[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/0jrO3Hq.png[/img][/center]
[quote][i][center]The Journal Of Alfred J. Pennyworth
June 27th, 1947[/center]
[color=#ffffff]One cannot ever properly prepare for death. The war taught me this cruel lesson in earnest. Watching friends and compatriots alike be ripped from this Earth with such precise ferocity was supposed to steel one's heart from feeling these bitter strikes at the center of my soul, and yet, here I find myself again. Answering death's call, my grief at the ready. I received a knock at the door of the Manor at 11:30 PM. A pair of uniformed officers, barely even half my age, waiting for me in the pouring rain. They tell me that they've arranged for me to be escorted into the city. Their words ringing in my ears as they've spoken of an unthinkable tragedy. Master Thomas and Lady Martha. They...[/color]

[color=#ffffff]I suppose it does not do anyone any good to detail the grotesquely violent manner in which they were taken. Nor do I feel it necessary to offer my opinion of the event itself. I was, after all, not present for it. A fact of which shall haunt me until my dying day. Would I have been able to prevent it? Were the instinct to take hold, would seven years' service of training in combat medicine and the theater arts have given me some disproportionate advantage against their murderer? Perhaps not. But were it required for me to lay down my life for either party, for they were two of the finest people I shall ever know, I would have done so without question.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]But the burden of my grief for their passing shall have to wait. In some small way, perhaps, the shock of their sudden removal from this life will allow me to carry on with my duties. For as important as it may be to honor the memory of the Wayne family, the tragic reality is that they are not the last of their bloodline. They left behind a son. A small, inconsolable boy whose life was just shattered amongst the rain. Carelessly taken for granted in a world where the horrors of humanity are becoming a more frequent companion to any redemptive qualities one might find.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]Young Master Bruce. How I should hope that you never have to read this entry. For this night may undoubtedly be your darkest, my immense task shall be to guide you as far away from these memories as possible. Though I am neither your father or your blood relation, I owe it to your parents to try my very best. The world has such greater things in store for you than this, and when you are to come of age, I shall be comforted to see the pain of losing your family be washed away by your immeasurable success. In time, perhaps we shall even look back at this night as a faint glimmer in your life's overall story.[/color]

One could certainly dream.[/i][/quote]

[color=#ffffff]Two shots ring out into the Gotham City nightscape. In a space where three individuals once stood, a boy drops to his knees and screams. [/color]

[color=#ffffff]The gunman grabs the couple's valuables and flees for his life, never once daring to look back at the sobbing child's immeasurable loss. He simply wanted them to hand over some spare cash, he tells himself in between fits of panic. Why didn't they just give it to him? [/color]

[color=#ffffff]He doesn't stop to question that line of thinking. He doesn't stop, period, as the sirens begin to sound off a mere block away. The police are already on his tail, and this idiot's still holding the smoking weapon. He hops a chain-link fence, lands hard, and takes off down a dark alleyway. His ankle beginning to lock up, the thug gasps for breath as he pitches the gun into a nearby open dumpster. Long as he has the cash, he can stay alive long enough to buy a new one. That's what the man wearing a sports jacket labelled "J" above the faded starting number for the Gotham Knights tells himself to remain assured that he didn't just shoot a couple of people for no good reason, that he didn't make an orphan out of some kid who never meant him any harm. That he didn't just fuck up and ruin his own damned life.[/color]

[i][color=#ffffff]"Jesus Christ, call an ambulance! We've got a couple of gunshot victims on West 39th!"[/color][/i]
[i][color=#ffffff]"Over there! I think I hear footsteps..."[/color][/i]
[i][color=#ffffff]"He's over there! He's over there! In pursuit of suspect!"[/color][/i]
[b][i][color=#ffffff]"You two! Cut him off on the opposite alley at O'Neil Jewelers!"[/color][/i][/b]

[color=#ffffff]The harsh barking of orders from a fedora adorned detective echoes out from behind the mugger, giving him even more reason to keep pushing past his aging body's limitations. He tosses the hat that he wore to keep his identity conspicuous, in the event that there were unexpected witnesses to his crime. He'd worked up the courage to do something like this for months, and it all seemed to go swimmingly in his mind. A pair of bodies, no kid, no police. It was supposed to be clean and simple. But he'd gotten desperate, and desperation had evaporated what was left of his patience, putting him squarely in the line of sight for Gotham's dirtiest bunch of crooks, the GCPD. He wouldn't have been surprised, he thinks, if they were on their way to collect protection money whenever they heard his two-bit 22. go off. [/color]

[color=#ffffff]But that was just how it rolled. In Gotham City, you were either born as the top fish, or you always got swallowed up by the bigger one. And ever since The Roman's Holiday Massacre of 1929, the top fish in town was always the one in control of the cops. Sergio Falcone had taken a dive so that his own son could plunge the city into open chaos during one night that served as a grotesque power shift between rival factions of the mob. In alot of ways, it felt like the city would never recover from that night. And here this clown was, trying to scrape a couple of bucks off of some punk's mom and dad. He shook his head to himself, wondering how he'd ever worked up the stones to try and pull this pathetic stunt off. The amount of money he'd stuffed into his jacket was probably worth far less than this month's rent. [/color]

[color=#ffffff]Just as it seemed that he'd outrun his pursuers, tires screeched out across the street infront of him. Red and blue lights shot out against the pitch black darkness, causing the crook to slide to a complete stop and stumble forward. He flailed wildly, trying to push himself up, but he heard the clicks of their weapons. He saw the slicked shoes coming towards him, and worse, he could sense even more coming his way from the rear. He was cornered, and this was over. He'd violated his parole, and this would easily send him back to the pen for life. [/color]

[b][color=#cccccc]"FREEZE!"[/color][/b]

[b][color=#999999]"Don't even blink, asshole! We've got you pinned from all sides! Let's see those hands!"[/color][/b]

[b][color=#666666]"You're under arrest for armed robbery and double homicide! Put your hands on your head and lie forward on the ground!"[/color][/b]

[color=#ffffff]With an exasperated breath, the sweating crook complied with the officer's demands. His chin soon found itself against the pavement, and he could feel the cold steel of the officer's handcuffs snap hard against his wrists. Two sets of hands pulled him to his feet, and in a moment he'd feel particularly ashamed of later, a third officer pulled out the earnings of his crime: a measily fifty-seven dollars in cash. The criminal looked on with shock, swearing that there had been more. The way the bills were stacked, it seemed like so much more. But he'd killed two people over less than the going price of the gold necklace adorned around his neck. The criminal hung his head in shame as the officers forced him against the nearby squad car, patting him down for the murder weapon or any other unpleasant surprises. [/color]

[b][i][color=#98b88c]"And so began the true end of Johnny 'The Spider' LaMonica's life..."[/color][/i][/b]

[color=#ffffff]Mugshots from that night flash across the screen, showing the real-life Gotham City gunman that looked practically unrecognizable next to the actor that had just been shown playing him in a very dramatic re-enactment. The actual LaMonica's forehead was busted open, clearly suggesting a more violent encounter with the police than the television program had been permitted to show. Stories like this were often alot worse than they were presented as told. [/color]

[b][i][color=#98b88c]"Caught dead to rights in the city's East End, LaMonica was arrested and charged with the murder of local grociers Edwin and Patrice Prewitt on October 12th, 1951. One of the more prominent couples in the city's growing community of African-American leaders of business at the start of the 30's, Edwin Prewitt and his wife were considered patron saints of the Park Row slums, with many residents portraying them as lively storytellers, eager to spin a yarn about Gotham's glory days for any customer that seemed to want to listen."[/color][/i][/b]

[color=#ffffff]Tragically, a pair of photographs show the victims of LaMonica's crime in happier spirits, with Edwin Prewitt playing an impromptu set of drums outside the entrance of his supermarket, clearly helping out a group of street performers looking to make an honest dollar. His wife looks on, mid-laugh, as a vague tune can be heard in tandem with another set of photographs of the two together. [/color]

[b][i][color=#98b88c]"It was this crime, among notable others, that led to Gotham's restructuring of Park Row as the now infamous Crime Alley. And their murderer, as identified by their grieving grandson, the sole witness at the scene, would soon face two life sentences in exchange for coldly taking the couple away in the midst of a botched robbery. LaMonica pleaded no contest, with his lawyer stating at the time that the known trigger for hire had expressed deep remorse for the senseless act, citing his inability to keep a steady job following the criminal takeover of the East End by the Falcone Crime Family as his only motive."[/color][/i][/b]

[color=#ffffff]Grainy newsreel footage shows LaMonica, in prison stripes, being led out to an awaiting Blackgate Penitentiary escort amidst a field of reporters.[/color]

[b][i][color=#98b88c]"Though speculation at the time pointed towards it being a racially motivated assault turned calculated murder, the Prewitt's grandson would later cooaborate LaMonica's version of events during an adulthood interview in retrospect. LaMonica was eventually locked away on August 3rd of the following year, leaving behind a tragic legacy that the victim's family would never be able to escape."[/color][/i][/b]

[color=#ffffff]Unexpectedly cutting back to a panaround shot of the actor playing Johnny LaMonica in the re-enactment, now dressed in a prison uniform and sitting in an obvious television set's recreation of an interrogation room, the show keeps "LaMonica's" side profile in focus as the door opens. Two suited men enter, throwing down a lengthy file and staring the crook directly in the face. LaMonica's tired eyes, likely an effect of makeup, stare blankly at the mustached member of the pair. [/color]

[b][i][color=#98b88c]"But would that be the end of The Black Spider's story? Or would this so-called 'deep remorse' act as fuel to an escalating fire within Johnny LaMonica, arguably put into this position by the very criminal factions that he used to run with?"[/color][/i][/b]

[color=#ffffff]After a silent moment between them, the suited man nods to someone on the other side of the door to the room. In walks a third party, a member of the prison staff, carrying a massive suitcase. LaMonica looks confused, but distinctly intrigued. Something more is going on here. Something much bigger than him, it seems, as the camera focuses on the badges pinned to the suited men's lapels. The letters 'FBI' shine against the glare of the light, dramatically recontextualizing this seemingly innocuous meeting. [/color]

[b][i][color=#98b88c]"He had the motive. He had nowhere to turn. And as far as the world was concerned, no one was ever going to miss a lifer that had plainly made his bed and chosen to lie in it. What if, instead of the reported hanging that would seal LaMonica's fate in the history books as a man who'd chosen to take the easy way out, The Black Spider had chosen to align himself with Uncle Sam's top men? What if the hanging was a cover-up made to conceal the fact that LaMonica had simply traded one animal moniker..."[/color][/i][/b]

[color=#ffffff]The suitcase lands, hard, onto the table infront of him. The convict takes it with both hands, and slowly lifts open the top half, revealing contents which clearly shock LaMonica to his core. [/color]

[b][i][color=#98b88c]"For another?"[/color][/i][/b]

[color=#ffffff]The camera pans around, finally revealing what's inside the suitcase.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]A fearsome, leathery black garb, seemingly extended from a mask attached to a folded cloak.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]A black garb in the form of a Bat. [/color]

[b][i][color=#98b88c]"I'm Waylon Jones. And tonight, we're asking Gotham City to contemplate the question that has rested on the minds of each citizen for half a century: which one of their own could have possibly been... The Batman?"[/color][/i][/b]

[color=#ffffff]Lightning strikes, ever dramatically, across LaMonica's face as he raises the cowl to meet his own. The scene fades out to a heavily produced title card, displaying an assortment of headshots and mugshots alike across a golden banner, with the center filmstrip reading off the program's all too familiar title: [/color]

[center][IMG]https://i.imgur.com/M8FA9OL.png[/IMG][/center]

[color=#ffffff]A loud cough interrupts the program just as it goes to commercial, prompting the junior member of the board of directors - who had been streaming the latest episode of Gotham's hit "reality" television show on his smartphone, while waiting for this meeting to begin - to suddenly look up and gauge the room around him. Practically everyone was either staring or side-glancing him, having noticed that he'd put in his wireless earbuds and wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention. [/color]

[color=#ffffff]Adjusting his tie, nervously, the 31-year-old proceeded to remove the buds and place his phone on lock, quickly slipping it into the pocket of his suit's jacket. If his face weren't a shade of red before, it certainly was now, looking toward the far more professionally dressed woman standing at the end of the long table.[/color]

[b][color=#8c95e2]"If we could have [i]everyone's[/i] attention before we proceed?"[/color][/b]

[color=#ffffff]The younger member of the board places his hands together, nodding silently while refusing to make eye contact. The woman merely shot him a stern look of disapproval before turning her attention towards the digital clipboard that she held firmly infront, marking down a note with the strokes of her fingertip. [/color]

[b][color=#8c95e2]"Glad to see that we're all equally as engaged. Please continue with the next phase of your pitch, Mr. Isley."[/color][/b]

[color=#ffffff]A red-headed gentleman adorned in a several-thousand dollar suit glances over his shoulder, clearly annoyed at the sudden interruption, but quickly composes himself and clears his own throat. He gestures to the image floating infront of him, projected via hologram. [/color]

[b][color=#568460]"Yes, well. As I was saying, esteemed members of the board, I feel as though the next logical step for this company to take is one that evokes a more vested interest in New Gotham's economical growth than we've seen in the last decade."[/color][/b]

[color=#ffffff]Waving his hand over the hologram, Arthur Isley watches as a digitally reconstructed neighborhood of Gotham's slums becomes a theoretical haven of modern shopping, with several dummy businesses - such as a smartphone carrier, a couple of trendy restraunts, a corporately owned boutique, and a clothing store - appearing in the places of buildings seemingly abandoned and left to ruin over the years. Some eyebrows raise, while others sit intrigued. [/color]

[b][color=#568460]"While these are just a few examples of the jobs we'd be creating if we pursued my initiative, imagine if we invest in enough neighborhoods to provide these spaces to prospective small business owners [i]aswell[/i] as the local corporations. What you see here reflects a more traditional sense of systemic consumer output, but what if we could diversify the palate? What if we could actually turn one of the city's most notorious neighborhoods, affected in equal measure by crime and the impoverished conditions that have made these streets practically uninhabitable, into a more attractive lure for tourism?"[/color][/b]

[color=#ffffff]Several of the storefronts change, reflecting Isley's 'diversity' - though each new business seems to be a hollow imitation of the ones that came before it. Still, several members of the board eye eachother, clearly seeing the potential in such an investment. [/color]

[b][color=#568460]"And if there's anything Gotham ever needed at this stage of it's economical lifespan, I would say tourism ranks far higher than the more steady approach we've taken in the past. While vital city resources have come to rely on us for land development, market research has suggested that the margin of tourism has dipped by over sixty-one percent ever since the implementation of Mayor Dent's Blackgate Wall."[/color][/b]

[color=#ffffff]Placing his hands together, Isley initiates the hologram's shutdown, triggering the overhead lights to come on and illuminate the room. [/color]

[b][color=#568460]"Bottom line? This company's focus on reaching out to those affected by the conditions of the Mayor's strict documentation regimine for leaving the suburbs of Old Gotham is, while I can agree to be a noble cause, leaving the rest of the city to hang out to dry up in the current landscape. While we've no shortage of practical businesses operating out of the area, what we need is a firm invitation to people across the country - nay, across the [i]world[/i] - that Gotham is once again open for business. Not just for local consumers, but to the casual market aswell."[/color][/b]

[color=#ffffff]Looking upon the room, Isley's eye darts to a seat at the very front that's been turned away from him for the entire meeting. It remains turned towards the large window overseeing the city below them, with the sunlight just barely reaching the chair's as-of-yet silent occupant. Isley raises an eyebrow, turning towards the individual members of the board.[/color]

[b][color=#568460]"Are there any objections? Questions? Any feedback at all?"[/color][/b]

[color=#ffffff]While some go to speak up, evidently ready to share their own opinions, a voice of a much lower register cuts them off before any can attempt to broaden the discussion. [/color]

[b][color=#516473]"This proposal is absurd."[/color][/b]

[color=#ffffff]Isley's annoyance only grows as several members of the board are caught off guard by the harshness of the older man's tone. The chair slowly spins around to meet the stewing business executive's gaze with an equal amount of contempt. Dressed in an entirely black suit with a silk tie that clearly costs more than any given part of the room itself, the elderly CEO of Wayne International remains completely, almost chillingly still as he continues to outline his displeasure. [/color]

[b][color=#516473]"Gauging tourism, in my experience, has always proven to be a temporary fix for much bigger problems. And while we can certainly try and make the city seem appealing from afar, the fact remains that nobody's coming to invest their money here anytime soon. You of all people should know why, Arthur."[/color][/b]

[color=#ffffff]Isley, while clearly flustered, stands as one of the few in the room completely unintimidated by the commanding presence of the 81-year-old.[/color]

[b][color=#568460]"Perhaps you'd care to enlighten us, Mr. Wayne."[/color][/b]

[color=#ffffff]Bruce Wayne sneers, slowly rising from his chair.[/color]

[b][color=#516473]"While your people have been conducting market research, I've been paying more attention to the headlines. The crucial element of engaging tourists that you're missing is good publicity. And publicity for Gotham ever since Dent took office has been decidedly [i]unkind[/i]. While most consider us to simply be bad for business, I keep hearing a common refrain used to describe the state of the city."[/color][/b]

[color=#ffffff]By the time he's fully stood, Wayne clearly stands a few inches taller than Isley, even at his advanced age. It quite literally casts a shadow over the executive, whose brow furrows when confronted with the debilitating fact. [/color]

[IMG]https://i.imgur.com/Tk2A7i3.png[/IMG]

[b][color=#516473]"Dystopian."[/color][/b]

[color=#ffffff]Isley scoffs, turning towards his fellow members.[/color]

[b][color=#568460]"An overexaggeration, I assure you."[/color][/b]

[b][color=#516473]"But a believable conceit in the minds of the public."[/color][/b]

[color=#ffffff]His hand gripping a polished wooden cane, Wayne begins to walk across the whole of the table as he eyes each individual member of the board himself. They're quick to pay attention, as the aging billionaire has spent a good portion of his life building up a reputation for blunt honesty, something that Isley seems to shy away from.[/color]

[b][color=#516473]"The reason that Wayne International has been reaching out to the, as you call them, victims of 'documentation' is because we've devoted our resources towards helping those that are financially unable to provide the city with sustainable business. Not only those living in complete poverty, but those struggling to even stay afloat. Even if we were to cut out a swath of land for an investor with a modern sensibility, the fact remains that without the citizens of Old Gotham [i]and[/i] New Gotham working together to provide revenue, we'd be delivering a staggeringly empty promise. In the short-term, that could be damaging. In the long-term, crippling."[/color][/b]

[color=#ffffff]Turning to meet the whole of the assembled board members, Wayne's face is only partially lit as he continues to outline why the proposal won't work. It's an image that unnerves even the stoic Arthur before the elder Wayne eventually steps forward to become fully illuminated.[/color]

[b][color=#516473]"Our focus is to be dedicated to uniting both halves of a city that our Mayor has carelessly sought to divide. And as long as I'm still CEO, that's where it will remain. Vote however you wish, but I think I can safely speak for most of our stockholders when I say that Mr. Isley's proposal will solve nothing."[/color][/b]

[color=#ffffff]Arthur crosses his arms as his barely contained frustration washes over him.[/color]

[b][color=#568460]"All in favor?"[/color][/b]

[color=#ffffff]A deafening silence fills the room, causing Isley to bitterly sigh. [/color]

[b][color=#568460]"All opposed?"[/color][/b]

[color=#ffffff]Unanimously, the entire board raises their hands. Wayne's gaze never leaves Isley as he turns to head back to his seat.[/color]

[b][color=#516473]"Meeting adjourned."[/color][/b]

[color=#ffffff]Helped back into his seat by his assistant, who hands him her clipboard while simultaneously beginning to pour him a glass of water, Wayne removes two pills from his jacket's pocket and downs them before anyone can notice. Taking a careful swig of his drink, Wayne does everything he can to hide the fact that his pulse is racing. His breathing momentarily shallow. It would be an eye-opening glimpse at a titan of industry, were anyone paying attention to anything other than the desire to leave the room and resume business.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]But just as the door opens and people begin to pour out, Arthur Isley takes a few steps forward. [/color]

[b][color=#568460]"And how [i]exactly[/i] do you suggest that we unite this city, Mr. Wayne?"[/color][/b]

[b][color=#516473]"Your proposal is denied, Arthur. The meeting is over."[/color][/b]

[b][color=#568460]"But the [i]discourse[/i] certainly isn't!"[/color][/b]

[color=#ffffff]Isley's outburst catches the attention of everyone. Wayne merely stares back.[/color]

[b][color=#568460]"For months, I've been coming to this table - this [i]same[/i] table from the [i]same[/i] position - to do nothing but offer new ideas and expand the company beyond it's shrinking potential. And yet at every turn, you've made it your mission to cut every proposal down in it's infancy. The problem that the stockholders see with Wayne International is an inability to try something new, but you won't even let us get to that point. We're draining resources fast, and all because you tout an idealist's dream of bringing together a unified Gotham."[/color][/b]

[color=#ffffff]Isley finds himself leaning against the portion of the table directly infront of his boss, unafraid to get too close. [/color]

[b][color=#568460]"You're the leader of this company. So I implore you, Mr. Wayne, to lead us. Help us understand your strategy for doing the impossible."[/color][/b]

[color=#ffffff]Bruce leans forward. [/color][b][color=#516473]"It's called faith."[/color][/b]

[color=#ffffff]Isley corrects his posture, immediately on the counter-offense.[/color]

[b][color=#568460]"It's called [i]suicide[/i]. We need to be proactive if this company's going to last into the next decade and avoid a buyout. And hoping that Mayor Dent's crime prevention initiative magically goes away [i]along[/i] with that wall is well within the area opposite of productivity."[/color][/b]

[color=#ffffff]As the members of the board look towards their CEO, Wayne remains curiously silent. [/color]

[b][color=#568460]"I realize that in your day, Gotham was an easier landscape to navigate. But we're suffocating under the conditions that you refuse to acknowledge as anything but temporary when, infact, all evidence points towards the contrary. I want to help the citizens of Old Gotham as much as you do, Bruce, but that's what the Wayne Foundation is for. And the whole of this company can't exist entirely as your charity."[/color][/b]

[color=#ffffff]Isley's tone borderlines on disrespect, but it's laced with enough truth to keep Wayne from an immediate retort. The two men clearly don't like one another, but the question of which one is ultimately right becomes more blurred as Isley speaks. [/color]

[b][color=#568460]"But you and I both know that already. You also know what this is really about. So with all due respect, I'll try not to waste any more of your valuable time."[/color][/b]

[color=#ffffff]As Arthur turns to leave, finally, Wayne eventually speaks up.[/color]

[b][color=#516473]"Isley..."[/color][/b]

[color=#ffffff]Arthur pauses, but doesn't bother to turn around and face his superior. He knows all too well where this discussion will lead. He's already cursing the fact that he even tried persuading the old man to see it his way. And yet the next few words still send a tremble down the spine of each lingering member of the board.[/color]

[b][color=#516473]"[i]Bruce[/i] is reserved for friends."[/color][/b]

[color=#ffffff]Seemingly lowering his shoulders in defeat, Isley gathers up his materials and wordlessly exits the room, along with the rest of the board. While Wayne's assistant personally sees to escorting Arthur out of the room, for fear of another outburst, Bruce takes another sip of water. By the time the door closes, his steely gaze gives way to a look of tired, frustrated repetition.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]He made the mistake of giving up on Gotham once, years ago. And it cost him everything he held dear. The Manor. His closest friends. The remnants of the family that he built. And the other part of himself that could have fixed this - could have solved the problem before it even began. [/color]

[color=#ffffff]If there's ever been a time for Bruce Wayne to remain hopeful that his city can power through the darkness, it's now. Because his days of fighting for Gotham are long since over. All he can do is sit back and allow it to try and heal itself. [/color]

[color=#ffffff]Because right now, it's limping.[/color]

[i][color=#ecec8f]"Package is en route to destination. I repeat, package is en route to destination..."[/color][/i]

[color=#ffffff]A figure watches from the darkness above Gotham as two trucks cross the bridge from Arkham Island. A shipment of materials from The Arkham Institute is on it's way to the Blackgate Wall, to be delivered back where they originated: GCPD's archival warehouse. The figure has waited weeks for an opportunity to sneak into the heavily guarded facility, but he wasn't sure of how to gain entrance until a request for research materials was processed. Turns out, there was a mistake, and no doctor from Arkham had requested any of the items onboard either truck. That would be what happens when a report is electronically falsified, as the figure knows all too well. After all, he was the one that falsified it. [/color]

[color=#ffffff]Perched atop two stone gargoyles, the figure briefly looks out across the Gotham skyline. He remembers, as a child, when it was brighter. The skies seemed to illuminate in a perpetual glow that cast the normally dangerous city in quite literally a safer light. But a sharp line now stands between that light and the people on the other side of the Blackgate Wall, cutting it off and leaving 'Old Gotham' in a shadowy landscape of terror and oppression. [/color]

[color=#ffffff]No more, the figure thinks to himself. After tonight, everything will change. [/color]

[color=#ffffff]It's been too long since Gotham's had a reason to believe again. [/color]

[color=#ffffff]In hope. [/color]

[color=#ffffff]In the future.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]And especially in heroes.[/color]

[color=#ffffff]The figure doesn't know whether he has what it takes to fill the void. But he's going to try his best, even if it kills him. And it may very well do so. Nevertheless, he positions himself firmly against the gargoyles that once were laid claim to by another man - and leaps into the night. [/color]

[color=#ffffff][IMG]https://i.imgur.com/taaT7rc.png[/IMG][/color]

[color=000000][b][i]The first of many.[/i][/b][/color]