Author’s note
This is a work of fiction
inspired by characters created by Bob Kane, Bill Finger, Paul Dini, Bruce Timm,
Robert Kanigher, Sheldon Moldoff, and various other renowned writers published
by DC Comics. It is a retelling of the origins of the Batman Universe, which is
copyrighted and should not be considered a true part of the mythology. I have
created this project purely for the joy of dictating the actions of characters
that I have grown to love over the years, and to suggest scenarios that I have
often wondered myself would happen if those said actions were to have occurred
in the mythos. Basically, its me being a kid and playing with my favorite toys
again. That said, this story will never be published, nor distributed as an
original idea, for it is not. It began as a writing exercise that at some
point, transformed into an exciting unofficial chapter in the Batman series,
that which is just far too awesome to keep to myself. Therefore, here it is.
Hope you enjoy my interpretation of the origin of one of the most iconic
villains in comic book history.
Chapter 3
Flags waved, trees swayed, and the birds sang a song that gave
an uplifting theme to the beautiful sun that shined down upon the Wayne banquet
in Newtown. An old baseball field turned ritzy festival, to raise money for agriculture
revival in Gotham, it was an event that was as fruitless as the miniscule pay
that was offered to the performers who came to entertain the masses that day.
The Wayne family made their arrival to the event as any royal family would,
with a needless introduction made by the host, and a standing ovation honored
by all those in attendance.
Nothing like the cry of
the rich to beg from the poor, donations to a cause that would never see the
light of day. Jack Quinzel
thought as he stood by the stage watching as their guests of honor took their
reserved seats in the front row. Before he could entertain another scornful
thought, he was called up as, “…A very funny man, with an interesting title. I
give you, Gotham’s own, The Red Hood!”
As he had always done before taking the stage, he donned the
hood of his blazer over his brow, and before he knew it, he had his audience
rolling with laughter. Their guffawing seemed authentic enough, though he saw
in Thomas Wayne a sense of pity in his fabricated chuckles that made effortless
jabs at his emotions. His contempt grew for the man who had it all, but he
carried on in his act without missing a step.
There was a woman in the audience, a beautiful girl with long
blond hair and such a brilliant smile. Though lost in a private conversation of
her own with a young redhead that seemed ever so excited about the event, he
often found his eyes trailing off toward her all throughout his performance.
The light caught a better portion of his face just as she turned to find him
staring at her, and so she met his gaze with an enticing flap of her long
eyelashes and blushing cheeks.
Just
then, he stumbled over his words, “Forgive me…” He said, laughing. “That last
shot I had just got the better of me. Oh well, that joke sucked anyway.”
Everyone
joined him in the laugh.
“Sometimes
even comedians can have a bad day.” He went on into the mic. “It’s funny how
the mind works, you know? Often people look to me as insane. But what is Insane anyway? To you, Insane is the way one would so chose to
dress or act that is out of the norm…, But then again, what is normal? In
today’s time normal is dressing and
acting as one’s peers would, and more than not, our peers have become the idols
we find on television or on the radio. So technically, we are taking advice
from the most delusional people on earth. The media only share the news that is
pre-written for them, they are nothing more than actors delivering lines from a
script, as our the stars of these so-called reality
shows, which are merely today’s equivalent of a freak show in the first
place. So, in essence, sanity is
little more than a copy of a copy, that just keeps on printing more issues of
itself until all of the world views it as normal…,
To me, that is insanity. And in an
insane world, all it takes is one bad day to reduce the sanest man alive to
lunacy. That’s how far the world is from where I am. Just one bad day away from
losing it all…”
The
crowd fell unnervingly silent, but Thomas Wayne looked impressed. He then stood
and led in the applause. Soon they all followed suit. Jack took a bow.
#
The
ride to Sheldon Industrial Park was long, dark, and quiet. Thomas saw Martha’s
hands trembling at her lap. He reached out and took her left. She grasped his
hand, turning her quivering welling eyes to her husband. Sweat broke at her
brow, her stress sharpening the wrinkles in her face, making her appear ages
older than she was. Thomas had begged her to stay home, but she insisted to
come along for this transaction. Though he strongly advised against it, he
could show her little restraint in the matter, for Bruce was her son as well,
and therefore she had all the right in the world to be there when these monsters
surrendered him back to them. She needed to see the face of this evil that
would so dare threaten her family. She wanted to show them that she did not
fear the likes of their kind; but she was afraid… very.
“Everything
will be fine, Martha.” He said, trying to sound as sincere as he possibly
could. “No harm will come of our son, so long as we give them what they want.”
“What
if you’re wrong?” She challenged, searching his eyes for a truth she could not
find.
“I
know the Falcones’, as do you.” He said coolly. “They are men of their word.”
Appalled
Martha took back her hand and snapped, “They are men that have pointed guns at
my family far too many times for me to trust their word… They are monsters.”
Thomas
let out a long grieving sigh and said, “That they are indeed. But they have the
high ground, and therefore we must do as they say.”
“But
why?” she seethed. “Why can’t they be stopped?”
“They
have power. They are feared.”
“Has
no one the power to show them the same fear?”
Thomas
glanced back at the suitcase in the backseat. It contained the formula for a
genetic weapon that may have had the potential to bring about such a fear, but
it was a prototype at best, and it was about to be delivered to the enemy. He
frowned at that thought. Returning his eyes to the vacant intersection ahead,
he reached for the glove department before his wife and withdrew from it a
pistol.
Martha
flashed an eye of concern his way, and he simply answered, “Not yet.”
Then
he tucked the weapon into his coat pocket and said, “We’re here.”
She
attempted to slow her breathing, but as they came around the corner to find
their waiting hosts, she suddenly felt her heart racing in her throat, and she
exhaled a labored breath heavy with stress. They stepped out of the sedan in
black ski masks, and one was wearing a stark red hoodie. Thomas thought he
recognized the jacket, but he couldn’t quite place it just yet. With an eye of
scrutiny upon their hosts, both Thomas Wayne and his wife carefully exited
their car.
In
the lot across from the warehouse, Harley spied on them from the driver side of
her SUV. Her thoughts were far beyond reasoning, as she could no longer grasp
who this man she long thought her husband really was anymore. She saw as he
went from a simple guy from a small town with big dreams, to a criminal thug
leading a plot against one of the most powerful families in all of Gotham City.
Now, she knew not what to do. She wanted to scream, she wanted to run, but all
she could do was watch, wordless, and powerless. She was trapped.
The
man in all black stepped forward, a visible handgun at his side. He glared at
Thomas Wayne and said, “We told you to come alone.”
“You
cannot keep a lioness from her cub.” Thomas answered, as Martha just locked a
scowl upon the masked man.
After
a brief moment of pondering silence, he shrugged it off and asked, “Where is
it?”
“Where
is my Son?” Thomas fired back.
Gun
raised with caution, the man in black chanced a look toward his partner in red,
and nodded his head. Thomas slipped his hand in the pocket that carried his
concealed weapon, and he took the grip with a white knuckled grasp. The man in
red went to the trunk of the sedan and retrieved their captive. Bruce Wayne was
struggling against his restraints with spirit; nevertheless the man in red
withdrew from his side a knife and skillfully sliced the boy’s limbs free from
the black tape. He immediately began swinging his arms and legs, but once the
boy felt the cold edge of the blade at his throat he surrendered to his
captor’s will. A tear at his eye, and his chest rising and falling with
feverish panting, the boy let his arms hang as the man in red guided him in
clear view of his parents.
“Please
don’t hurt him!” His mother wailed, moving far too quickly toward them.
The
barrel of his gun found the woman at a sudden halt, as he barked, “Don’t move.”
Hidden
by the open driver side door, Thomas’ hand twitched on the pistol in his
pocket.
He
then returned his attention to the boy’s father, as he demanded, “The formula,
Dr. Wayne!”
Reluctantly
he moved for the suitcase in the backseat. Just then he felt the gun on him yet
again as the man in black said, “Slowly!”
The
tears of betrayal and horror were welling at Harley’s eyes as she continued to
watch. Her husband had a knife to an innocent child’s throat! With her hand at
her swollen womb, she found herself questioning whether she could ever allow
such a man near her own child. Though terrified, Harley was enthralled by the
intense exchange, unknowingly leaning in on the steering wheel, her breasts
only inches away from the horn at the center of it.
When
Thomas handed the man in black the suitcase, his partner pushed the boy
forward, urging him to retreat to his father’s open arms. His mother joined
them in the embrace, sharing tears of relief.
His
gun still on Thomas, the man in black handed the suitcase to his partner in the
red blazer, who immediately opened it to quickly scan its contents. Everything
seemed to be in order, though he knew quite little about human biology and tech
stuff, so the truth of it would only be unveiled once it was in the proper
hands. Therefore he closed the case and threw it in the open trunk of his
sedan. Again the gun that was tucked into his belt glinted in the light of the
headlights as he turned to secure the suitcase in the trunk.
Thomas
took note of the weapon, and saw it better he not use the gun in his own
pocket. He had also remembered where he had seen that red jacket of his; the
chosen attire of that witty comedian from the banquet a few years back. As he
stood, he turned to the man in red and opened his mouth to speak, when suddenly
there was a sound so startling, it caused the man in black to squeeze the
trigger of his piece. The scream of the horn from Harley’s SUV sent a dose of
adrenaline rushing through Joe Chill, and through his arm, and his hand, his
finger, and…
All of time stood still when the bullet exploded into Thomas’
chest. Bruce saw every globule of his father’s blood spit into the air,
spinning, and splitting, weightless as it hovered over his head. A mist of warm
spray spattered upon his face, as a realm of nightmares tour open at his heart,
spilling a flood of pain and sorrow into his every vein, his every nerve,
overriding his every being with woe. The world he knew had vanished from under
him, and suddenly every sound, sight, and smell of that moment found its place
forever imbedded in the deepest, darkest parts of his mind.
He
never heard the sound of the gunfire, only the screams of his mother as she
held his lifeless head from the pool of blood that was growing from at his
back. He found himself falling to his knees, just as his mother went for the
gun that had went sliding across the shattered asphalt when his father
collapsed. With little time to think, she held the pistol up toward the man in
black. Stunned, he froze in his step, his jaw hanging in awe, his own gun
barely hanging from his grasp. The blast of his partner’s pistol sent the man
in the red jacket reeling, though instinctively he retrieved the gun from his
belt. Then he shot Martha dead, all before Bruce’s eyes.
“What
the FUCK!” Jack spat as he hurried to Joe Chill’s side.
Still
stunned, Joe stammered, “I… I… I don’t know what happened. There was a sound!
I… I don’t know where!”
Across
the street, her tears blinded Harley as she raked for the keys at the ignition.
“Oh
my God… Oh my God… Oh my God!” she panted in terror.
She
had accidentally pressed against the horn of her steering wheel, and her
mistake had led to the deaths of two of the most renown people in the world,
and made her an eyewitness to a murder made by her own husband’s hand. Their
eyes had found her car alone in the lot, and the one in black was raising his
weapon toward her.
I have to get out of here, NOW! She knew turning the key, and firing up the engine. She then
threw on her high beams, sending burning light into both of their eyes, as she
peeled out of the lot. When the men recoiled, turning to shield their eyes,
Bruce Wayne took the opportunity to flee as well. He had seen enough to haunt
his dreams until his death, but he did not wish for his end to be met on that
night, by way of these mad men. So he ran as fast as he could, praying to God
he was going in a direction that would guide him to safe refuge.
As
the SUV made its escape back the way they had come, Jack peered over his
shoulder and caught a glimpse of his panicked wife in the driver seat. He fell
speechless.
Joe
saw the woman as well and snapped, “Is that your fucking wife!”
Still
Jack could say nothing; he simply nodded his head.
Just
then Joe grabbed him up by the collar and said, “Ill go after the boy. You take
the car and stop that bitch!”
“What?!”
He fired back shoving him off his jacket. “How?!”
“How
do you think?” He gave him a cold stare. “She knows who you are! She saw what
we did. If you don’t stop her, the boss will, and then he will come after us.”
Jack
shook his head, the gun trembling in his grasp. “I can’t!”
Joe
put his piece to Jack’s head and said, “You don’t have a choice.”
After
a brief moment of intense silence, Jack closed his eyes and nodded.
“Good,
Now GO!”
They
then departed, Jack hurrying back to his sedan, and Joe running to catch up
with the boy. When Jack was in the driver seat however, he paused a moment,
pondering all that had gone wrong.
She knows… He thought grimly.
He then tore off the mask and started the car, thrusting his foot into the gas
pedal so hard that a cloud of smoke went up from his squealing tires.
At
age eleven, Bruce Wayne has seen days where his agility had been put to the
test, running track, and playing football with his classmates. However never
before had he pushed his young body to the limit as he had done that night. He
ran for what seemed like hours, turning down dark alleys, and hurrying over
rusted chain-linked fences, trying to outrun the masked man who just kept
gaining on him no matter what he did. Sheldon Park seemed not to end, and like
a bad nightmare that would never end he saw no place to hide, he saw no escape.
The Robert Kane Memorial Bridge was too long, and to far away, and all of the
shipping containers that sat along the docks appeared to be locked. Running
through a maze of them, he stopped to tug at the door of one that seemed long
forgotten as it was covered with mildew and rust, but the doors would not
budge. Hearing the man’s footfalls echoing toward him, he quietly made his way
over the railing of the dock, and with haste he scaled down its wooden
structure.
His
gun drawn, Joe Chill checked every dark corner in search of the boy, but he was
nowhere in sight. Then he heard the scream of a bat as the distressed creature
flapped out from under the dock and zipped over his head. Startled he ducked,
and aimed his weapon at the panicked beast. He cursed and then approached the
railing. He saw the waves that broke along the dusty shores of Gotham Harbor,
and a steep drop, but no boy. Again he cursed, as the wail of police sirens
began to climb from a distance. Defeated, he ditched his weapon into the ocean
along with his mask, and fled the scene.
Down
below in the web of wooden beams that supported the docks, young Bruce Wayne
found himself in the company of creatures he had long despised nearly all of
his life. On any other night they would have filled him with an awful dread,
but on this night they served as his ally. Their bone chilling screams became
music to his ears, as he made himself comfortable along one of the beams,
crying until he had unknowingly drifted to sleep. There he would stay until the
break of dawn. There he would dream of the symbol he would one day become…
There in the company of Bats, he would awaken a new entity; a power spawned
from fear.
TO BE CONTINUED!
