Bruce

As Gotham’s skyline emerged from the horizon, a flood of memories crashed over me. The city stretched out below, a patchwork of history and decay. I spotted the park where my parents used to take me—once full of life, now abandoned, its gates chained shut. Wayne Enterprises stood tall, a gleaming tower of glass and steel, casting a long shadow over the streets. And there, just beyond the clustered rooftops was home, Wayne Manor. Its gardens still immaculate, untouched by the city's relentless march toward ruin and then I saw it.

The Monarch Theatre.

Even from the sky, its faded marquee barely visible through the smog, I knew exactly where it was. I always did. Ever since that night.

18 Years Ago

“Bruce, we are going to be late!” My mother’s voice echoed up the grand staircase. “Alfred is waiting!”

“I’m not going!” I yelled from my bedroom, yanking at my collar. “These stupid galas are so boring!”

“Bruce Wayne, we have a responsibility to this city.” Her tone softened, but the weight behind it remained firm. “Your father’s work depends on these events. We go, we show support, and that’s how we help Gotham.”

I flopped onto my bed, arms crossed, my tie still hanging undone around my neck. A few moments later, footsteps approached. Then he was there, Thomas Wayne, standing in the doorway, effortlessly confident as always. It didn’t matter if he was in a three-piece suit or worn-out basketball shorts, my father carried himself like a man who had the world figured out. And maybe, being the richest man in Gotham, he actually did.

“What’s the problem, champ?” He sat beside me, his voice easy, like he already knew the answer.

“You used to love these things.” His eyes studied me, searching for something. “What changed? Are you suddenly too old to hang out with your dad?”

“It’s not the same,” I muttered, staring at my feet. “Tommy is gone. He moved away, and now it’s just me being dragged around as ‘Gotham’s favorite son.’” I sighed. “It’s not fun anymore, Dad.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “I know it’s hard since Tommy left. But, Bruce, life is change. People come and go. We can’t hold onto the past forever.”

I frowned. He didn’t get it. Not really.

“But…” He leaned in, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “If you come tonight, I hear there’s a showing of The Mask of Zorro right after the gala starts. What do you say? We make an appearance, shake a few hands, and then sneak off to catch the movie?” He held out his hand to seal the deal.

I wanted to be mad, but…he knew exactly how to get me. I shook his hand. “Alright, you win. Deal.”

He patted my shoulder and stood. “Good. Now let’s go. Alfred’s been waiting long enough.”

I grabbed my jacket and followed him out, unaware that this would be the last night I’d ever hear his voice.

The gala was exactly as I expected; boring, exhausting, and filled with too many old women pinching my cheeks, marveling at how much I’d grown. I spent most of the night dodging conversations I didn’t care about, forcing polite smiles, and waiting. Waiting for my dad to make good on his promise.

Finally, after two long hours, he leaned down and whispered, “There’s a showing at the Monarch Theatre in twenty minutes. If we ditch Alfred and take the back alleys, we’ll make it just in time.”  

My mother was already eager to leave, so we didn’t waste another second. We slipped out the side doors, ducking into the narrow, dimly lit alleys behind the venue. My heart pounded with excitement as we weaved through the backstreets—our own little adventure.

By the time we reached the theatre, the trailers were still playing.

The movie was everything I hoped it would be. The Mask of Zorro played out on the big screen, swashbuckling action, heroic triumphs. I was enthralled. By the time we stepped outside, I was still caught up in it, swinging my arm in the air, carving invisible Z’s through the night.

I stopped at the curb, expecting Alfred to pull up any second. But my parents kept walking.

“Alfred doesn’t know we snuck out,” my father explained. “We’ve got to slip back in the same way we left.”

“I don’t know, Thomas,” my mother hesitated. “It’s gotten much later now. Maybe we should just call him.”

“Oh, come on, it’ll be fine,” my father said with his usual confidence. “We just cut through Park Row, down a couple of streets, and ta-da we’re back at the party.” He grinned, as if this was the greatest plan anyone had ever thought of.

But my mother was right.

By the time we reached Park Row, the streets were nearly empty, the streetlights casting long, eerie shadows. It was too late, too dark. My father’s pace quickened. My mother clutched my hand.

Then he appeared. A man stepped out from the darkness. His coat was ragged, his face obscured by the brim of his hat. But the gun in his hand was unmistakable.

“Thomas,” my mother whispered, gripping his arm. “He has a gun.”

My father raised a hand, his voice steady but laced with something I’d never heard before— fear. “We don’t want trouble,” he said carefully. “If you need help, I know someone—Leslie Thompkins. She works just down the block. She can…”

“Wallets. Purses. Watches.” The man’s voice was sharp, cutting through my father’s words.

The gun shifted, pointing directly at my mother. “And those pearls.”

My mother’s breath hitched. She hesitated.  

The man reached forward and yanked at her necklace. The strand snapped, pearls scattering across the pavement like raindrops.

The gunshot echoed through the alley. My mother collapsed before I even understood what had happened.

“No!” My father lunged at the man. Another shot rang out. He crumpled to the ground.

I couldn’t move. Time stretched, every second dragging like an eternity. The gunman turned to me, his shadow swallowing me whole. Then, he ran.  

I don’t know what scared him off, maybe the thought of shooting a kid was too much but I didn’t care. I dropped to my knees. My mother’s white pearls, now stained crimson, lay scattered in a pool of blood. I pressed my hand against my father’s chest. Nothing. No breath. No heartbeat. They were gone.

The night pressed in around me, cold and silent. I clenched my fists, shaking. This could never happen again.

No one else would feel this pain. No one else would be left alone on a cold street, staring at the bodies of the people they loved most. No matter how long it took. No matter what I had to become. I would make sure of it.