Gotham's Story
You stand on the podium in front of the crowd. You appear to them as Bruce Wayne, but you secret life lies just under the surface, ready to leech out. It was your conscience that got the better of you. Who are you to be Judge and Jury, enforcing your law on this city? What right did you have to begin this mad crusade? Now there is a police officer dead and you are to blame.
It was your idea to turn yourself in, but it was Alfred's idea to say the speech. He thought that you would be able to ease Gotham into the shock, and perhaps alleviate some of the downfall that would be headed your way. Alfred has always been looking out for you.
You have always been a good public speaker and you have performed for news cameras more times than you can count. But now you shake behind the podium. You pull out the index cards that have the delicately prepared speech written on them. You appreciate the work but you still find it repulsive. It is peppered with lies and half truths that you cannot bear to utter.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," You begin, as you place the index cards into your pocket.
"I am the Batman."
***
Nine months. You cost the life of a police officer and broke countless laws but it seems that fame carries its weight. It may have also helped that while you were breaking laws, you were putting thieves, murderers and psychopaths behind bars. Nine months in prison, but you will never be the Bat again. You look at the faces that surround you. You recognize more than half of them as those that you put away while on your vigilante spree. They look at you with murder in their eyes and blood in their veins. You are not afraid of them. You beat them once, you can do it again.
But all of them? Perhaps, but it would be a constant battle. It's not as though you are going anywhere any time soon.
Nine months.
You chuckle grimly to yourself.
It wouldn't take nearly that long.
It was your idea to turn yourself in, but it was Alfred's idea to say the speech. He thought that you would be able to ease Gotham into the shock, and perhaps alleviate some of the downfall that would be headed your way. Alfred has always been looking out for you.
You have always been a good public speaker and you have performed for news cameras more times than you can count. But now you shake behind the podium. You pull out the index cards that have the delicately prepared speech written on them. You appreciate the work but you still find it repulsive. It is peppered with lies and half truths that you cannot bear to utter.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," You begin, as you place the index cards into your pocket.
"I am the Batman."
***
Nine months. You cost the life of a police officer and broke countless laws but it seems that fame carries its weight. It may have also helped that while you were breaking laws, you were putting thieves, murderers and psychopaths behind bars. Nine months in prison, but you will never be the Bat again. You look at the faces that surround you. You recognize more than half of them as those that you put away while on your vigilante spree. They look at you with murder in their eyes and blood in their veins. You are not afraid of them. You beat them once, you can do it again.
But all of them? Perhaps, but it would be a constant battle. It's not as though you are going anywhere any time soon.
Nine months.
You chuckle grimly to yourself.
It wouldn't take nearly that long.
