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The Dark Knight and the Boy Scout

Here is the entire Prologue under the cut; link to this and AO3 can also be found at amoretheiwa.tumblr.com/dkandbs

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Prologue 1: Crime Alley

As the family of three exited the theatre, Breanna Wayne found her fear slowly melting away in the cool night air. She lead the way in front of her parents as they walked onto Park Row. It was lit for the most part, with a small stretch of inky dark shadows crawling towards the streetlamp at the end, where the road met up again with the small lane.

“Did you enjoy the picture after all, dear?” Her father called out to her. They had left shortly after the intermission, the young Wayne child frightened by the play.

Breanna turned around and grinned. Her dress was a miniature version of her mother’s, all dark blue and sparkling, with a light coat on top. One could imagine the glitter on the skirt and bodice swirled to look like stars and streams in the night sky, but someone who had not left Gotham in some time would not recognize the night sky without the smog and orange glow it seemed to permanently possess.

“It’s not so scary now! Now I want to be just like Zorro,” the young girl said as she waved the crumpled program like a sword. “But a girl Zorro!” Her own sound effects and murmured narration told the tale of a brave swordswoman, fighting off villains left and right, all while wearing a dark mask. She jabbed, taking one step forward, and whirled, throwing her arms out in an elegant parry.

Martha laughed and leaned closer to her husband. Both had brown eyes, but where Thomas had dark brown hair Martha had golden brown. Neither of them was entirely sure where Breanna got the blue eyes and black hair from.

“I think that Breanna may want to exchange her horse lessons for fencing classes.”

Thomas Wayne laughed, watching his daughter jump a few feet in front of them. His heart panged at the thought of Breanna growing up.

“I think so. Maybe when she older, say…30?”

“Dad!” Breanna protested, glancing back with a pout on her lips that lasted for only a moment.

“Dad! What if I did both? Both horse riding lessons and fencing!”

He laughed again as Martha chuckled, shaking his head. Martha glanced at him and pressed his arm. They shared a look before he sighed.

“That’s an awful lot of time not spent on school work or play. We’ll talk about it when we get home,” he trailed off slowly, his eyes locked on something above Breanna’s head.

She whirled around, fear stabbing her heart in a way it hadn’t reached, even sitting in that dark theatre. A figure in shadows stepped forward and the sound that echoed in her small mind was unmistakable as that of a gun cocking.

“Nice night out, ain’t it?” The man asked. There was something slimy and terror-inducing in his voice, Breanna thought. She clenched the program in both hands against her chest

“It is a nice night,” Thomas said sternly but not unkind. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we’re just passing through.”

“Oh of course, no worries. I just require some sort of…payment,” the man leered. His face was mostly obscured by the hat he wore. Breanna found a part of her brain, removed from this unfolding horror, wondering why he was wearing a hat at night.

“How about them pearls?” He said, gesturing with the gun.

“Give me the necklace and nobody gets hurt, lady.”

Martha’s hands immediately went towards her neck, not to unclasp the pearls but to hover over them. Breanna’s eyes darted to her parents, stumbling back a few steps and running into the rough, brick wall.

“There’s no need for that,” Thomas said. He took a half-step forward, raising his hands.

“I can give you money instead and—”

“No!” The man with the gun shouted, his own hand beginning to shake.

Suddenly there was a loud bang and Breanna’s mother was screaming. Breanna turned around, taking a step back, and watched as her father fell to the ground.

Martha moved forward, to either catch her husband or protect her daughter Breanna would never know, and then all too soon Mrs. Wayne was falling as well. Breanna could only watch, petrified, as her mother’s pearls all seemed to roll as far away as possible. The running footsteps of the man—murderer—were muffled, distant. Breanna could not move, not when there was a kind young woman holding her, not when the police showed up and the rain started, not when the young officer James Gordon gave her his coat.

She didn’t move until she heard a familiar voice call her name.

“Alfred!” She cried out, turning and running to the butler. She crashed into him, sobbing for the first time that night, and not letting go even when he stood up with her in his arms. His face was gaunt and pale, and his eyes were stuck on the covered bodies even while his hands grabbed the child to his legs.

“If you have all the information you need from Miss Wayne, I believe I’ll be taking her back to the Manor.”

“Oh, oh of course Mr. Pennyworth. Here’s my number, I’m…I’m so sorry. I wish there was something we could have done.”

“You have nothing to apologize for Officer…?”

“Gordon. James Gordon. Let me know if I can do anything, please, me or my wife.”

“Me as well, Alfred.”

“Thank you both, Officer Gordon, Ms. Thompkins. It will…be a trying time.”

The drive back to the manner was all wrong to the British man. Normally one or both of the adult Wayne’s would sit in back with their daughter, laughter and quiet talking filling the car more than any music ever could. Alfred had her sit in the front seat this time, so as to keep an eye on her and remind himself that there was still a Wayne whom he was to take care of, and kept the radio turned off. There was no music, no talking, no sound but her crying. By now it had quieted to a shaking weep.

The butler glanced as his young charge, his heart tightening at the same time as his throat. He blinked away tears almost the entire drive, focusing on breathing and the road. There were a few moments where he almost could not stop himself from pulling to the side, but the soldier in him pushed onward, out of that wretched city.

He slowed the car on the gravel driveway, directly in front of the Manor’s front doors. He turned the keys in the ignition, the engine turning off, but couldn’t bring himself to pull the keys out fully or even get out of the car. Breanna’s renewed crying, louder now, pushed him out of his stupor. He breathed out a heavy breath of air and as he walked around the car looked up at the sky. He dragged open the car door and leaned down, gently coaxing the young girl into his arms. He walked into the Manor in a trance, the doors slamming shut in a crash behind them.

Prologue 2: Global Academy

At age 10 Breanna Wayne did not leave Alfred Pennyworth alone until he enrolled her in a private martial arts course. Two years had come and gone since her parent’s murder, with the police investigation deciding in the end that is was pure bad luck and not some malicious plot to end the kind and benevolent affect the Wayne family had on Gotham. Both Breanna and Alfred has spent the majority of those two years grieving.

She pushed herself to mastering all forms and styles of hand-to-hand combat known (at first the excuse was self0defense but after her first five months it quickly lost its effectiveness of a lie), also insisting on extra classes to supplement her until-then regular education. The butler did not bat an eye at her requests, even when the child simply soaked up all the information he could give her during her school hours. Breanna was focused, far more so than a child of ten and an orphan should have any right being. But, he had reasoned with himself, at least this drive to become something better and to be prepared for some dark inevitability was healthier than the potential decay into something less than human.

Homeschooling the orphan had been the best decision they could have made, as it allowed the young Wayne heir to adapt as slowly or quickly as she wanted to her new parentless life. According to her parent’s will, Alfred was her sole guardian and holder of her inheritance until she was 25. Some members of the Wayne Industries board had tried to contest that, but their greed was seen through and a grieving city quickly acted without mercy.

There were always bad days, of course, and certain anniversaries were worse than others. Birthdays, holidays, and other such formerly-family events earned a day spent mourning and going through photo albums followed by a week-long vacation to a place of her choosing. It was a bargain the two of them had struck—Alfred’s only requirements were that they went somewhere new every trip. Breanna did not protest. Soon she had finagled trips to every continent and insisted on learning everything she could about the places they visited, from history to culture to modern politics. She rarely interacted with others her age who were also in the same demographic.

From that young age, there were clearly two Breanna Wayne’s that Alfred knew. One was the girl who smiled and still liked flowers and pearls despite her trials in life. The girl who just wanted to help make the world a better place, but didn’t mind having others do the actual work for her when it came to being in public. The other Breanna Wayne was one who rarely smiled but enjoyed classic literature intended for someone far older than her. She preferred practicality and the guarantee of doing something yourself than anything else, and was as far from trusting as any child had a right to be. Alfred worried, but did not stop her.

By the time she was 15, Breanna had graduated from high school and was proficient in all forms of hand-to-hand combat that were possible to be learned without traveling through time. She had started puberty on a down day, a down week really. Alfred was calm throughout it all but could not replace the mother figure the young woman needed. And so entered Leslie Thompkins once again. The kind doctor was one of the many who had been close to the Wayne’s on a personal level, and so tried to spend as much time as she could with the butler and his charge. She was young and idealistic, but much of her naivete was lost the same night Breanna lost her world. So she taught Breanna basic medicine and first aid, and had her help in her free clinic, interacting with the people of Gotham not from behind a podium or flashing cameras but surrounded by wounds of all kinds and real world problems.

Online college courses at multiple universities, another four years, another few dozen countries, and three almost (four degrees later) Breanna Wayne was finally willing to fully re-enter the social scene that her family’s wealth demanded of her. Alfred had helped her keep her life fairly private, only surfacing for key anniversaries and charity events, such as those held for the Martha Wayne foundation. She did not fancy the “young and rich” life many others close to her age and who possessed similar fortunes seemed to enjoy, and was considered to be overly somber and serious by her peers.

And then she disappeared for two years, and not even Alfred knew where she was. He presented a calm façade and only Leslie aware of the truth (what little he did know; she was alive, and well, training in some far-off land). When she came back she was still two different people in the same body. One was the face she showed the public, enjoying some of the aspects of wealthy life that she had previously ignored. Hundreds of dates in just a few months but without embarrassing drunk moments or trips to either party’s residence had the press scratching their heads. But Alfred clearly saw it—as a woman in the spotlight, she could not afford to be selfish and indulged in everything she fancied, whether it was truly something she enjoyed or not, or else the reputation she was now trying to build would be weakened. In the privacy of Wayne Manor, she complained of the unfairness of society’s double standard concerning genders, and what her male companions could get away with that she could not.

The other persona was just as serious before, but no longer spent free time studying old authors and ways of the world. Rather, this Breanna Wayne now studied forensics and criminal psychology alongside the global economy and attended Wayne Enterprise meetings, learning everything about all of her employees from every janitor to each member of the Board of Directors. Alfred ignored the time she spent in the caverns under the Manor until he was one day invited to help her install a computer system of sorts.

It took some time, but soon Breanna had re-established herself as the working CEO of Wayne Industries, proving that her “fun times” with the other social elite did not interfere with her ability to be the upright business and philanthropist figure Gotham and the rest of the world desperately needed and wanted from her. By the time of her 21st birthday Breanna was in the news nearly as much as her parents had been prior to their death, for both good and suspicious things.

Lucius Fox, head of Wayne Tech’s Research and Development department, and Alfred Pennyworth, still the Wayne family butler, became even better friends as the young woman truly split her time between solely work, home, and play. However, a fourth category was about to be born and neither man knew just how involved they were going to end up until she finally convinced them both to be accomplices. Alfred was not surprised when the completed “Cave” beneath the Manor soon became one of the places he would most often find his still-young charge. Lucius was a frequent visitor, and soon became familiar with the Cave as well.

Prologue pt. 3: The Interview A

The public was, in general, not privy to her extensive education, as they merely knew her to be successful and skilled at her job as CEO, and as such few reporters and journalists bothered to learn about more than her social life and current charity project, and anything that had either her name or that of her business in the news. Because of that it was a bit of a shock to the young woman when her not-quite-annual interview with the Daily Planet—an exclusive interview they got at least once yearly because she had made the mistake of purchasing the media source—on the eve of her parent’s death’s anniversary was not with one of the many gossip article writers but the famed Lois Lane.

Her articles tended to be of a more serious nature, with a good portion being about the alien superhero who roamed her skies and protected Metropolis. The other majority of her writing was about sensitive or important topics that no one else seemed to have the guts to write about. She had won the Pulitzer for a reason, and was considered one of the best investigative journalists of their time, with no one except maybe Clark Kent or Iris West coming close. Lois Lane’s name was just as well-known as Breanna’s in some circles.

She was picked up from the Gotham Airport by a driver hired by Miss Wayne, and greeted at the door by Alfred Pennyworth, the Wayne family’s butler. Once she was inside he lead the reporter through the foyer, down a hallway, and into a study.

Large windows framed by huge curtains let sunlight filter into and brighten the room. Walls made of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, an empty fireplace, and extremely comfortable looking furniture created an overall cozy environment. Above the mantle was a portrait of Thomas and Martha Wayne, smiling lovingly with a gentle downward-look. Breanna had been sitting in the seat behind the large mahogany desk, typing away at a computer, but when her guests entered she stood, a soft smile gracing her face. She walked forward and shook Lois’ hand as Alfred backed out, murmuring something about afternoon tea, softly closing the door.

Even in small heels Lois was inches shorter than Breanna Wayne, who wore dark teal flats with a gold emblem on the toes. Her shoulder-length wavy black hair moved with her head as she turned towards a small sitting area.

“Hello, Ms. Lane. I hope your trip here was uneventful,” her voice was silvery; not in the suspicious way that most politicians or businessmen (like Lex Luthor) spoke, with an underlying hint towards malice or betrayal, but in the true definition of the word: clear, pleasant, and soft.

Her bright blue eyes were framed in simple black eyeliner done stylishly, a neutral color gloss was the only other tint on her face, and simple pearl stud earrings were the only jewelry other than a simple light brown leather watch that the heiress wore. A simple black turtleneck made of some sort of expensive fabric looked good, not old-fashioned, on her. Matching black jeans with the hems rolled once all made her outfit simple with an understated sense of fashion.

“Oh, it was,” Lane said with a grin.

“No Superman sighting?” Breanna joked, stepping back and gesturing towards the seats in front of the fireplace.

“No, thank heavens,” Lane took a seat first. “Seeing Superman almost always means being near some sort of danger.”

“I’m glad then that you didn’t see him,” Breanna took her own seat.

“Me too, believe me. I think I’ve seen enough of the Man of Steel to last me a life time.”

Breanna smiled, face tilting just barely.

“Oh? From the way your city idolizes him, and how some of your colleagues write, one would think he’s a pleasure to be around.”

“He’s a hero, simple as that. Not exactly of this world, if you catch my drift. It’s hard to be friends with someone who’s both an alien and such a huge figure. But it is nice to catch up without bullets or falling,” Lois said with a laugh.

Breanna grinned in agreement.

“Do you mind if I record everything from here on out?” Lois asked, bringing out an old-fashioned recorder and holding it out. Her demeanor had barely shifted, the reporter surfacing.

Breanna’s eyes widened minimally but she nodded.

“Go right ahead.”

Lois turned it on and set it down on the coffee table between them.

“How has the weather been in Gotham recently, Miss Wayne?” Lois asked, leaning back as she balanced a notepad and pen on her crossed legs. She was wearing her usual matching purple pencil skirt and blazer over a white blouse, her black hair down and over her shoulders. “Breanna, please. And it’s been…the normal, for Gotham at least.”

Lois smiled, and glanced down at her lap.

“Alright then, Breanna, call me Lois. How have you been? Recently all Cat’s written about you is some contradictory information about a Jaden and a Mose. That can’t have been easy, juggling twins.”

Breanna laughed, a chiming sound.

Prologue pt. 3: The Interview B

“I don’t exactly know what she was writing about myself. You see, I happened to go on a date with Jaden, but in the process met his twin brother Mose. We then went out on a date a few weeks later, but neither went anywhere farther than the respective restaurants. It was the scandal of the week as I had apparently convinced Cat—and the world—that I was seriously dating Lex Luthor.”

“Were you dating Luthor, seriously or otherwise?”

Breanna shook her head with a smile.

“No, not at all. Lex and I were meeting multiple times a week to set up a new joint project between our companies but our visions did not align. You can’t blame Cat though, she was extremely thorough in her investigation of my life: there’s just not that much to find that you don’t already see.”

“Cat definitely gets what she wants most of the time,” Lois said. “Could you possibly tell us more about this failed project?”

Breanna stared past Ms. Lane, her lips moving in a circle before opening in response.

“There’s not much that I can actually say about the project itself seeing as how Lex is planning to go through with it on his own now, as much as he is able without Wayne Industries unique assistance.”

Lois nodded, scribbling something down on her notepad. She leaned forward slightly, her blue eyes narrowed.

“Do you think you could instead tell us—me—what about your visions didn’t align?”

Breanna stilled for a second before letting loose a deep breath. Lois had to hide a grin—not many broke past the shell Breanna Wayne portrayed towards almost all media personnel, but things seemed to be pointing to a rare genuine interview with the young woman.

“Since my parents passed, I’ve tried to do all I can to help others as they would have wanted. The Wayne fortune is not meant to be solely saved for my pleasure and future posterity. It is a blessing and one that I must share. People sometimes confuse helping others with throwing money at them, but the Wayne Industries employees and I have found that when you educate someone and provide the tools they need, then you are better providing help than if you just gave them a $1000 a month.”

“That sounds like a PR statement, not an answer,” Lois prodded. Breanna smiled without showing her teeth.

“Let’s just say that I think there is a necessary need for distance when helping someone while still remaining relatively close, and Lex is more of the opinion that total control will garner a faster and longer lasting result.”

Lois nodded, and wrote a few things down before speaking again.

“You mentioned your parents and what they would have wanted. Is that as in what they would have wanted from you as their sole heir, or wanted from the rest of the world?”

Breanna pursed her lips as she stared at Lois who held her hand over her notepad, poised to start writing again.

“They were kind people. I like to think that I knew them better than most despite how young I was when they were murdered, or at least had a unique perspective that no one except maybe Alfred shared. In that respect I think it’s what they would have wanted from both me and the rest of Gotham and our country and the world.”

The other woman nodded understandingly.

“As tomorrow will mark the 13th anniversary of their passing, what do you think they would think of you now? And of Wayne Industries, and Gotham?” She asked.

Breanna looked at her, surprise coloring her expression for a moment. As she sucked on her bottom lip, the 21-year-old orphan shifted in her seat so that the opposite leg was now underneath the other.

“I think they would be proud of what I’ve done with both myself and the company. I did not allow their passing to control the rest of my life, nor did I turn towards any sort of unsavory pastime to “cope”,” here she used air quotes. “Wayne Industries is doing better than ever, and is involved in more charity and goodwill than most other companies can boast. Gotham, however, is a different answer entirely.”

Breanna opened her mouth to respond, her eyebrows coming down in a briefly angry expression. She was stopped from responding as someone knocked on the study door.

“Come in,” she called out, instead of whatever she had been about to say.

Alfred pushed the door openly gently with a black wooden tray in his hands.

“Forgiven the intrusion, Miss, but I brought some refreshments. Ms. Lane.”

After setting it down the butler disappeared quietly once again. Breanna smiled at the reports and waved a hand over the tray.

“Please, take whatever you want.”

Lois was a little surprised to find a bowl of fresh strawberries and blueberries next to a small spoon, one of her personal favorites. There was a second plate, and this one was full of what looked like fluffy diamonds of pastry with a dark filling—baklava.

“Alfred sure does his research,” Lois said as she picked up the spoon clearly meant for her.

Breanna grinned, picking up her treat.

“He prides himself on being the best butler possible. I don’t know what I would have done without him all these years.”

They both chewed for a few seconds, savoring a few bites before Lois put her bowl back down. She swallowed rather obviously.

“What were you going to say about Gotham, Breanna?”

The heiress daintily finished chewing, and swallowed.

“It’s probably a good thing Alfred interrupted,” she said quietly, looking out the window at nothing. The mood shifted at that moment.

“I’ve seen the harshest, cruelest that Gotham has to offer, and at a young age too. And now? In so many ways Gotham had just gotten worse, and in very few ways aspects has it improved. Wayne Industries has provided jobs but crime is still steadily rising. My parent’s killer was never found, never brought to justice…” here she seemed to truly leave the room.

“I will never have any sense of closure concerning their deaths, and that combined with the sheer unnecessariness of their deaths will always haunt me,” she murmured.

Lois’ eyebrows lowered minimally.

“I’m sorry!” Breanna turned around and faced the journalist, her eyes wide and a hand over her mouth. “That was so un-tactful of me to say, such a downer. Please don’t publish that portion, I’m afraid I wasn’t paying attention to what I was saying.”

“Alright, Breanna. I’ll do that for you,” Lois said. The mood was darkly somber and over the course of the next few questions it seemed that Breanna Wayne’s walls were back up.

A little under an hour later, and Lois had enough for more than just one article. Breanna came with Alfred to show her out and once she was gone the heiress collapsed on the couch in the living room. Her butler sat down in the seat across from the coffee table and shook his head.

“You should have done more to focus the interview Mrs. Wayne’s foundation, in my opinion.”

Breanna groaned and turned over, facing the cushions and throwing a leg over the back of the couch. She mumbled something into the cushions.

“Miss Wayne,” Alfred said in his scolding voice, “please refrain from treating the furniture as such. The Manor is your home, not a playground.”

Breanna twisted in such a way that all of her body except for her shoulders, neck, head, and hands were off the couch and in the air. Alfred sighed and stood, glancing at her charge.

“Your scheduled meeting with Mr. Fox is in an hour. If you truly want to convince him to be on board with your future night-time endeavors, then you may want to have all of your material compiled, if it isn’t already.”

Breanna straightened up into a handstand and blew out a burst of air.

“My stuff is together, I’m just not sure if I am.”

She fell back onto the couch, the handstand not a perfected move in her arsenal quite yet.

“Miss Wayne!”

Prologue pt. 4: Birth of a Bat A

Alfred stood on one side of the fairly large island in the relatively large kitchen. He was stirring something in a bowl, but Breanna neither knew what it was or even truly realized what he was doing. She was speaking to herself, and speaking quickly. He added the ingredients as they were needed, and didn’t even bother to pretend to respond as he knew she wasn’t really listening.

“I want to do this, I’ve wanted to do this for months, years now! I can’t just turn back now that it’s a reality. I’ve owned my fears and fought hard to get to this point. Especially after all the work it took to convince you and Lucius and Leslie to even agree to help me, let alone think it will be a good idea.”

She swiped a grape from a bowl on the counter and chewed it and another quickly before continuing.

“But it’ll be so dangerous, and who knows if I’ll be making a difference or doing any good? Look at Metropolis! Superman shows up, an alien, and then supervillains start popping up and he’s no longer able to help every single little person because there are times when he’s too focused on taking down the big bad guy. He barely keeps his people safe and he has powers! I’m just a human, and no amount of training or armor or even allies will help me if some perp with a gun gets in a lucky shot.”

She grabbed another grape, Alfred glancing up at her. She had paced the same few feet of the kitchen enough times he was contemplating on asking her to move so as to ever out the wear of the floor. He smiled to himself and shook his head—the British man doubted she would register that he had spoken.

“But who else will protect the people of Gotham? Who else will help the few good cops like Gordon who are still fighting the good fight? I have a suit, a codename, an entire volume of contingencies ready for almost possible every situation, all the training I could hope for, a butler, a doctor, and someone who knows how to fix my tools better than I do. No one else could or would do this for Gotham.”

Yet another grape was stolen, and Alfred found himself sighing. It wasn’t often but sometimes Breanna would eat an entire container of grapes mindlessly if not stopped. She wasn’t even halfway through this cluster of the fruit yet but he figured he should stop her while she was ahead.

“Miss Wayne, if the past decade of doubts and questions you’ve had and posed have not been enough to dissuade you, and the worries others have brought up, and the extensive training and borderline torture you’ve experienced for this moment has not truly stopped you then I believe that you have nothing to worry about.”

Breanna stared at him, chewing on yet another grape.

“True.”

He pursed his lips and went back to his business, pouring what he had been stirring into a baking pan, smoothing the top with the spatula he had used to stir with.

“I’ll be down in the cave then, finalizing things for tonight. The Bat of Gotham’s first appearance!”

And she was gone. Alfred paused for a moment before taking a grape for himself. He made a face and promptly spit it out into the trashcan. Green grapes may be Breanna’s favorite but they were most certainly not his.

The car was loud, and originally that was not something Breanna was happy about. But then Lucius showed her that it could be made silent, and had all sorts of other fancy tricks such as autopilot. Having barely just parked, she jumped out of it, billowing her cloak behind her in a move that had, admittedly, been practiced a hundred times to perfection. She landed on the ground in a crouch and stood. The design of her cloak allowed the fabric to fall forward in a protective manner without any movement from the wearer.

She lifted her arm and shot off a grappling hook, rising into the air rapidly. She landed on the roof of the nearest building and began moving. A bored British voice crackled in her ear.

“It appears that there is robbery about to occur just a block north of your position. A small convenience store, family owned.”

“On my way,” she said. The voice synthesizer worked even over the comms, and Alfred had yet to get used to the voice that was both not his mistress’ and was.

“These are just your average thieves off the street, no malicious planning from what I can tell Miss.”

There was no confirming sound, but then again she didn’t need one. A figure in shadows across the street, the Bat was crouched on the edge of the roof. One of the three men—boys really—had a gun pulled on the man behind the cashier, the man whose family owned the store.

She shot the grappling hook again, this time gliding downwards through the already open doors. When Breanna stood up to her full height, the cape coming in front, and stared down the thugs.

“What the hell are you?” The one holding the gun finally got out, staring at her.

“Nothing good for you,” she murmured. The voice synthesizer she wore not only deepened her voice and added a few elements she did not naturally possess, but also made it sound like she was practically growling with every word she spoke.

One of the two not holding the gun looked at his companions before running out of the store. The other one stepped back, raising his hands.

“Man, you crazy. What are you supposed to be? Some sort of monster?”

She tilted her head and looked at the gun less would-be thief, narrowing her eyes. She took a step forward and the gun was turned on her. The cashier turned and ran, going through a back door. The hand holding the gun began to shake.

Without moving her cape, she grabbed a smoke pellet and dropped it on the ground just before pressing a button that released an EMP, causing even the emergency lights to flicker before going out.

The one who was not holding a gun promptly screamed and tried to run out, stumbling and tripping and almost face planting. The one holding the gun dropped it and raised his hands above his head. A siren finally reached their ears, and flashing red and blue lights illuminated the shop now empty but for the almost-thief. He looked around in confusion, desperately trying to figure out where the masked, costumed freak had gone.

The police officer who ended up viewing the footage recovered from the store in order to validate the perp’s story (and to identify the other two attempted thieves) had the unfortunate chance to discover that Gotham now had its own monster. The question that soon was spread throughout the police station was what was it, and was it going to do good or do bad.

Prologue pt. 4: Birth of a Bat B

Later that month, when the night had reached a point that most other cities would have been long asleep, the Bat found herself almost too tired to continue what had become her routine. She knew she should turn in, but decided that one last stop wouldn’t hurt. After all, every moment counted in Gotham.

When she finally made it back to the Cave and dragged herself out of the car and promptly fell to the ground, she regretted that. A lucky stab in the dark that had caught one of the three weaknesses of the suit left her left leg throbbing and dripping blood. Fortunately, Alfred was prepared and had already set up all the first aid she could need.

Later that night found an exhausted Breanna Wayne laying on top of the covers of her bed, scrolling on her “night work” tablet, reading some police reports on certain patterns in one Gotham neighborhood.

Without knocking Alfred walked in, a small tray with a single steaming mug resting on it. He put the tray on the empty bedside table, glancing at her and her hands.

“Here is your favorite, Miss Wayne, some fresh hot chocolate without the cinnamon.” She smiled up at him and took a sip right then and there. Halfway through the mug and she realized that Alfred had yet to leave.

“What, what are you—” a yawn interrupted her, the mug beginning to slip from her fingers. Alfred took it and the tablet from her, and Breanna realized right before her eyes fell shut that her butler must have drugged her.

Breanna was more than a little frustrated. She had been active in Gotham for three months now and—yes, she had saved quite a few lives and stopped over a hundred robberies and beatings—nothing had truly seemed to work. And those who were talking about her were constantly fighting to assign a gender to her. Why did it matter if the Bat was a man or woman? Alfred and Lucius never failed to point out the benefits of letting people assume she was a man, and begrudgingly Breanna agreed.

All the police had were increasing reports and blurry pictures of a figure dressed as a bat and criminals who were spreading rumors of some freak prowling Gotham; in Breanna’s mind she was having no real impact. Not like Superman in Metropolis, the only other costumed hero working for the same things she was. Though, Breanna amended her thought, I have heard rumors of an arrow-shooting man in Starling City and a flying woman with a sword most heard of overseas or in DC.

Crouched on one of the many gargoyles that littered Gotham’s architecture for no true reason other than misplaced aesthetic, the Bat watched the street below. One of two contacts she had already established had tipped her off to a fairly big heist planned to happen right around midnight. And so she watched, and she waited, and when she saw that everything was seconds away from happening she swooped in.

The jewelry store that was about to be robbed was full of about 20 people, all wearing masks and black, and the shattering glass sprayed over them. Some were frightened and trigger happy and bullets sprayed towards her. Breanna pulled her cloak tighter around and covered her face, grateful for Lucius’ insistence on an unnaturally strong fabric. When the room had stilled, she stood up to her full height, also thanking her foresight for having lifts and slight heels in her boots, making her well over 6 feet tall.

“Yo, I told you this was a bad idea,” someone whispered.

“It’s that Bat thing! The one Jerry was telling us about!” someone else said.

Breanna took half of a step forward and bullets were spraying again, the few who weren’t holding guns moving behind their companions.

“Kill it!” the leader screamed, moving forward minimally. Breanna bent down a little, lifting her cape again, this time to hide her movements as she loosened some smoke pellets and a flashbang grenade. With a dramatic swing of her arm she threw the grenade into the middle of the thieves, and with eyes closed dropped the smoke pellets. The chaos and confusion that ensued allowed her to quickly either decapitate or injure beyond moving all 20. She slipped out, sprinting to the closest corner, and fired a grappling hook.

From the roof across the street that she had formerly been perched on she listened to the police radio, hearing now-familiar voices discuss the scene before them. The conversation had not gone anywhere past “that bat thing again?” when Breanna heard a scream. She raced across the rooftop and looked down where she watched as three large figures seemed to be cornering a short woman whose purse was held tightly against her chest.

The Bat sighed and dropped down, gliding on her cape. She stared at the scene unfolding in front of her from the shadows. She had not been noticed yet and so with one fluid motion she threw one of her bat-shaped ninja stars. It cut into the brick wall next to the cornered woman, not near hurting her but just missing the smallest thug’s ear. The woman screamed, covering her face with her purse, as the three turned around.

“I ain’t done nothing wrong yet!” One of them shouted, holding his hands up in the sky. Breanna glared at him and moved low to the ground as she threw a bola at the two on either side. She came up and punched the man in the center squarely in the jaw, and he went flying into the wall. He slumped to the ground, out cold, and by then the police had somehow noticed or been alerted to the events happening in the alley.

Turned around, about to fire a grappling hook up into the night and fly off, Breanna was stopped by two arms quickly coming around her back.

“Thank you,” the woman whispered, and quickly let go.

The Bat didn’t turn around before leaving.

Later that same night, sitting in her cave, she watched the woman’s testimony on the live feed from the police station. With her fingers steepled in front of her face, her chin leaning against her hands, Breanna’s face showed no emotion.

“I swear! It was a woman, maybe not human but definitely a woman. When I thanked her I felt it,” the woman she had saved insisted.

The sounds of Alfred entering the cave with a tray of something prompted her to turn it off. A huge bat symbol took up the center of the main screen, and she nudged the chair so that she was facing her butler.

“A successful night, I presume?”

“It was, Alfred.”

She swiped one of the sandwiches off the tray before he finished setting it down, nibbling in thought. Superman was unique. He was an alien, an entity who could fly, had super-strength, and a plethora of other powers. He inspired people and made them feel safe, even outside of Metropolis. Breanna could admit—she had been jealous at the age of 19 when he first made his public debut. Her crusade was against the darker kinds of criminals, one’s who a flying Boy Scout wouldn’t be enough to stop, and she didn’t have anything he had.

The alien did a good job of keeping his identity a secret, and even her extensive research had not revealed who he was when not wearing the suit. Breanna shrugged mentally; one way or another she would figure it out, and hopefully before something happened.

“I believe I’ll be turning in soon, Alfred.”

“Alright, Miss. Should I turn down the covers for you? Shine the car perhaps?”

Breanna grinned up at him, still working her way through the sandwich.

“No, I think I’m good.”

“Very well then, I shall see you in the morning. Good night.”

“Good night,” she murmured to his turned back.

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