[center][img]http://s1.thcdn.com/design-assets/products/10606278/BB600.jpg[/img][/center] [color=black][Center][h3][u][b]The Roman Empire[/b][/u][/h3][/center][/color] [color=black]"Urgh. . . Can you please be more careful Alfred. It's not sack cloth you're stitching back together there!"[/color] Bruce had managed to make it back to Wayne Manor without further incident, unless you counted taking a swim in the festering and putrid waters of Gotham's harbor an incident. Regardless, he was thankful that he had the presence of mind to pack the compacted re-breather as part of his kit. It had been a short trip home upon his KTM 1290 Super Duke R midnight black motorbike, the powerful machine eating up the miles leading out of the city. He made good time, even after traversing the series of secret tunnels under the building to enter Wayne Manor. The manor was several miles from the city lines, and well insulated from unwanted eyes by dozens of acres of forested property that Bruce himself owned, but even then it paid to be careful. For now he was happy to use the caves to store his gear and bike, but he had big plans for them. [b]Big[/b] plans. He had stripped off his body armour before climbing the ladder that led out of the caves and into the Manor's wine cellar to find that Alfred had been waiting anxiously for him to return, concern for his master causing cracks in his quintessential British 'stiff upper lip' façade. The older man had wasted no time in tending to Bruce's wounds, his skills earned as a field medic with the SAS obviously still as sharp as they ever were, even if his bedside manner left something to be desired. "My apologies [i]'Master'[/i] Bruce. Perhaps if you stop treating you're body like so much discarded rubbish then I wouldn't get so confused." Sarcasm dripped so heavily from the British man's voice that it was a wonder he wasn't drowning. There was more to the statement than Alfred's customary facetiousness though, some underlying emotion that put an edge on his voice. His grizzled features were drawn and tense, eyes narrowed, heavy brows furrowed with more than just concentration. Bruce, who prided himself on his ability to read people, was perplexed as to what might be bothering his old mentor. [color=black]“[i]Master[/i] Bruce is it? Something must be bothering you. . .”[/color] Bruce was instantly made aware that he had made a misstep. [color=black][I]Of course something is bothering him. It's the same thing that's been bothering him for sixteen years. He doesn't think I'm ready.[/i][/color] An icy chill developed between the two men, Alfred tending to Bruce's wounds in silence. The older man finished up, packing the suture and bandages into a medical box before taking to his feet and striding towards the cellar exit. He was just at the door, hand on handle, when Bruce called out to him. [color=black]"Alfred, wait . . ." [/color] “Wait for what Bruce?” Alfred snarled as he turned, features contorted in rage, “Wait and watch as you do your damnedest to get yourself killed? Wait for you to tell me [i]'you'll be all right'[/i], when tonight shows just how unready you're for all this!” It was Bruce's turn to become emotional, snapping back. [color=black]“I am ready Alfred! I've trained, I've. . .”[/color] But the older man cut him off. “[B]READY!? You're not bloody ready! You're a boy, playing at war and treating it like a Goddamn game!”[/B] The two were cowed into a sullen silence after that outburst, glaring at each other as they mulled over their emotions. The stand-off continued for what felt like an eternity, until eventually Alfred's expression softened. He broke the silence between them, though his voice lacked the near unbridled rage it held before. A depth of sorrow had replaced it, making it seem that the grizzled older man could break into sobs at any moment. “I'm terrified Bruce. Terrified that I let this go to far, that I should have put an end to this fantasy years ago. Terrified that this ungodly crusade will take you from me.” The next thing he said was so whispered so quietly that it was almost as if he didn't want Bruce to hear it. “Just like it took Tommy.” Although spoken in hushed tones the statement had a profound effect. Bruce's face set in a careful neutrality, picking himself off the bench he had been sitting on and heading for the exit. Alfred instantly looked contrite, reaching a hand out as the young billionaire brushed past him. “Bruce, I . . .” [color=black]“You don't know what happened to Tommy.” [/color]Replied Bruce, his tone flat. “Because you wont tell me!” Said Alfred. The older man sounded wretched. The act of not knowing the fate of one of his surrogate sons was tearing Alfred apart, especially when Bruce could so easily put him out of his misery, but chose not to. Despite all his begging Bruce refused to divulge the secrets of what had actually happened to Tommy. Even now the older Wayne remained tight-lipped. [color=black]“Trust me when I say it's better this way Alfred.”[/color] He said before leaving the room. [center][b]*****[/b][/center] [color=black][I]The darkness presses down around me, so heavy and tangible that I fear I may be crushed under it's pressure. If I waved my hand in front of my face there wouldn't be a snowball's chance of me seeing it. The dark is accompanied by a stink so foul that I have to fight down a wave of nausea. Every now and then I hear a flapping in the distant dark, as if there is [b]something[/b] flying in the air around me, unseen and sibilant. A familiar cold grips me as I realize I've been here before. This isn't common deja vu though. This is no half remembered sensation, half-formed and half-grasped, dancing at the edges of my consciousness. No, this is different. I have lived this exact moment before. A dream then, I conclude. With my training in lucid dreaming states I should have come to that conclusion much quicker. Between the incident on the King Penguin and now this I am having a very bad night. But even armed with that knowledge, knowing this is a dream, I cannot do anything differently. It is like my mind is held captive as my body is being forced through the motions that it took the first time I lived through this ordeal. The only difference is the first time I was here I was a small boy, and I was terrified of the darkness. Though I have outgrown such childish fears it is the lack of control that threatens to unman me now. My feet refuse to move, no matter how much I urge them on. Instead I am forced to wait in the darkness, seconds ticking by inexorably as I await what I know comes next. I finally see a small red glow in the distance, it becoming larger and larger by the moment. A shape begins to coalescence around the glow, a small figure carrying a torch. The figure is my brother Thomas, looking like he did when he was five years old. He's so much shorter than I am that I realize I must be an adult, which is strange as the last time I was lost in these caverns I was only seven. "Still afraid of the dark Bruce? Little old for it now, aren't you?" Thomas asks. There's a mischievous glint to his eyes, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lip's. That wasn't what he said last time. Perhaps this dream shall deviate from the reality after all. "Hardly Tommy. You know how comfortable I've become in the dark." There's a distant chirping in the dark, so quiet that it barely tickles the ears. "And yet it wasn't enough, was it Bruce? Alfred was right, you could have died tonight. Mother and Father would have gone un-avenged. All our sacrifices would have been in vain." He was so patronizing, even as a child. He had this way of looking at things like the whole world was one big joke, but only he knew the punchline. If that was the case then he never bothered sharing the joke with me. The chirping is getting louder, coal-ascending into a high pitched shrieking. "Well what do you want me to do!" I bark, "Tell me Tommy, tell me what you think I should do! You always thought you were the smart one after all!" That smug smile of his grows even wider, threatening to engulf the whole lower half of his face. I realize I've just walked into his ploy. "Why certainly Bruce, but I thought it would have been obvious! Those men on the boat, they weren't afraid of you. They thought you were just a man. Maybe police, or ex-military, or maybe just some nut in a fancy suit. It doesn't matter, they thought you were just flesh and blood. You need to become something bigger in their minds. Something primal. Something terrifying. Something they can't wrap their tiny brains around." The shrieking has reached an almost unbearable pitch now, a strange beating accompanying it. Tommy's grin is starting to waver, his rock solid self confidence starting to crack. I remember now how much this next part scared him. Even more than the lonely dark had scared me. "You need to become a symbol Bruce." No sooner has he finished than hundreds of tiny forms explode out of the darkness. A cloud of bodies envelop us. [b]Bats[/b] I remember feeling a strange kinship with the mammals the first time they had surrounded us. I could never understand it. Still can't. Whatever the reason, Tommy didn't share it. "[b]BRUCE![/B]" He wails, finally acting his age, his terrified expression frozen in place. I push through the cloud of bats to envelop him in my arms, protecting him as best as I can. He buries himself in my chest, his relief instant and overwhelming. "I'm here Tommy. I'll always be here for you." I whisper soothingly, and I hear him murmur in gratitude. Despite everything that has happened between us I really do mean it.[/I][/color] [center]*****[/center] Bruce Wayne woke from his troubled sleep with a start. The sheets from his four poster bed had wrapped around him like a cocoon, and it took a moment of frantic kicking to untangle himself. After he had freed himself he clambered from the bed, pulling the black out blinds aside. He was surprised to see that his room was still dark. He had thought that he’d been asleep much longer, and that morning would have long given way to the day proper. A quick look at the clock on his bedside table revealed it to only be 4.34am. He had left his window open, preferring for his room to be cold when he wakes up. The curtains weren’t drawn, the sky still a deep black, no stars showing through the cloud cover. Dawn was still some way away. He was bone tired. His body felt like it was ready to melt. [color=black][I]After last nights action, those bizarre dreams, and only being asleep for less than two hours I suppose that isn’t much of a surprise.[/I][/color] And yet he wasn’t ready to try for sleep again so soon. He knew that as soon as he did he would be assaulted by dreams of Tommy again, and he wasn’t quite ready to see his brother again so soon, even if it wasn’t only in his subconscious. Besides, he had other things to keep his mind busy. Dream-Tommy had given him much to think over. Those men on the boat [b]hadn’t[/b] been afraid of him. He had always assumed criminals to be a cowardly and superstitious lot, easily intimidated. Tonight showed that it wasn’t going to be as easy as he first thought. [color=black][I]The point still stands though. I just must make myself into something that feeds upon their fears and superstitions. Tommy has already given me the answer, after all. I must become a symbol.[/I][/color] The only question being what symbol? There was so many images used in the history by warriors to intimidate and frighten their enemies. Skulls, demons, beasts, ghouls, monsters. Whether they were painted images onto their flesh or crafted their weapons and armour into horrible shapes the desired effect was always the same; to terrify the foe. So what should he choose? Several ideas flashed through his mind. He remembered an old tv show his father had watched about a man who fought corruption in his city while wearing a mask who had called himself the Grey Ghost. Could he become the ghost of Gotham? Or perhaps he should take lead from the samurai of old and dress as a demon, striking at the criminals of his city from the very gates of hell. Both ideas had merit, but neither felt [b]right[/b]. If he was to become a symbol then it had to be the right one. He crossed to his desk, meaning to get out some paper and a pencil to begin sketching out some ideas, though he got a shock as he turned the light on. As soon as the light bathed the room there was a frantic squeeking. He turned towards the source of the noise to see a small bat perched upon the bust of his father. The creature must have flown in his open window while he was asleep. He moved towards the bust, ready to shoo the bat out of his room, when it swivelled it's head and looked straight at him. Their eyes met, and at that moment Bruce was filled with a crystal clarity. He remembered the caverns again, how the bats came hurtling from the darkness, screeches leading their way. To some, like Tommy, it would have been a blood curling sight, the sort of vision you would expect to see in a horror movie. To Bruce he had felt nothing but a strange sort of kinship with the mammals. [i][color=black]“I will become a bat.”[/color][/i]