Gotham... is a page of black paper.
It is the white words you wrote on the black paper, the path you have been pursuing and falling.
It is like the first sentence of the last story in your life.
— "Batman: Gotham Impressions"
"Zizi... Gotham Gazette brings you the latest news... The tense standoff between the Ventriloquist and the police at the Gotham Evidence Bureau has lasted for three hours. Experts believe..."
"...I don't care what the cops say, man, it's his fault!.... Look at the Arkham breakout last week! The guy's a total freak magnet!... If he wasn't running around the city in a cape, these psychos wouldn't be shooting up our streets!... We're the ones paying the price for his weird hobby!"
""...The anger is palpable here on the ground. Still no sign of the Batman, and people are furious, demanding to know what the GCPD is actually doing to resolve this. Wait—stand by, Jim. there is a new development. It's Batman! He's here!"
It was June, and the rain was pouring down. You'd think the ground would feel wet and slippery, but instead, the crowded square outside the Gotham Evidence Bureau just felt hot, sticky, and suffocating.
Before the Batmobile had even settled into a complete stop, a large group of reporters gathered around like flies to rotting meat.
Braving the drizzle, they pushed past the protesters holding signs that said "We don't want Batman." and the baton-wielding police trying to maintain order.
The camera flashes kept going off.
"Batman, may I ask what you think about the recent rumors in Gotham that you were killed by Bane..."
"...Regarding the challenge issued by the Ventriloquist, do you have any..."
"...Batman, why did you openly—"
"You freak! It's all your fault! That lunatic inside, don't you get it? You attracted—"
"...Catch him, catch him!"
Cops quickly grabbed the protesters who tried to climb or kick the Batmobile, but Bruce Wayne completely ignored them.
Facing a crowd that either loved him, hated him, or didn't care, he opened the sliding roof of the car and took his first breath of the sticky, wet night air.
Huh—
His hands were shaking. For the first time in ages, he was genuinely terrified.
In his past life, he had been an actor. He was used to standing under bright stage lights with hundreds of eyes on him. But this? This was completely different.
The lonely soul sighed inside. Crossing over into the DC Universe was one thing. As a massive DC comic fan, he had figured he could easily use his knowledge to live a good life. But he never, ever expected to wake up in the body of the ultimate vigilante: Bruce Wayne himself.
What happened to finding a powerful hero to hide behind? Why did he have to be the powerful hero?
Everyone knows Batman is the most dangerous human on Earth, even without superpowers.
He's a billionaire, a genius master of martial arts, and a guy with a mind made of pure steel. In the comics, he punches Darkseid and knocks out the entire justice league. He's incredibly cool.
But— what did any of that have to do with him, a regular guy who just took over his body?
He didn't inherit Batman's ultimate willpower or his deadly fighting skills. He only got his memories.
The situation right now is bad. Very bad.
Oh, and by the way, Batman is an orphan—and he was also an orphan in his previous life. That may be the only thing they have in common. The original body with dead parents plus the traveler with dead parents... the double-orphan combo is just so cool.
What's even worse is that being dropped into Batman's life was already hard mode—but the timeline? He arrived during "Batman: Knightfall ", just as the Dark Knight is about to suffer one of the rare total defeats of his career—his spine broken by Bane!
This isn't hard mode anymore. This is hell mode.
He even thought about abandoning everything and leaving Gotham—but quickly gave up that stupid idea.
Bane knows Batman's true identity. Fleeing would just mean dying in a different city.
Even if he stays here, once Bane defeats him and takes over the city, maybe—no, definitely—he'd be dead. Even if he miraculously survived, he'd be stuck in a wheelchair for life...
His eyes glanced at the lower-left corner of his vision and saw a line of silver-white text only he could see:
[The Alfred Protocol is taking effect]
[Warning! You need at least one anchoring prop to synchronize with parallel Batman's memory!]
Damn it. Other people enter the Batcave, sign in, And become Superman, or infinity gems or even a safe environment with tony stark level iq... or reincarnate as a child with a cheat system and safety net.
All he got was a system too afraid to even reveal itself.
He had tried everything to get it to respond over the last three days. He even tried staring at the toilet paper in the Batcave to see if it would trigger a quest. Nothing.
What exactly is the anchoring prop?
All it said was it will stay hidden to not get exposed to dangerous entities.
He remembers in the comics, the Alfred Protocol wasn't some friendly video-game cheat code. It was a nightmare from the Dark Multiverse. It was the rogue AI program that took over a grieving Bruce Wayne's mind, deleted his human emotions, and turned him into a cold, cybernetic monster called the Murder Machine.
Seeing those words blinking on his retina didn't make him feel powerful. It made his blood run completely cold.
Was this system trying to help him survive, or was it a ticking time-bomb waiting to erase his human soul?
"Batman!"
A shout interrupted Bruce's thoughts. He turned and saw Jim Gordon, chief of the Gotham City Police Department, rushing toward him.
Gordon looked awful. He had massive dark circles under his eyes, and his gray-streaked hair was soaked and plastered to his forehead. He looked completely run-down—like a man on the absolute edge of a mental breakdown.
"Oh my God! Batman! You're here. It's hard to believe you're still alive. I thought that punch from Bane killed you. Are you really the Bat? Not the Joker who picked up the suit off a corpse and is playing some twisted cosplay with me here?"
"The boring guessing game ends here," Bruce said. He forced his voice down into that low, terrifying, throat-tearing rasp.. "Don't be fooled by rumors."
He immediately caught the hint of suspicion in Gordon's joke and shut it down.
Yes, the body was real. But the soul... wasn't.
Don't let them find out, he told himself. Gotham has too many detectives.
He sighed inwardly. These people are hard to deal with.
Without Batman's unbreakable will, martial arts skills, or legendary instincts, everything now depended on his own wits.
He turned his eyes to the Gotham Evidence Bureau, looming in the rain.
This was the plan.
As a massive fan of DC comics, he knew the Batman mythos inside out. He knew all the villains inside out.
With his acting skills and his background as a psychologist, maybe—just maybe—he could manipulate and psychologically control some of the weaker, less stable villains...
Use them as pawns to take down Bane.
Bruce looked at Gordon and cut to the chase.
"Did you bring what I asked for?"
"Oh, of course."
Gordon's eyes drifted away from his face as he raised an evidence bag. Inside was a hideous puppet with a scar across its face.
Scarface—the Ventriloquist's favorite puppet.
"Good. Give it to me."
Gordon hesitated, but eventually handed over the evidence bag—much to Bruce's relief.
He paused, then explained:
"The source of the rumor—that Batman was killed by Bane—wasn't me. It was my disciple. Azrael."
"Yeah, right. Sure."
Gordon was smart enough not to press the topic.
Batman gave him a long look.
"We'll talk more later."
He reached into the back of the Batmobile, pulled out a heavy tactical bag, and gripped the puppet tightly in his hand. Under the staring eyes of the crowd and the flashing cameras, he stepped out of the vehicle and walked straight toward the entrance of the building.
He let out a tiny, quiet breath into the collar of his cowl, a dark smile finally touching his lips.
He whispered, barely audible:
Ladies and gentlemen...
The props are ready. The actors are in place.
Please allow me the honor to announce that the performance...
begins.