The wind howled through Gotham's skyline like a warning.
Perched on a crumbling gargoyle, Batman was a shadow against the moon, his cape fluttering like torn wings. It had been 6 months since he'd put on the cowl. 6 months of bleeding in alleys, dodging bullets, and learning what fear looked like on a killer's face. He wasn't perfect. Not yet. But he was getting close.
Boots thudded against wet concrete as he sprinted across rooftops, moving with purpose, with power. A suspect was on the run and was armed, scared and sloppy.
But then he saw it.
Smoke.
Curling up into the sky like a devil's hand.
Batman skidded to a halt on the rooftop ledge and looked down at the three-story apartment building engulfed in flames. People were screaming, clawing at windows. A mother on the second floor held her toddler out toward the open air, begging for help. Firefighters hadn't even arrived yet.
He didn't hesitate.
Inside the inferno, Batman was a shadow in the smoke kicking through doors, grabbing people, dragging them to safety one after another. The heat tore at his suit. His lungs burned. He forced himself to keep going.
He helped a man limp out just as the roof groaned overhead.
"Last one," he told himself, coughing. "Just one more…."
A small cry caught his attention.
He turned.
Down the hall, barely visible through the flames, stood a child, maybe six, trapped behind a collapsed beam. The fire raged between them like a barrier of hell.
"Don't move!" Batman barked.
He dove through the flames, tore off his cape, and used it to shield the child as he lifted the beam with every ounce of strength he had left. He could feel the ceiling above giving way and he could hear the structure shudder.
He wrapped the child in the cape, turned to the nearest shattered window and threw the kid out with all his might.
The explosion took him.
Far below, the firefighters caught the child in a safety tarp as the building erupted into flame and debris. The skyline was lit for blocks. People screamed and pointed.
Batman didn't come out.
Batcave
Alfred stood frozen, staring at the Batcomputer.
"Master Bruce…?" he whispered.
A sharp, beeping alarm pierced the silence.
Vitals: FLATLINE.
Status: UNRESPONSIVE.
"No," Alfred said, eyes wide. "No….please…"
He staggered to the console, trembling hands hitting keys, demanding something anything. The screen didn't change.
Bruce Wayne. Deceased.
Alfred's knees buckled. The chair caught him halfway down. And for the first time in decades, the man who'd seen too many wars the man who raised Bruce from a grieving child to a protector wept like a father mourning his son.
Three Days Later
Gotham's skyline was darker now.
Lucius Fox stood at a podium in front of Wayne Tower.
"Effective immediately, I will serve as acting CEO of Wayne Enterprises, in accordance with Mr. Wayne's emergency protocols."
The press shouted questions. He ignored them.
Wayne Manor
Alfred placed the last of his belongings in the trunk of an old black car. He stood for a long time at the front steps. The wind rustled through the grass. The house was still.
He didn't say goodbye.
He just turned, climbed into the driver's seat, and drove away.
Back to England. Back to silence. Back to a life without the boy he had raised.
The manor, and the cave beneath it, would stay empty for a long time.
But not forever
9 Months Later
The night was thick in Gotham with the kind of dark that pressed down on the city like a smothering hand.
In a shadowed alley tucked behind a rust-stained warehouse, a metal door creaked open. A teenage boy stepped out. Tall, lean, and quiet, with shaggy brown hair and sharp green eyes, he slipped into the pulse of the city without a sound.
Jace Lennox walked with the rhythm of someone who belonged to Gotham with his shoulders relaxed, eyes constantly moving, hands stuffed in the pockets of a weather-worn hoodie.
He passed alleys littered with bloodstains and broken bottles. A man got jumped two blocks away. A homeless woman screamed at invisible ghosts. In the shadows, someone lit a cigarette and someone else lit a pipe. A kid no older than ten stood on a corner selling pills out of a sock.
Jace didn't even flinch.
This was Gotham.
And Gotham didn't care.
It was the worst city in the world, and the only one he'd ever love.
He crossed two cracked sidewalks and ducked into an old apartment building, the kind with rusted mailboxes and flickering lights. Inside the elevator, the smell of metal and mildew clung to the air. He hit the button for the 8th floor.
Just before the doors closed, a hand caught the edge and pushed it back open.
A woman stepped in with black hair, striking green eyes, and a smirk that could cut glass.
Jace didn't even blink.
"Hey, Aunt Selina."
Selina Kyle ruffled his hair like he was still eight years old. "Hey, Jace. You get cuter every day. How's Carla?"
He scowled, swatting her hand away. "Mom's good. She gets off in an hour or two."
Selina nodded, then side-eyed him playfully. "And school?"
Jace looked away. "Haven't been."
"Speak up, sweetie."
He sighed and muttered louder. "I haven't been."
The playfulness dropped from her face. Her tone sharpened.
"Jace… you're probably one of the smartest kids I've ever met. That brain of yours could take you somewhere real and get you out of this hellhole."
Jace stared at the floor.
"I don't want to leave," he said quietly. "I want to help this city… because I love it."
Selina looked at him really looked. Then her expression softened into a sad, crooked smile.
"You're just like your father."
Jace reached into his hoodie and pulled out a thin silver chain. Dog tags dangled from it, engraved with one name: Chris Lennox.
"I still miss him."
Selina stepped forward and wrapped him in a hug. "I do too."
The elevator dinged. Selina released him with a sigh and a kiss to the forehead.
"Please go to school, Jace. You deserve a future."
He nodded and stepped out. "Bye, Auntie."
"Bye, dear nephew."
The hallway smelled like old carpet and cigarettes. Jace fished out his keys, unlocked the apartment, and let the door click shut behind him.
He dropped his bag by the couch, headed straight to his bedroom, collapsed on the mattress, and threw on his headphones. Gotham glowed beyond the window and it was alive, broken and burning.
He stared at it for a long time. Then closed his eyes.
He woke up to someone shaking his shoulder.
"Jace."
He blinked.
Standing over him was his mom, Carla Lennox-Kyle, in her work uniform and a face full of exhaustion. Her arms crossed. Her tone sharp.
"So… you gonna tell me why I got two phone calls today?"
Jace sat up slowly. "…Uh, no?"
"One from your principal, saying you haven't been to class in three weeks." She raised an eyebrow. "And one from my sister, saying you told her you haven't been."
Jace muttered under his breath, "Snitch."
Carla grabbed his ear and twisted.
"Why haven't you been to school?"
Jace winced. "It's boring! I already know all the answers. So I figured… why not do something more productive?"
Carla let go of his ear and crossed her arms again. "Like what?"
Jace grinned, grabbed his backpack, and pulled out a thick stack of cash. "Getting money."
Carla stared. Then snatched the bundle from his hands.
She flipped through it. "Where did this come from?"
Jace shrugged. "Gambling?"
Carla gave him a long, hard stare.
"You know you're a terrible liar, right? Your hands are red."
Jace looked down. His knuckles were bruised and bloodstained.
She sighed. "Underground fighting again."
There was a long silence.
Then she dropped the cash on his bed.
"The food's ready."
Dinner was quiet at first. Then warm. Then full of laughter.
For a little while, it was just Carla and Jace mother and son, eating spaghetti at a beat-up kitchen table, laughing at the way the sauce exploded when Jace dropped his fork.
But above them, beyond the walls, beyond the city, Gotham watched.
And what they didn't know…..what they couldn't yet feel was that this peace would not last much longer.