. His murderer was clutching onto my mother's necklace. Before I could do anything, he tore it from her neck, slicing it in half in the process. I watched as my mother stumbled and fell to the floor, her hands bloodied from clutching her sliced neck. I watched as that... that fiend ran away, a red-stained necklace in his filthy hands. I tried to run after him, but he was already lost in the crowds of Gotham.

My anger turned to misery as I looked upon the corpses of my parents. I fell limp to the floor on my knees. I sobbed as I clutched the dying body of my father. There were no last words for me. He was too weak to speak. My father, a great man who had tried his best to change the criminal filth-pit that is Gotham, was now paralysed by the very enemies he'd tried to destroy.

My mother died saying my name. Her only fault was the jewellery she wore on her body which got her killed. I felt a great loss that night, like nothing I've ever felt before.

That night, my parents died.

2.

I am writing now after being in the interrogation room at Gotham Centre Police Station. The officer interrogating me was a lean, ageing fellow with breath that tasted of death. He looked out at me with eyes that were disconcerting and troubling. They say that eyes are the window to the soul. Well then this officer's soul was a dark, dark pit.

"Last night, at around 7:00 pm, the following events happened," the officer said, gazing at me with his impenetrable eyes. They probably choose officers like those specifically for their eyes, "Outside Gotham Centre Cinema, Mr Thomas Wayne and Mrs Martha Wayne were apprehended by an unknown figure, gender unidentified, but from the build most likely a man. You, Mr Bruce Wayne, had said goodbye to them and were walking down the street when these events happened. We have cameras to prove this. The figure went up to your father, and, not saying a word, shot him in the chest. After this, he snatched your mother's necklace, slicing her neck open in the process, and ran off. We have found no trace of him since."

"What!?" I exclaimed.

"We have found no trace of your parents' murderer," said the officer.

"Seriously?"

"Yep."

"Oh, come on! Surely there must've been some forensic evidence, or surely the camera must've picked up something, or... or..."

"Sorry, kid. Forensics is all well and good, but in such a public space with so many people walking around, it's almost impossible to say who's the murderer. The last witnesses saw of him seems to be in a shadowy alleyway, but we've found no sign of his clothes in that alleyway, and no sign of anything else that could lead us to him."

"Wait, his clothes?"

I had been so shocked by my parents' deaths that I had forgotten what their murderer had been wearing.

"Yeah, your parents' murderer was wearing some strange-ass apparel. Cameras and witnesses show he was wearing a green bathing robe and a mask that had a picture of a dove above a tree on it. You'd think that he'd be easy to catch with such apparel on, but if he's smart he'll never wear it again in public. Still, we'll put out a wanted poster just in case someone sees him."

"That's all you can do? A wanted poster?"

"Hey, you try being a detective for once! We can't all be Sherlock Holmes here!"

"But what about the bullet? Surely you got something from that?"

"The bullet is 3.858 inches in diameter, meaning it either came from a Dognapper or a Freebullet gun. We've done a forensic analysis on the bullet, and it looks like it was bought at max a week 'd have to search all the gun shops in Gotham to find who had bought one of those recently, and even then, you'd have such a long list, it'd be impossible to narrow the suspects down. Not really a goal worth pursuing, in my opinion."

"Not a goal worth pursuing!? Sir, this is my parents' murderer we're talking about here. Whoever he is, he murdered two of the most influential people in all of Gotham! I'd think that you'd be doing everything you possibly could to catch him!"

"Kid, we're talking about hundreds of gun shops! That could possibly mean hundreds of suspects! There's really nothing we can do here. Sorry, kid."

I sat seething in silence for a moment. Then, I came to a decision.

"Hey," I said suddenly, "I don't suppose you would let me take a picture of the police report, would you? Just so I can see everything you've got about my parents' deaths."

"What! No! That's confidential information!"

"I am their son," I growled, "And my god-damn parents just died, sir!"

"Alright, alright, sure," the officer said, taking pity on me.

"Thank you," I said.

Inside, I was smiling. The past few hours had been devastating, but finally, here was some good news. Here was something I could do.

3.

I've just been to the funeral. I was the one chosen to make the eulogy.

"Thomas and Martha Wayne," I began, "were two of the best things that have happened to Gotham in a decade. Unlike the other rich businessmen, my father used his money for the good of Gotham. He funded Gotham Hospital, and now it has better equipment and cleaner rooms than ever before. The mortality rate has dropped significantly in the past two years. My mother was not only a psychologist at the hospital, but she also advocated for equal wages for women in all businesses. Thanks to her, we now have the 'Women's Equality Charity', which supports women all over Gotham, and makes sure they get fair wages.

But my parents didn't only just help out Gotham City. They also had to deal with raising me. I remember a time when I was a child. We were having a picnic that day. The weather was beautiful, the food was good, and everyone was having a nice time, when suddenly a person dressed in a prison outfit came running into the park. My parents went in front of me to protect me, but the criminal wasn't interested in us. She just ran straight on, and then moments later, we saw the police in pursuit.

My father looked at me and said, 'Now there, son, is the one thing you can't get rid of in Gotham. No matter how hard I've tried, I've never managed to stop the terrible crime happening all over the city.'

I remembered this moment the night after my parents died. I have lied awake, thinking about it. My father and mother were killed by the exact type of criminal they had tried to put away behind bars. Now, maybe I can't get rid of all the criminals in Gotham. Maybe money won't fix everything. But you can bet all of your money that my parents' deaths will not go unavenged! I will find the scoundrel who took away the best people Gotham had to offer, and I will bring down the hammer of justice upon him!"

By this point, there were unwilling tears on my cheeks. The crowd stayed silent.

"Two nights ago, Thomas and Martha Wayne were killed," I said, "But the fucking scoundrel who killed them forgot to kill me. That's going to be the biggest mistake of his life."

The crowd applauded, but they didn't seem to be that into it. Clearly, they disagreed with my point of view. I don't care about that. They didn't have to watch their parents being brutally murdered.

I was one of the people who carried my parents' coffins. I watched as they were put into their final resting places. Dirt after dirt after dirt was heaped onto them as the priest read their final prayers. I don't believe in any religion, but my parents did, and I hope that wherever they are now, they're happy.

I shook everyone's hands, and nodded at their condolences. It was a private funeral, so the public weren't welcome, but I spotted a lot of random strangers nearby, shaking their heads. Some were weeping. I don't think any weeped as hard as I did. I don't know if there's an afterlife, but the best I can do for my parents is hope that they'll be satisfied that their murderer will not get away.

After everyone dispersed to go and have lunch, I remained at the graveyard. My parents had been placed right next to each other. I had never thought I'd see the names 'Thomas Wayne' or 'Martha Wayne' written on a tombstone. I kneeled down beside the soil covering their graves.

"Mum," I whispered, "Dad... I am so sorry you got killed. I'm sorry it was because of me. If I... If I hadn't had a headache, if I had just been quick enough to save you, then maybe all of this would've never happened. You protected me at that picnic. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. I am so sorry. Thanks for everything you ever did for me. If there's a heaven... you deserve to be there."

I sniffled and wiped away my tears. I got up and walked away from the graves of my parents, a shadow hanging over my head. As I walked, I saw my cousin Borris, watching nearby. I walked up to him.

"Hello, Bruce," he said.

"Hello, Borris."

We stood there in silence until Borris suddenly spread his arms out and hugged me.

"Oh, Bruce," he said, "I am so sorry for your loss."

"And yours also," I sniffled.

Borris broke the hug, and said, "Come on, Bruce. Let's go to lunch."

I nodded, and we started walking, past the graves of other former Gotham citizens.

"You know, when I lost my father, I couldn't get over it for weeks," said Borris, "It felt like a part of me had been torn away. I was drowning, Bruce, and I didn't know how to swim back up. But then... you know what? I thought of my father, and I thought that he wouldn't want me to sit there crying for the rest of my life. He'd want me to be out there, living my life! Death is a part of life, Bruce, and I know it sucks, but if you ever need to talk about it with someone, I will always be here for you. Okay, Bruce?"

I nodded, and said, "Thanks, Borris..."

I paused.

"Hey, do you believe in an afterlife?"

"I don't know," said Borris, "Do you?"

"No," I said, "But I think I do believe that my parents are watching from... from somewhere. And they can't rest in peace, Borris, while their murderer still runs loose. Now, the police have a clue that they could follow up on to find my parents' murderer, but it would be difficult. They're lazy... but I'm not."

"So you're going to find the guy who murdered your parents?"

"Exactly. And I want you to help me."

"Bruce... I know losing your parents is difficult, but you're not a police officer! You're not a detective! If they can't find your parents, what hope do you have?"

"My father was murdered by either a Freebullet or a Dognapper gun that was bought at most a week ago. Now, the police could search all of the gun shops in Gotham, asking who'd bought those two guns in the past week, but that would take a lot of work, and they just aren't willing to do that, Borris."

"I think there's a good reason behind that, Bruce!"

"Yes, that they're lazy!"

"Bruce, you're acting like a child now! The reality is that you'll probably never find your parents' murderer! I know that that's disappointing to hear, but it's the truth, Bruce! Plus, if you find your parents' murderer, what will you do then, huh? Handcuff him and then bring him into the police station? Do you know the kind of problems that will arise for you? You might get arrested for entering someone's house without a warrant! Or maybe for kidnapping! Bruce, Gotham City is no place for a vigilante. "

"Then I guess I'll have to kill him," I said, "And nothing you say will change my mind, Borris, so you can either leave me alone, or, as you said you would, you can help me."

Borris looked like he wanted to say more, but then gave up.

"Alright, fine," he said, sighing, "I guess I'm in."

"Good," I said, smiling, "Then I guess we can begin."