Beginnings in Darkness #1

The gilded towers were meant to symbolize the peak of civilization, but now they were just bleak spires lined with dirty, dark alleys where scum and blood flows kindred and free in the gutter. This is Gotham City. It looks safe from the air, to an outsider.

One man knows the true darkness behind the city’s peaceful mask. He has seen it in the barrel of a gun. He has watched it murder and ruin lives. He can feel Gotham’s dark heart pulsing, evil and thriving, deep within the city even now.

But all he can do is watch and wait as the city grows worse, if it were even possible. There is nothing he can do. But he knows what needs to be done. He knows Gotham needs a savior.

Bruce Wayne sat idling twirling his ballpoint pen, staring out the huge bay window of his study. The lawn outside was laced with frost. A cold winter wind howled in the chimneys of the old mansion and tossed up the first few golden leaves of the ancient chestnuts that lined the long, sweeping drive.

In the distance he could see the fuzzy skyline of the smog-laden heart of the city. But his eyes were blank and unfocused; his mind lost in an old wound of a memory that refused to heal.

I can see the dark alley as if it were yesterday. My father had said “Let’s take a shortcut.” and turned down an alley, aiming for the street on the other side. The subway vents curled with steam in the chilly night air, and some homeless lump of flesh and bone slumped behind a dumpster in one corner. I can see it all; fresh and hot and painful.

The faceless man in the dark steps out of nowhere and stops us. He raises a gun, silver and fever-bright in the dull streetlights and demands Dad’s wallet. My father reaches into his pocket. His hands are shaking. He doesn’t want me to see but I can tell. He fumbles the wallet and it falls to the pavement. The faceless man freaks and snatches at the pearls around Mom’s throat. They go flying, bouncing and clicking on the pavement.

Dad tries to protect her but it’s too late. The faceless man shoots once, twice, and they fall dead. He fires a third time, but the shot goes wind because he’s running; running into the night. I feel my spine shatter with white-hot pain, and everything goes black.

The memory played on repeat again and again behind his glazed eyes, he couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t push it away. The phone rang, and he was jerked back to the present.

He crumpled the paper he’d been doodling on and tossed it at the can under his desk. He missed and it bounced to the floor. He didn’t notice.

He pulled his cell out of his pocket and pressed it against his ear.

“Bruce Wayne.” He said smoothly, a bored drawl already creeping into his voice.

“Bruce, I need you down here right now. I was conducting the last inspection of that old lab on the wharf, you know the one we’re about to renovate, and they found something. You need to see this for yourself.” It was Lucius Fox, chairman of Wayne Industries’ board of directors.

“That place was shut down years ago. Wasn’t it the old Cadmus lab before LexCorp pulled their funding? Something about illegal human experimentation..”

“Exactly. Like I said, you need to see this for yourself.”

“Alright. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Alfred, Bruce’s aged, balding butler, stepped into the room with a sandwich and a cup of coffee on a tray just as Bruce hung up the phone. “Punctual as ever, Alfred. You’ll have to pack that up. We’re going down to the wharf.” He rolled his chair out of the room, heading for the elevator that would take him back down to the bottom floor.

Alfred started to leave; but something caught his sharp eye. A piece of yellow legal sized paper had been haphazardly thrown on the floor under Bruce’s desk. Letting out an exasperated sigh, he [set the try down and bent down to retrieve it.

There was an odd symbol scrawled in one corner in black ink, and curiosity got the best of the old butler. He flattened it out on the desk. He wasn’t sure what to make of what he saw.

--

In minutes they were gliding through the city, the engine of the rolls purring comfortably in the roar of the busy streets. Bruce didn’t look out the windows. All he ever saw were the dark places between the shining scrapers.

Alfred turned into the outskirts along the river and pulled in behind an old, squat building. The ‘a’ in Cadmus was missing on its sign and the ‘s’ was barely hanging on my a nail. Alfred got out and the specially made ramp Bruce had had built into the rolls descended to the pavement. Lucius came up to meet him, and walked with him to the broad double glass doors of the building. The room beyond was dark and heavy with neglect.

“Bruce, I’m glad you came. When they found him, I wasn’t sure how to handle this.”

“Him?”

“Just come in and see.” He opened the doors and stepped in. Bruce followed him in, glancing through the windows and open doors of offices as he went. There were a few lone chairs and crates and buts of paper scattered everywhere. Not even the thinnest layer of dust had begun to collect. Someone had been there, and they had cleared out fast. Lucius lead him to the head of a dark hallway, grabbed a flashlight from a nearby table and sent its florescent beam down the hall. The hall dead-ended in a huge steel door, and huddled against it was a boy, shielding his eyes from the light.

He was paper then, he couldn’t be any younger than thirteen, and pasty white. Every bone stuck out under his sallow skin, pronounced even under his plane, baggy white clothes. His eyes were wide and deep, the pupils dilated so much that the irises were invisible. His hair was matt black with a white streak zigzagging through it on one side. A strange black molten something was seeping from under the door and pooling around him.

“Nobody’s been able to get near him.” Lucius began, “And every time we turn on the lights he goes nuts, and we haven’t had much luck trying to catch him in the dark. We finally cornered him in here.”

“Have you called the police?”

“No. Just company security.”
“Good, we don’t want this to get out just yet. Even if this is the old Cadmus lab, it’s still a Wayne building.”

He started to roll forward toward the boy. He tensed and sank further into his corner, his pupils contracting slightly in the bright light from Lucius’s flashlight.

“Bruce, what are you-“ Bruce held up a hand, silencing Lucius. He didn’t know what the boy had been through, but chasing him wasn’t the answer. He needed someone to tell him everything was going to be alright, even if it might not be true. Bruce knew how that felt.

“We’re not going to hurt you, kid.” He said. The black stuff around the boy’s feet started to slither and boil, as if on command as fear bloomed on the boy’s face. “Whatever happened to you here, it’s stopped. It’s over. I’m here to take you somewhere safe.” He laid his hands on the wheels of his chair, slowing it a halt a few feet from the boy. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

“Stop it!” The boy hissed, his voice cracked from disuse, and clutched at his head. “STOP IT! GET AWAY!” He screamed, making Bruce jump. The black stuff leaped up as if it were alive and flew in long sticky strings toward Bruce. They tangled in the spokes of his chair and lifted it up into the air. One of them slipped, and he was dumped onto the floor. The chair still hung suspended in the air. “No more! Not again! Get away!” The boy’s voice was barely a whisper now, and his entire body shook with fear. Bruce realized the bay wasn’t seeing him laying on the floor in his suite, or Lucius, or the dark, abandoned hallway. He was still trapped in whatever had been done to him, still seeing the people responsible.

“It’s over, we’re not going to do anything to you.” Bruce said again, his voice steady as he propped himself up on his elbow, his legs paralyzed and useless next to him on the floor.

“I can’t even walk, kid. I won’t hurt you.” He said. The boy’s eyes seemed to clear. The wheelchair clattered to the floor. The black stuff retreated. Their met and locked for a long moment, before the boy nodded. Lucius came and righted his chair before helping Bruce back into it. The guards advanced, but the boy didn’t flinch.

He held out the palm of his hand and the black stuff leaped into it and wrapped into a small solid oval which he tucked into his pocket. They trailed out of the building in a strange procession, the thin boy, a group of guards, Lucius and Bruce in his wheelchair.

The boy stopped and turned his face to the sky. A gentle wind brushed his unkempt hair aside. He inhaled, savoring the freedom of the cool air. His pupils had returned to a normal size, and his eyes were a clear crystal blue in the daylight.