Present Day

The car glided into the garage of Wayne Manor, its tires barely making a sound against the polished concrete. The familiar scent of oil and metal hung in the air, mixing with the faint musk of a space that had once been full of life but now felt hollow.

Alfred put the car in park and turned slightly towards me. “We’ve arrived, Master Wayne.”

The weight of those words settled heavily in my chest. Wayne. As if the name meant anything anymore. I reached for my bags, but Alfred was already moving.  

“Don’t worry about those, Alfred. I got them.”

Before I could intervene, he had already pulled the duffel bags from the trunk with the same precise efficiency he had always possessed. For a man who claimed to have left behind his soldiering days, his movements were still sharp, practiced, disciplined.

“Master Wayne,” he huffed, lifting the weight with ease, “just because I haven’t carried luggage in ten years doesn’t mean I’m suddenly a decrepit old man who needs assistance.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth. “You were never a decrepit old man, Alfred. I just wanted to help someone who means a lot to me.”

“If you reach for these bags again, sir, I may have to remove that hand,” Alfred quipped, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I don’t care how many years you spent becoming a ninja.”

I chuckled under my breath, shaking my head. “I wasn’t becoming a ninja, Alfred. I was honing my craft, expanding my perspective. It was something I couldn’t gain by staying here.”

“My mistake, sir,” Alfred said dryly. “It won’t happen again.”

We climbed the grand staircase, the silence between us thick with unspoken words. When we reached the second floor, Alfred pushed open the door to a familiar room.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to move into the master bedroom?” he asked, pausing just inside the doorway. “You are the man of the house now.”

I stared into the room. My room. The same one I had left behind all those years ago. It was smaller than I remembered, but it felt right.

“That’s my parents’ room, Alfred,” I said, my voice quieter now. “This is my room. And it stays my room.”

Alfred studied me for a long moment, then gave a single nod. “As you wish, sir. Supper will be served shortly.”

Once he was gone, I unzipped one of my duffel bags and emptied its contents onto the bed. A few changes of clothes, some with dried bloodstains still on them. A toothbrush. A set of lockpicks. My old combat gloves, the purple faded with use. Every item told a story—of battles fought in alleys, of wounds stitched in dimly lit rooms, of training that pushed me past my breaking point and rebuilt me into something stronger.

I had spent years learning how to break bones, how to disappear into the shadows, how to tear down a man’s entire empire without leaving a trace. But none of that would matter if I couldn’t fix Gotham. That was my true mission.

The city had decayed beyond recognition, its lifeblood poisoned by organized crime and corruption. The Gotham City Police Department had become a shell of what it once was, its officers bought and paid for like cheap commodities. That was my first objective—root out the bad seeds, restore the people’s faith in the law.

The second step? Burn the filth out of Gotham completely. Traffickers, pushers, enforcers, I would dismantle them all. Not with a boardroom. Not with contracts. But with fear.

The dinner bell rang, pulling me from my thoughts. The scent of roasted meat and fresh bread drifted through the halls, and my stomach twisted with hunger. It had been years since I had tasted real food, something that wasn’t scavenged or hastily prepared in some forgotten corner of the world.

When I reached the dining hall, I hesitated. Alfred had set the table, the grand table, with my place at the head.

I exhaled through my nose. “Alfred, we’ve talked about this. I won’t be eating here. And I certainly won’t sit at that seat.”

Alfred turned from the sideboard, his hands clasped behind his back, his brow raised in challenge. “Your attempt to avoid taking responsibility for this house is astonishing to me, sir. You speak of honoring your parents, yet you refuse to stand where they once stood. That will not be allowed to continue.”

I frowned. “Alfred”

“You will attend a shareholders meeting tomorrow,” he interrupted smoothly, as if he had already anticipated my argument. “The board is anxious to hear what the sole heir to Wayne Enterprises intends to do with his father’s legacy.”

I picked up my plate and walked toward a seat closer to him. “I don’t see why they can’t continue doing what they’ve been doing. Wayne Enterprises hasn’t suffered a major loss in years. From what I hear, Lucius Fox has been running things admirably.”

Alfred’s expression didn’t shift. “While Mr. Fox has done well, the company is not Fox

Enterprises, sir. It is Wayne Enterprises. Hence, your involvement is necessary.”

“I’ll be too busy for such trivial things as business,” I said, my voice flat. “Wayne Enterprises is only a finite part of my plan.”

Alfred took a measured breath. “Do tell, sir.”

I met his gaze. “I’m going to restore Gotham. The city is rotting from the inside out. It took me years to gather what I needed, to learn everything I could. I’m ready now.”

Alfred studied me carefully, then his gaze flicked toward the study. “That would explain the rather large crate that arrived this morning,” he mused. “I had it wheeled in there for you.”

I nodded, finishing my meal in silence. When I was done, I slid out of my chair and made my way toward the study.

Inside, the crate stood against the far wall, its wooden surface marked with shipping labels from half a dozen countries. I ran my fingers over the rough grain before prying it open.

Inside lay everything I had collected during my travels. My reinforced tactical gloves, their padding stiff with wear. A climbing harness, its fibers stretched from a thousand ascents.

Combat wear, heavy boots, and gear designed for the shadows.

These weren’t just tools. They were pieces of me, of the blood, sweat, and pain I had endured to become something more than Bruce Wayne.

I clenched my fists. This wasn’t about vengeance. It wasn’t about rage. This was about justice. And my war was just beginning.

10 Years Earlier

As the boat that I had stowed away on left the shores of Gotham, my plan was finally going into to action. I would need to train from the best and hone my craft so that I became one with each of the skills necessary to wage my war on crime. My first stop was Paris, France.

When I arrived in Paris, I was determined to refine my combat skills. My first stop was under the tutelage of the world’s greatest swordsman, a master known only as Le Sabreur. I trained rigorously in the art of swordplay, pushing myself to perfect precision, speed, and discipline.  

But my journey took an unexpected turn when I crossed paths with a masked vigilante known as the Gray Shadow, a legendary figure who dismantled the criminal underworld through deception and agility. Recognizing my potential, she took me under her wing, and taught me the importance of strategy, patience, and unpredictability in combat.

My training was interrupted when Henri Ducard, a renowned manhunter, tracked me down. Alfred had secretly hired him to find me. But, instead of returning to Gotham, I found myself entangled in Ducard’s pursuit of a serial killer terrorizing Paris. Together with the Gray Shadow, we followed the killer’s trail through the labyrinthine streets of the city. After successfully stopping the murderer, Ducard saw something in me, a kindred spirit. I left the Gray Shadow’s side to learn the craft of manhunting from him.

Under Henri Ducard’s tutelage, I learned the skills of tracking, interrogation, and psychological profiling. His methods were ruthless, emphasizing efficiency over morality. He taught me how to track prey through the most remote terrains, how to disappear into a crowd, and how to extract information through fear and deception. But as I honed my skills, I uncovered a grim truth, Ducard didn’t just hunt criminals; he executed them.  

When he finally expected me to take a life, I refused. Our partnership ended in a violent confrontation, and I barely escaped with my life. From that moment on, I vowed never to cross that line. Justice without morality was just another form of crime.

After escaping from Ducard, I journeyed to China, where I sought out the legendary Shaolin monks. High in the mountains, I spent years mastering martial arts, learning to control my body and mind with unparalleled discipline. The monks taught me various styles, from Shaolin Kung Fu to pressure point manipulation. They also refined my sword fighting skills, blending them with hand-to-hand combat. My training wasn’t just physical but spiritual. I learned to conquer fear and pain, pushing myself beyond human limits.

After the monks, I was in search of a master in stealth and illusion, I sought out Giovanni Zatara, a world-renowned escape artist and magician. Zatara instructed me in sleight of hand, perception, and misdirection. Skills that would later make me Gotham’s greatest illusionist in the shadows. I was fascinated by Zatara’s techniques. However, my stay was complicated by my growing affection for his daughter, a woman with secrets of her own. My feelings for her endangered the mission. So, though I felt a deep connection with her, I ultimately left, knowing my journey was far from over.

On my next stop, I traveled to Paektu Mountain in Korea, where I sought out Master Kirgi, a legendary martial artist. Training atop the freezing peaks, I learned to move with absolute silence, mastering techniques of stealth and evasion. Master Kirgi taught me patience, how to strike unseen, and how to utilize my environment as a weapon. It was here that I truly became a ghost in the night.

From combat, I shifted my focus to mastering vehicles, believing that speed and maneuverability could be crucial assets. I found Don Miguel, an eccentric but brilliant street racer in Brazil, who taught me high-speed racing, precision driving, and advanced vehicular combat techniques. By the time I left, I could handle any machine on wheels with lethal efficiency.

In Moscow, I sought out Avery Oblonsky, an infamous former spy known for her ability to disappear in plain sight. Oblonsky drilled me in the arts of disguise, voice modulation, and social manipulation. She taught me how to forge identities, alter my appearance convincingly, and even mimic personalities to blend seamlessly into any crowd.

I then traveled to the Swiss Alps, where Luka Jungo, an expert marksman, took me in.

Though I had no intention of ever using guns, I believed understanding them was vital. Jungo trained me in firearms, archery, and projectile weaponry. While I became a nearflawless shot, I solidified my vow never to use guns as a means of justice.

Seeking further mastery in stealth, I traveled to the Hida Mountains of Japan. There, I studied under an ancient lineage of shinobi, learning the art of moving unseen, infiltration, and untraceable takedowns. It was here that I learned to disappear into the darkness entirely.

I finally turned my attention to technology, knowing that brute force alone would not win my war on crime. In Berlin, I studied under Sergei Alexandrov, a former weapons engineer turned recluse. Alexandrov taught me how to build, modify, and adapt cutting-edge technology for my needs. I learned to craft tools, gadgets, and even prototype vehicles, all of which would later aid me in my war on crime.

Before returning to Gotham, I made one last stop, Philadelphia, where I sought out legendary boxer Ted Grant. Unlike my previous masters, Grant was no secretive warrior but a straightforward fighter. He drilled me in close-quarters combat, teaching me the resilience and endurance of a true fighter. His brutal training regimen forged my iron will, ensuring I could take a beating and still stand.

Grant was different from my other mentors. He didn’t talk about philosophy, honor, or discipline. He only talked about the fight in front of me. He knew things, though, things that made me wonder about the man he used to be. There were old newspaper clippings in his gym, yellowed with age, featuring grainy photos of masked figures standing side by side. He never spoke about them, and I never asked, but the way his eyes lingered on them told me all I needed to know. Grant wasn’t just a fighter; he had been something more. Maybe, once, he had been part of something bigger, something built on justice long before I ever considered it.

One night, after an exhausting training session, I asked him why he trained me. He shrugged, wrapping his hands with the same tape he’d used a thousand times before. "World’s a rough place, kid. Always has been. You either stand up to it, or you let it knock you down. And I don’t train people who stay down."

I carried those words with me. When I finally left Philadelphia, I knew I was ready for whatever Gotham had waiting for me. With every lesson ingrained into my mind and body, I returned to Gotham, no longer the broken man who had left years ago. I had become something greater, a weapon against the darkness that plagued my city.

There was just one thing left to do, and it was maybe the hardest thing that I had done in the course of my ten years of training abroad. I picked up the phone and called Alfred.

“Hello, Wayne Manor. This is Alfred Pennyworth. How may I assist you today?” Alfred spoke through the line, always so proper.

“Wow is that how you answer the phone every time Alfred. We have got to work on that?” I told him, the humor trying to mask the uncertainty of the phone call. Ten years ago, he had hired Ducard to come after me but after that failed, he never tried again. I wonder what he though of me after all these years. I was answered by the tone of his voice, when he replied.

“Master Bruce, sir is that you?” Alfred said, his voice mixed with an air of skepticism and optimism.

“Hey, Alfred. It’s me, Bruce.”

“Master Bruce, where are you? You have been missing for ten years. You were declared dead. No one had heard from you.” He said back, his voice almost reached a yell, but his manners got the best of him.

“Well, I have been around the world but right now I am in Philadelphia, and I think its time to come home. I would love it if you could get a plane out here to pick me up. My days of hitch hiking and being a stowaway are done.” I told him.

“Yes, Master Bruce. Right away. I will see you at the Gotham airport.” Alfred said, then he hesitated like he wondered if this was a dream or if he would actually get to speak to me again. But after a few seconds, he hung up the phone and I headed to the airport. It was time for me to begin my war on crime.