#wayne.

up this high above gotham, the wind is vicious. it does not blow so much as it bites. he’s designed the suit to be a lot of things: protective, reinforced, a seal to keep himself away from the world, and even warm, but it can’t prevent the way that the cold chews on you. he’s not sure how selina puts up with it, but she does. 

november 25th. i could say that selina’s better at letting things pass her by. but that’s not true. she’s just as bad as it at i am. falcone is absolute proof of that. but we’ve had to live in different places growing up. she was down there. in the seething mass of hatred and bile. i was up here. looking down at it.

it’s a matter of perspective.

“maybe.” his voice is steady, even, the syllables dropping neat and measured in between them. “but that has to change. eventually.” 

in the recording i almost sound like reál. if our new mayor means what she says, then maybe we agree, but i’m not sure anything will last.

he closes his eyes for a moment and leans closer to the edge of the building, just a little. his boots are mere centimeters away. a single step and he would be in freefall. bruce’s stomach pitches at the memory of it. he hasn’t tried it again since escaping from the precinct. for a moment, he imagines the crash into salt water below. or maybe in one of the places where some of the damage has been repaired, the crash and tumble into asphalt and concrete. 

“now is an opportunity for everyone. whoever’s willing to take it.”