Post by redsycorax on Jul 3, 2021 3:34:05 GMT
Gotham City, 1981. In every life worth remembering, there is a turning point-- a moment in life when a decision is made and the course of a life is changed. A wrong turn -- a second too early or too late--and things might have been different. On Earth-Five, they were. One night in Gotham City, in a universe without heroic myths or legends, or an alternate version of the planet Krypton, Thomas, Martha and Bruce Wayne were on the way home from a theatre performance /when Joe Chill stepped out from the shadows of Crime Alley. He attempted to rob Martha Wayne of her necklace and Thomas Wayne moved in to stop him. In an indelible moment, murder occurred and Bruce Wayne's life was forever scarred, transforming him into the Batman a decade later/when their assailant stepped out of the the shadows of Crime Alley. Before he had any chance to waylay the Waynes, a bat-costumed masked figure slammed into the would-be thief and murderer and beat him into unconscious submission. Shortly afterward, Thomas and Martha Wayne noticed that their son was devouring Sherlock Holmes with passion and reading the Psychology of Crime when he wasn't.
Gotham City, 2001: When Bruce Wayne did take up crime fighting, it was not born of a decision based in grief, or guilt or vengeance. It was born of awe and mystery and gratitude.
Bruce Wayne waved at his parents and the others that surrounded him as he stepped down from the Gotham University podium. Martha Wayne embraced her son:
"Congratulations, darling. How does it feel to be the second Doctor Wayne in the family?"
"Well, my qualifications are in forensic science, not medicine like Dads, but I'm just glad it's finally over."
"What would you say to a nice whiskey after all that ceremony?"
Bruce shook his head: "Thanks, Dad, but I'm starting at GCPD tomorrow and I suspect I'll need the sleep."
Thomas Wayne nodded: "Ah, you mean that criminal who slipped and fell into the ACME Chemicals vat. Grisly way to die. Apparently, his skin was bleached white, his lips red and his hair bright green. Like some grotesque circus clown."
Bruce shook his head: "No, that was Edward Nigma's consignment. He's the one with particular experience in chemical toxicology and he signed off on it. Sorry, Mom, this must be-"
Martha sighed: "Oh, Bruce dear, I was a Vietnam War army nurse. I've seen worse things than that, believe me. Well, if you're sure we can't tempt you..."
"Take care. And make sure you get Alfred to pick you up and take you home, this isn't the best of neighbourhoods."
"You too, sweetheart. And make sure you have some time to yourself before you have to go to work tomorrow morning."
As Bruce Wayne drove home, past what had once been Crime Alley, he watched as the urban development gantries and cranes erased the one-time blackspot from the face of Gotham. Yes, there would be other areas that were just as septic and perhaps he could talk to Jim Gordon about them when he reported in for coffee tomorrow, on his first official day on the job. He smiled to himself about the modifier. For about a year, Gotham had been haunted by a mysterious vigilante in a black, translucent cowl mask, with pointed ears. Bruce had never forgotten that night in Crime Alley, nor the anonymous silent figure who had rescued his parents and himself from death at the hands of that violent criminal two decades ago. However, the whole ensemble led to questions about the practicality of its uniform. A mask seemed logical enough, to conceal its identity from public scrutiny. But the garish, almost gothic cape, insignia and overall appearance wouldn't phase criminals in his Gotham. However, he would retain the mask. There were some other adaptations as well. He'd read Dr Jonathon Crane's paper on empathy antagonist psychochemistry in Science Monthly and duplicated the mixture, transforming it into an aerosol which he sprayed on a jacket, trousers, shoes, socks and the 'utility belt' that he'd retained from his unknown boyhood saviour. There were some other practical adaptations that he needed to make, given advances in law enforcement technology. The mask was contoured so as not to alert facial recognition technology to his civilian identity, as was the body armour beneath his suit, which added embellished height and musculature. His gloves left no telltale fingerprints. A vocoder replaced his voice with a deep, ominous artificial bass tone. As he gazed at himself, the Bat was ready to fly.
The GCPD's reaction had been...interesting. Although the days of intensive corruption in the fifties, sixties and seventies were long since past, and the cuts to the force that resulted had slowly been reversed with new personnel hires and retirement of older, unregenerate figures from the department's past, Gotham CPD was still short-staffed. Given that the new vigilante, the Bat, did not summarily execute his criminal opponents, the department welcomed his assistance and aid. With its grinding urban poverty and high violent criminality and homicide rates, their clearance tolls had shot upward over the last six months that the Bat had been in action. He wondered if his parents knew. Ah well, no time to worry about that now.
GOTHAM CITY: NIGHT
Oswald Cobblepot waddled across the causeway, glancing up toward his alienated parents tower. Ah well, there was some opportunity for retaliation now he'd successfully sued them for disinheriting him. Some of the city's more thuggish bystanders laughed and pointed at him. Oswald didn't really care. After all, money talked.
On the far side of town, Selina Kyle zipped up her evening dress and looked in the mirror. At times, she wondered what her life would have been like if she hadn't taken up modelling as a career. She applied lipstick and bent down to pat her purring Isis, who looked up and nuzzled her hand. Pulling on her jacket, Selina headed toward the catwalk and coverage in that month's fashion magazines.
Barbara Gordon threw a would-be assailant over her shoulder. Her father whistled:
"Those judo lessons have definitely paid off, Babs."
"What's gotten into this city, Dad? It was never this dangerous at night before." As she talked to her father, the Police Commissioner, forensic scientist Bruce Wayne passed by, on the way to his apartment to change for the evening's activities. All in all, it was a standard night as Gotham revelled in the darkness and people went their separate ways, unaware that worlds away, their lives were intimately intertwined.
ELSEWHERE:
There were some variations within Earth-Five's history that were not solely restricted to the survival of Thomas and Martha Wayne. For example, Al Gore defeated George W. Bush in Florida and won the 2000 US Presidential Election. Boris Yeltsin did not hand over power to the scheming, authoritarian Vladimir Putin that same year, within the Russian Republic. Most inexplicably, the Y2K bug had far more serious consequences on this world, resulting in massive power infrastructure outages, several nuclear meltdowns and the loss of GPS tracking systems and intranets. Living a charmed life as he did, and without any serious higher echelon 'supervillains', the Bat kept to the shadows, venturing out when he was needed, dressed in black, knocking heads together and punching out would be looters and burglars who took advantage of the sudden blackouts. All in all though, several hundred thousand people died in the United States and elsewhere. For the Bat, it was business as usual.
EPILOGUE:
And so it went on for the rest of Bruce's time as the Bat. In five years of heroism, Gotham's gangland and petty criminal problems had dropped to almost zero, and eventually even the potential presence of the Bat was enough to keep it low. Even Metropolis' neighbouring criminal networks thought better than heading across the bay to withstand his unspoken threatened intervention. Finally, ten years after he'd begun his covert intervention against crime, Bruce Wayne finally closed his Bat uniform in a darkened closet in Wayne Manor. Time went on, Bruce Wayne married Selina Kyle, and Thomas and Martha Wayne eventually passed away through natural causes. On his deathbed, Thomas confided to his son that he'd guessed that Bruce was the Bat long ago, but had kept his own counsel rather than teling his wife, who would only have worried about her son endangering his life in the streets. By then, Barbara Gordon had unveiled her Oracle surveillance and intervention software and there was no more need for a Bat in Gotham anyway.
There were no garish figures for good or ill in the streets below or the skies above and after the Batman and Robin of Earth-One in 1981, nor were there any more figures from outside that universe. No aliens visited Earth in that alternate history's twenty first century, no advanced technology maverick scientists preyed on those who were weak or vulnerable, and Arkham Asylum had an altogether more sedate and quotidian retinue of inmates. Some might have considered Earth-Five to be a backwater in a complex, sprawling multiverse. But here, Bruce Wayne could retire early and listen to the sound of his children, Damian and Helena, playing in the cave down below Wayne Manor, which was bereft of trophies that might otherwise have been taken from rogues and foolhardy adversaries. Elsewhere in Gotham, those who might have been friends or foes passed him in the street, unaware of alternative lives they might have led.
THE END
Gotham City, 2001: When Bruce Wayne did take up crime fighting, it was not born of a decision based in grief, or guilt or vengeance. It was born of awe and mystery and gratitude.
Bruce Wayne waved at his parents and the others that surrounded him as he stepped down from the Gotham University podium. Martha Wayne embraced her son:
"Congratulations, darling. How does it feel to be the second Doctor Wayne in the family?"
"Well, my qualifications are in forensic science, not medicine like Dads, but I'm just glad it's finally over."
"What would you say to a nice whiskey after all that ceremony?"
Bruce shook his head: "Thanks, Dad, but I'm starting at GCPD tomorrow and I suspect I'll need the sleep."
Thomas Wayne nodded: "Ah, you mean that criminal who slipped and fell into the ACME Chemicals vat. Grisly way to die. Apparently, his skin was bleached white, his lips red and his hair bright green. Like some grotesque circus clown."
Bruce shook his head: "No, that was Edward Nigma's consignment. He's the one with particular experience in chemical toxicology and he signed off on it. Sorry, Mom, this must be-"
Martha sighed: "Oh, Bruce dear, I was a Vietnam War army nurse. I've seen worse things than that, believe me. Well, if you're sure we can't tempt you..."
"Take care. And make sure you get Alfred to pick you up and take you home, this isn't the best of neighbourhoods."
"You too, sweetheart. And make sure you have some time to yourself before you have to go to work tomorrow morning."
As Bruce Wayne drove home, past what had once been Crime Alley, he watched as the urban development gantries and cranes erased the one-time blackspot from the face of Gotham. Yes, there would be other areas that were just as septic and perhaps he could talk to Jim Gordon about them when he reported in for coffee tomorrow, on his first official day on the job. He smiled to himself about the modifier. For about a year, Gotham had been haunted by a mysterious vigilante in a black, translucent cowl mask, with pointed ears. Bruce had never forgotten that night in Crime Alley, nor the anonymous silent figure who had rescued his parents and himself from death at the hands of that violent criminal two decades ago. However, the whole ensemble led to questions about the practicality of its uniform. A mask seemed logical enough, to conceal its identity from public scrutiny. But the garish, almost gothic cape, insignia and overall appearance wouldn't phase criminals in his Gotham. However, he would retain the mask. There were some other adaptations as well. He'd read Dr Jonathon Crane's paper on empathy antagonist psychochemistry in Science Monthly and duplicated the mixture, transforming it into an aerosol which he sprayed on a jacket, trousers, shoes, socks and the 'utility belt' that he'd retained from his unknown boyhood saviour. There were some other practical adaptations that he needed to make, given advances in law enforcement technology. The mask was contoured so as not to alert facial recognition technology to his civilian identity, as was the body armour beneath his suit, which added embellished height and musculature. His gloves left no telltale fingerprints. A vocoder replaced his voice with a deep, ominous artificial bass tone. As he gazed at himself, the Bat was ready to fly.
The GCPD's reaction had been...interesting. Although the days of intensive corruption in the fifties, sixties and seventies were long since past, and the cuts to the force that resulted had slowly been reversed with new personnel hires and retirement of older, unregenerate figures from the department's past, Gotham CPD was still short-staffed. Given that the new vigilante, the Bat, did not summarily execute his criminal opponents, the department welcomed his assistance and aid. With its grinding urban poverty and high violent criminality and homicide rates, their clearance tolls had shot upward over the last six months that the Bat had been in action. He wondered if his parents knew. Ah well, no time to worry about that now.
GOTHAM CITY: NIGHT
Oswald Cobblepot waddled across the causeway, glancing up toward his alienated parents tower. Ah well, there was some opportunity for retaliation now he'd successfully sued them for disinheriting him. Some of the city's more thuggish bystanders laughed and pointed at him. Oswald didn't really care. After all, money talked.
On the far side of town, Selina Kyle zipped up her evening dress and looked in the mirror. At times, she wondered what her life would have been like if she hadn't taken up modelling as a career. She applied lipstick and bent down to pat her purring Isis, who looked up and nuzzled her hand. Pulling on her jacket, Selina headed toward the catwalk and coverage in that month's fashion magazines.
Barbara Gordon threw a would-be assailant over her shoulder. Her father whistled:
"Those judo lessons have definitely paid off, Babs."
"What's gotten into this city, Dad? It was never this dangerous at night before." As she talked to her father, the Police Commissioner, forensic scientist Bruce Wayne passed by, on the way to his apartment to change for the evening's activities. All in all, it was a standard night as Gotham revelled in the darkness and people went their separate ways, unaware that worlds away, their lives were intimately intertwined.
ELSEWHERE:
There were some variations within Earth-Five's history that were not solely restricted to the survival of Thomas and Martha Wayne. For example, Al Gore defeated George W. Bush in Florida and won the 2000 US Presidential Election. Boris Yeltsin did not hand over power to the scheming, authoritarian Vladimir Putin that same year, within the Russian Republic. Most inexplicably, the Y2K bug had far more serious consequences on this world, resulting in massive power infrastructure outages, several nuclear meltdowns and the loss of GPS tracking systems and intranets. Living a charmed life as he did, and without any serious higher echelon 'supervillains', the Bat kept to the shadows, venturing out when he was needed, dressed in black, knocking heads together and punching out would be looters and burglars who took advantage of the sudden blackouts. All in all though, several hundred thousand people died in the United States and elsewhere. For the Bat, it was business as usual.
EPILOGUE:
And so it went on for the rest of Bruce's time as the Bat. In five years of heroism, Gotham's gangland and petty criminal problems had dropped to almost zero, and eventually even the potential presence of the Bat was enough to keep it low. Even Metropolis' neighbouring criminal networks thought better than heading across the bay to withstand his unspoken threatened intervention. Finally, ten years after he'd begun his covert intervention against crime, Bruce Wayne finally closed his Bat uniform in a darkened closet in Wayne Manor. Time went on, Bruce Wayne married Selina Kyle, and Thomas and Martha Wayne eventually passed away through natural causes. On his deathbed, Thomas confided to his son that he'd guessed that Bruce was the Bat long ago, but had kept his own counsel rather than teling his wife, who would only have worried about her son endangering his life in the streets. By then, Barbara Gordon had unveiled her Oracle surveillance and intervention software and there was no more need for a Bat in Gotham anyway.
There were no garish figures for good or ill in the streets below or the skies above and after the Batman and Robin of Earth-One in 1981, nor were there any more figures from outside that universe. No aliens visited Earth in that alternate history's twenty first century, no advanced technology maverick scientists preyed on those who were weak or vulnerable, and Arkham Asylum had an altogether more sedate and quotidian retinue of inmates. Some might have considered Earth-Five to be a backwater in a complex, sprawling multiverse. But here, Bruce Wayne could retire early and listen to the sound of his children, Damian and Helena, playing in the cave down below Wayne Manor, which was bereft of trophies that might otherwise have been taken from rogues and foolhardy adversaries. Elsewhere in Gotham, those who might have been friends or foes passed him in the street, unaware of alternative lives they might have led.
THE END