Gotham City
Gotham was never an ordinary city. It was born of cracks. From cement cracked by greed, from steel stained with blood, from concrete saturated with fear.
It was a city that cried inside, even as it smiled on bright billboards.
But now, Gotham cries no more.
It screams.
The streets are darker than ever.
Not because of the absence of light, but because of the absence of reason.
The alleys are alive again, like infected veins pulsing beneath the city's skin.
Criminals no longer hide.
They parade. They march like kings in ruins that belong only to monsters.
The sky, once gray, is now black as oil.
The clouds seem to carry the weight of guilt.
And the rain, oh, the rain, doesn't clean anything anymore.
It falls heavy, acidic, dragging the stench of decay across the cracked cobblestones.
Gotham has become a mirror of absence.
A reflection of what is lost when the symbol that held everything together disappears.
The Bat-signal was never lit again.
Not because they broke the light.
But because no one else had the courage to turn it on.
The authorities are divided, the vigilantes are missing, and the civilians… the civilians are just surviving.
With empty eyes and hurried steps, as if they knew the city was no longer theirs.
Gotham belongs to the specters now.
To memory.
To fear.
And yet, amidst the chaos, there is a place where time seems to stand still.
High on the city's oldest hill, where the winds sing like laments and the trees twist like witnesses to the past, stands Gotham Memorial Cemetery.
Among broken statues, forgotten tombs and moss-covered marble, there is a monument that holds no mortal remains, only mourning.
A tomb.
Black.
Sober.
Cold.
BATMAN
"He who faced the night so that others could see the dawn."
There is no body there.
There are no flowers.
Just silence.
But it is not an ordinary silence.
It's dense.
Heavy.
Alive.
Because that night, under the silent storm, something was moving there.
The earth did not tremble.
The wind hasn't changed.
But the air... the air knew.
Eternity, for a brief moment, breathed.
And then, without warning, without witnesses, something extraordinary began to happen.
----
Gotham Memorial Cemetery
The silence became oppressive.
The darkness, thick.
The air, still.
Until the sound came.
A snap.
Then another.
Like a whisper in the shadows...
Like wings cutting through time.
And then, they came.
Thousands of bats, emerging as if from the very cracks in the earth, from the dead trees, from the shattered sky.
A living storm. A whirlwind of wings, claws, and echoes, swirling like a hurricane around the black tomb.
The marble began to vibrate.
The ground shook.
The darkness has changed.
In the center of that whirlwind, where the night folded, a figure began to emerge.
First, a silhouette.
Then the complete form.
The dust of death fell from his shoulders like heavenly ash.
It was Bruce Wayne.
But not just him.
No more.
His eyes opened, and the night seemed to recede.
An ancient look.
A look that had seen too much.
His chest rose and fell slowly, as if each breath took up an eternity.
His hands were clenched, as if holding the weight of a thousand choices.
And his mind, his mind was a field of echoes.
He remembered everything.
----
The first memory came like a blade cutting through the mind.
A scream.
A death.
An urban chaos.
The world was dry, brutal, unyielding.
The old Bruce from the Dark Knight emerged:
"They called it retirement. I called it cowardice. And I came back. Because someone had to get their hands dirty. Because fear doesn't die. It matures."
Fists breaking bones.
The streets are burning.
The death of a Robin.
The fall of a Superman.
The second memory came like smoke and neon.
Advanced technology, the pulsing lights of a corrupted future.
Bruce, now elderly, in the shadows of a world that has forgotten what it means to have hope.
The DCAU's Batman, mentor to Terry McGinnis:
"You don't fight to win, Bruce. You fight because to stop would be to accept that you've lost. Even without the suit, you never stopped being Batman. You trained the next one because the burden would never let you rest."
Memories of old age, isolation, but also of wisdom.
The hoarse voice.
The dog Ace lying next to him.
And the eternal vigil for the cameras, even without the strength to act.
The third memory came like a youthful storm frozen in time.
The Batman from the 2004 animated series, unique and stylized.
An aging Batman, but still active and marked by the weight of responsibility:
"I still believed I could save Gotham alone. I still held on to the idea that silence and fear were enough. But I learned... that being Batman wasn't just about what I could do. It was about what I needed to be."
The villains were more caricatured, yes, but the weight was still real.
The loss, the doubt, the journey of maturation.
The transformation of the boy into a symbol.
And then came the last one.
The most majestic. The most mythical.
A world on the brink of ending.
Kingdom Come.
Batman above humanity, and yet more human than ever.
Bruce, physically broken, trapped in an exo-suit, commanding armies of drones and trying to prevent the final collapse.
"They lost their way. I tried to guide them. But even kings cannot save kingdoms alone."
A man who becomes a legend.
A lone wolf among gods.
The ultimate authority figure… but also the last to believe in redemption.
----
The Return.
Bruce fell to his knees on the cemetery ground.
Memories merged. The pain, losses, triumphs, and failures of four distinct lives burned into his mind.
But he held on.
Because he always held on.
He rose with a sigh that echoed through the night.
It wasn't just Bruce Wayne anymore.
It was the weight of four destinies fused into one.
The cloak was not just a symbol.
It was the last bastion.
And he was back.
The night calmed down.
The bats have ceased.
But something had changed.
The Age of Fear was not over.
But maybe… just maybe…
a new Dark Knight had been born from death.
Every movement of Bruce's body felt perfect. This was the same body that had been destroyed with Superman, but it felt different.
Perhaps it was the effect of his more powerful soul.
Perhaps it was a combination of techniques and martial arts from his other lives.
Or it was simply the work of the Infinity Tribunal remaking his body.
However, Bruce was significantly stronger, full of energy and endurance. Even his senses were much sharper.
His mind was also on another level, the combination of knowledge from 5 different Batmans was absurd.
Without considering perception, memory and reasoning which were extremely high.
It was an intoxicating experience to come back to life like this.
Bruce truly felt like he had become a supreme version of himself. He was always meticulous, rigorous, trying to be the best he could for Gotham City.
But he never imagined he could become this much better.
Either way, it was time to act. To see for himself what had happened to the world in his absence, since the only certainty he had was that time had passed.
----
Gotham breathed like a dying creature.
Fog crept across the cracked sidewalks like poison seeping through the veins of a condemned body. The streets were choked with filth and neglect. Rain fell in irregular intervals, as if the sky no longer had the strength to weep consistently.
And in the darkest shadows… he was there.
Bruce Wayne moved like a ghost.
Sliding between alleys and rooftops.
Undetectable. Invisible.
The city did not see him.
But he… he saw everything.
Scarred faces. Children sleeping in cardboard boxes.
Addicts crawling like specters in the alleys.
Screams muffled by sirens that no longer came.
The alleys where he once hunted bandits now hunted the living.
Evil had taken root.
Gotham had rotted.
What was once just corruption was now domination.
Crime was law.
Justice, an ancient myth.
Silently, Bruce leaped to the top of a building and stopped in front of the window of an old 24-hour diner. The sign was shaking, half of the letters faded. Inside, a few customers murmured to each other, their spirits dull, their eyes dull.
On the back wall, an old television was showing a special news program.
" Today marks exactly ten years since the tragedy that shook the world. The fall of the greatest symbols of hope humanity has ever known. Batman and Superman, both presumed dead during the invasion of the cybernetic entity known as Brainiac. To this day, their bodies have never been found..."
The image switched to the League's memorial, now abandoned, covered in graffiti and rust.
The reporter still had a regretful tone... but no one in the restaurant was paying attention.
Bruce slowly backed away from the edge.
Ten years.
Ten years of darkness.
He closed his eyes.
And for the first time since he resurfaced… he felt regret.
Not for him.
But for what it allowed to happen.
----
Wayne Manor – Iron Gates
The large bars were still standing.
The weeds grew high on the banks, but the structure remained dignified.
Rusty gargoyles watched from above.
Bruce walked along the stone path, silently, without hurrying his pace.
The mansion was intact, but dark.
Like a sleeping castle.
He stopped in front of the door.
He took a deep breath.
And he pressed the ancient doorbell button, the sound still echoing like a lament off the stone walls.
Steps.
Slow, dragged.
But firm.
The door opened with a soft creak.
Alfred Pennyworth.
Older. His hair is all white now.
His posture was still erect. His gaze was as sharp as ever. He wore a dark robe and discreet gloves.
He froze.
His gaze met Bruce's. But he didn't smile. He didn't cry. He just acted.
In a second, the old butler attacked.
A clean movement, taught by the wars he lived through, by the years alongside the Dark Knight himself.
Too fast for someone his age.
But Bruce… wasn't the same anymore.
The first blow was deflected with a simple shoulder roll. The second was blocked with two fingers. Alfred tried to sweep his legs away, but Bruce didn't even move, just dodged it as if dancing with the wind.
Alfred staggered back in surprise.
Bruce then extended his hand, without aggression. His voice was calm. Low. Deep.
"You said to me, that day… after everything fell apart:
'The world seems darker now, Master Bruce... and I know that no words of mine can kindle the light that has gone out within you. But hear me, with all my heart: the pain you feel now... is proof of the love that was there.
Your parents... they're gone, yes. But everything they were, everything they believed in, everything I saw in Mr. Thomas and Mrs. Martha's eyes... still lives in you.
They believed in justice. In kindness. In hope. And no matter how much the world tries to steal that from you, no matter how much anger tries to fill you, remember: Mr. Wayne is not the pain you carry, but what you choose to do with it.
And if one day… one day you decide you want to fight against what took your parents… I will be here. Always.
Because even without them anymore… you will never be alone, Master Bruce.' "
Silence fell like thunder.
Alfred put his hand to his mouth.
His eyes filled with tears without him realizing it.
"My boy…"
He whispered.
He fell to his knees.
The old body shaking with emotion that could not be contained.
Bruce knelt down beside him, and without saying anything, the two embraced, right there, at the entrance to the mansion that once housed so many ghosts.
Ten years of pain.
Ten years of absence.
And now…
something had returned.
----
The door closed behind them, and the air inside Wayne Manor seemed to hold its breath.
Alfred walked slowly, still trying to believe what he was seeing. Bruce followed him silently. His footsteps made no sound. As if the mansion's floor remembered him… and didn't dare react.
Without a word, Alfred pulled back the old bust of William Shakespeare and revealed the hidden panel with the lever.
A snap.
The grandfather clock turned slowly.
Access to the Batcave has been opened.
The descent was silent.
And then, darkness swallowed them.
When they arrived, the lights in the Batcave slowly came on, as if awakening from a deep mourning.
The place was covered in dust, but still intact. Monitors were off, the gigantic cave echoing like a crypt.
Batman's uniform remained on the central pedestal.
Cracked.
Charred.
Empty.
Alfred stood before him, looking at the damaged armor.
"I kept everything as it was…"
He said in a heavy voice.
"I didn't have the courage to… touch anything."
Bruce walked over. He gently touched the symbol on the chest of the destroyed armor.
His reflection appeared in the broken surface of the visor.
He saw there… four older versions of himself. A collective weight of lives lived and battles fought.
"How is this… how is this possible, Master Bruce?"
Alfred asked, his tone almost whispered, as if he feared the answer would undo everything.
Bruce was silent for a moment, then replied:
"I… I don't know for sure. When I died… there was no peace—"
"There was something else…"
Alfred completed, tensely.
Bruce nodded.
"Entities. Cosmic forces. Ancient… powerful… beyond our understanding. They took me. Rebuilt me. Not just with my essence… but with the memories, experience, and instinct of other lives… As if… everything I was were converging into one Batman. One last chance to right what happened. Or… to prevent what is yet to come."
Alfred took a deep breath. Then he looked around at the dim lights, the dead monitors. His voice shook slightly.
"And… is there still something to save?"
Bruce turned to him.
"Tell me, Alfred. What happened to the world?"
"After your death… and that of Lord Kent."
Alfred began.
"Things didn't just fall apart. They… rotted. The heroes tried to carry on. They tried to resist. But the tragedy… the chaos that followed… People grew to hate them.
Protest groups emerged.
They called you "false gods," "instruments of disaster."
The media attacked relentlessly. Hope turned to contempt."
Bruce remained silent, his sharp eyes listening to everything.
"The Green Lanterns have disappeared. As you well know, Hal Jordan died at the beginning of the war. John Stewart and Guy Gardner... disappeared. They never returned to Earth.
Not a single Lantern returned or was seen again. Not one.
We never knew the reason.
Barry Allen disappeared seven years ago.
Master Dick believes he was swallowed by something… outside of our world.
What remained was Wally West, the former Kid Flash. He took up the mentor's mantle.
He runs… alone. One of the few heroes still active.
Oliver Queen… is no longer the Green Arrow. He's become mayor of Star City. His company now has a young lady, Felicity Smoak, as CEO. He and Dinah… the Black Canary… had a daughter before the war. And he left the mantle behind. They're at peace now. Or they try to be.
Supergirl continued for a while. But she was overwhelmed by criticism, threats… and guilt.
From what Master Grayson said, she went through a terrible period of depression. Which, frankly, is understandable.
Today, she lives simply as Kara Danvers, having moved from Metropolis to National City. Now a reporter for CatCo Worldwide Media.
Company founded by Cat Grant at that time… In case you've forgotten, which I doubt, Miss Grant was a reporter at the Daily Planet and a rival of Miss Lane.
Well, now, Kara Danvers lives far from the symbol, far from the battles.
Aquaman never returned from Atlantis. He likely decided to focus on protecting his kingdom and family rather than dealing with the problems on the surface.
Shazam still protects Fawcett City, but discreetly. Almost no one knows.
Master Grayson… he's changed.
He lives in the rebuilt Blüdhaven, but is no longer Nightwing.
He plunged into alcohol and loneliness.
Fights crime, but… is broken.
Master Drake has become a private detective. He rejects the Robin mantle and feels he's failed you. He lives in a small apartment and sometimes visits me... But he can't bear the pain and the memories.
He doesn't show up for months.
Miss Gordon works for the police now. But she no longer believes in justice. Not… like before.
Master Todd… disappeared. Cassandra too.
Miss Kyle returned to town after a while, apparently surviving a variety of circumstances. These days, she's left her old ways behind and runs a particularly adorable cat shop in her old neighborhood, Gotham Whiskers.
Martian Manhunter, as you well know, disappeared before the end.
The rest? Basically, they retired or disappeared too."
Bruce clenched his fists. Each word was a new scar opening.
"And the villains?"
He asked, somberly.
Alfred took a deep breath.
"The Joker is missing. He escaped from Arkham shortly after your death, Master Bruce.
He has never been seen again since.
Poison Ivy was released from the Asylum.
Now… believe it or not, she is a professor of Botany at Gotham University.
Killer Croc sometimes appears in the sewers, but he doesn't cause any problems and remains hidden most of the time.
Clayface disappeared, probably assuming some unique identity and remaining inconspicuous.
The Riddler… nobody knows.
The Penguin... continues. He's become a crime lord. He runs the Iceberg Lounge like he owns the city.
Harley Quinn… is more active than ever. But… different. She leads the Joker gang.
She does terrible things… just to try to get his attention. As if she wants to bring him back."
Bruce walked over to the Batcomputer and turned on the monitors. Though long since shut down, the equipment was impeccable and still worked as always. Images flashed, recent videos of crimes in Gotham.
The figure of the new Harley Quinn has emerged.
Blonde hair. Modern clothes. A disturbing smile painted on her face.
But something… something was wrong.
Bruce squinted, taking in every detail.
Posture. Body language. The way she walk. Bone structure.
It was similar, but not the same.
"That… isn't Harleen Quinzel."
He murmured.
Alfred approached, surprised.
"How can you be sure?"
Bruce turned around slowly.
"Because I know Harleen. This woman… is someone imitating. Or… taking her place."
He looked at the screen again.
"Where is the real Harley Quinn?"