The Apex of Preparation (Age 5–7)
The years leading up to the inevitable tragedy were marked by a tense, disciplined routine for Alex Wayne. While Bruce embraced his childhood with boisterous energy and a growing love for animals and puzzles, Alex operated on a different plane. By the time he was five, his intellect was on par with a university professor. He spoke with the eloquence of a diplomat and possessed a theoretical understanding of applied physics that far outstripped anything Thomas Wayne, the brilliant doctor, could comprehend.
His physical training became more demanding. He utilized the vast, empty halls of Wayne Manor and the forested perimeter as his private training ground. He couldn't risk a full Saiyan power-up, but he worked tirelessly on Ki reinforcement. By channeling minute amounts of Ki into his muscle fibers, tendons, and bones, he achieved a level of physical strength, speed, and durability that was already superhuman, even for an adult. He could run at blurring speeds through the woods, perform impossible acrobatics, and withstand impacts that would break an ordinary child's bones—all while maintaining the facade of a highly athletic but normal boy.
His Ki sensing was now so finely tuned that Gotham's crime became a continuous, low-frequency hum in his awareness. He could distinguish the faint, despairing energy of a mugging from the hot, desperate malice of a violent crime blocks away. He used this to preemptively guide his family's chauffeur, subtly suggesting alternate routes that avoided flashpoints, establishing an unshakeable reputation for "uncanny street smarts."
The Strategic Arsenal
The central dilemma remained: Crime Alley. The date was locked into his memory: the night his parents took them to see The Mark of Zorro. Alex knew fate was not easily denied. He had to assume the mugging was going to happen; his mission was to neutralize the threat non-lethally and ensure the complete survival and mental stability of his family.
He finally reached the point where his body, strengthened by the Saiyan Ki reinforcement, could handle a brief, contained manifestation from the Gate of Babylon. He realized the key was not a powerful weapon, but a conceptual one—something that offered absolute defense and non-lethal neutralization.
For months, he mentally sifted through the infinite repository of the Gate, bypassing weapons of mass destruction and focusing on tools of absolute control. He considered the Shield of Ajax, but it was too bulky. He looked at conceptual restraints, but they were too esoteric.
He finally settled on a single, perfect choice:
The Conceptual Chains of Heavenly Restraint (Enkidu):
Not the actual person, but the Noble Phantasm—the conceptual chains that grow stronger the more divine the target is, but which can also perfectly restrain any being based on the wielder's will. For a mundane human mugger, these chains, when manifested, would be instant, total, and completely non-lethal, binding the target with the precision of a master hunter.
But he needed more than just restraint. He needed a distraction and defense.
The Second Manifestation: A Conceptual Light Barrier:
For this, he conceptually prepared a specialized, ultra-low-power variant of the shield generator of the Rhos-Tauron (a theoretical future conceptual defense mechanism stored in the Gate). The idea was not to stop bullets but to create an instantaneous, disorienting flash of brilliant, harmless light followed by a temporary, localized sonic dampening field. This would blind the attacker and prevent a gunshot, giving him the one second he needed.
He practiced the mental command for these two manifestations relentlessly. It was a terrifying strain, like lifting a conceptual mountain, but his Saiyan will was absolute. He had to be able to access the Gate instantly, under extreme stress.
The Night of Zorro
The air on the night of the opera was cold, humid, and smelled of coming rain—a typical, gloomy Gotham evening. Alex, at seven years old, wore a crisp suit that felt like a straightjacket. Bruce, next to him in the limousine, was buzzing with excitement over seeing Zorro.
Alex felt the familiar, heavy weight of dread, but beneath it, his Ki was humming with focused intensity. His senses were stretched, his entire nervous system on high alert.
In the opera house, he could barely focus on the performance. His Ki sense was scanning the crowd, the building, the air. He noticed a faint, anxious signature lingering near the exit. It wasn't the signature of the man he was looking for, but a low-level anxiety associated with general petty crime.
As they left, the mood shifted. Martha clutched her pearl necklace, a familiar sight to Alex that sent a chill down his spine. Thomas looked weary but proud, his arm draped around Martha's shoulder.
"The fresh air feels good," Martha said, smiling down at her twins.
"It was so exciting!" Bruce exclaimed, pretending to fence with his cane. "We need a hero like Zorro in Gotham, Dad!"
"Gotham has heroes, son," Thomas chuckled, "They just wear badges and doctors' scrubs, not masks."
Alex saw the limousine waiting ahead. They were less than twenty yards from it.
'He's late. He should be here. Is fate being kind?' Alex thought, his heart pounding a steady, rhythmic drumbeat—a Saiyan warrior's rhythm.
Then, they took the shortcut.
"Thomas, darling, let's just go this way," Martha said, gesturing down a side alley, darker and narrower. "It's quicker, and I hate to keep Alfred waiting."
The script was being followed. The universe was asserting its will.
Alex's inner alarm blared. Just as they turned into the infamous alleyway—wet, grimy, and choked with shadows—Alex's Ki sense picked up a new, distinct signature: a sudden burst of fearful desperation, laced with a specific, focused intent of robbery, and the cold, metallic signature of a handgun.
The man was already there, hidden by the shadows of a dumpster, emerging too fast, too close.
Joe Chill. A pathetic, desperate man whose choice would ripple across the multiverse.
The Golden Flash
"Well, well, look what we have here," Joe Chill snarled, his voice trembling, not with aggression, but with fear. The pistol, a cheap, worn revolver, looked oversized in his shaky hand. "Give me the wallet! And the jewelry, lady!"
Martha gasped, instinctively pulling Bruce close. Thomas, driven by a primal need to protect, took a step forward. "Take whatever you want, just don't hurt my family."
"Don't move, rich boy!" Chill yelled, raising the gun.
This was the moment. The split second where the original timeline ended with two gunshots.
Alex didn't scream or cry. His emerald eyes, wide in the gloom, locked onto the mugger. His will, forged by sacrifice and cosmic reward, snapped the mental command into the Gate of Babylon.
Instantly.
First, the Distraction and Defense:
A tiny, nearly invisible portal opened in the air above Martha's head. It spat out a single, contained flash of conceptual light from the Rhos-Tauron generator. It wasn't the sun, but a perfectly engineered beam designed to maximize retinal discomfort.
FZZZZT!
Joe Chill screamed, clutching his face, momentarily blinded. The sonic dampening field, which lasted less than half a second, smothered the sound of the trigger being pulled, turning the potential BANG into a muffled, wet thwup—not loud enough to cause panic or draw immediate attention beyond the alley. The bullet, deprived of its explosive momentum, harmlessly ricocheted off a brick wall twenty feet away.
Second, the Restraint:
Alex did not hesitate. His small body vibrated with suppressed Saiyan energy, acting as a massive power supply. The moment Chill staggered, a second, larger golden portal shimmered into existence behind the mugger.
From the portal, a cascade of bronze-green links—the Chains of Enkidu—shot out with incredible speed and precision. They wrapped around Chill's wrists, ankles, and chest in a fraction of a second, binding him tightly but gently.
Chill, now blind and suddenly immobilized by what felt like an invisible, divine force, tumbled backward into the dumpster with a loud clatter. He thrashed, crying out in confused panic, the gun falling from his numb fingers.
The entire sequence—from Chill emerging to his neutralization—took less than two seconds.
Aftermath in the Alley
Silence descended on the alley, broken only by the frantic whimpering of Joe Chill struggling against the unseen chains in the dumpster.
Thomas and Martha were frozen, arms around Bruce and Alex, their faces pale masks of terror and confusion. Bruce was silently clutching his mother, staring wide-eyed at the spot where the man had been.
Alex, his mind racing, quickly seized the moment. He needed to be a scared child, but a quick-thinking one. He ran to his father, burying his face in Thomas's coat.
"Dad! Dad, he's in the bin! He's stuck! He was trying to hurt Mom!" Alex cried, his voice shaky, but his Ki sense was focused on his parents' emotional states. Terror was giving way to shock, and most importantly, relief.
Thomas Wayne snapped out of his daze. He was a man of action. He saw the dumpster moving and heard the muffled sounds of a man struggling within. He rushed to the dumpster, slamming the lid down for good measure.
"Martha, are you alright? Bruce?"
"I... I'm fine, Thomas," Martha whispered, tears streaming down her face, checking her sons frantically. Her pearl necklace was still around her neck. "The gun... I heard a sound, but..."
"I'll call the police," Thomas said, pulling out his cell phone, his voice shaking with residual shock and adrenaline. "He's trapped in the bin, Martha. Something—I don't know what—it must have caught his legs."
Alex, still 'crying' into his father's leg, subtly allowed the chains of Enkidu to recede back into the Gate of Babylon, careful to ensure they vanished just before Thomas could examine the dumpster too closely. Joe Chill was now just a terrified, uninjured mugger, confined by the sheer weight of a closed metal dumpster and his own shock.
A New Destiny
When the Gotham City Police Department arrived, led by a still-lieutenant James Gordon, they found Thomas Wayne, shaken but composed, guarding a closed dumpster. They pulled out a whimpering Joe Chill and found a revolver nearby. Chill was hysterically claiming he was restrained by "golden snakes" and "blinding angels," earning him a booking for both armed robbery and probable psychiatric evaluation.
The Wayne family was safe.
The walk through Crime Alley had ended not in death, but in a frightening, though ultimately harmless, close call.
Back at Wayne Manor, the atmosphere was one of profound gratitude and lingering shock, not soul-shattering grief. Martha refused to let the twins out of her sight. Thomas, however, was immediately focused on security.
"It will never happen again," he vowed to Martha, his jaw set. "We are doubling the guards, installing the most advanced security system money can buy. I'm hiring a full-time security detail."
Alex listened, tucked securely into his mother's side. The most dangerous, definitive moment of his new life was over. The universe's script had been violently altered. Batman would not be born of trauma.
The potential for Bruce Wayne to become a hero now stemmed from his innate sense of justice, not a crippling, all-consuming need for vengeance. Alex had ensured his brother would grow up whole, fueled by inspiration rather than trauma.
But Alex's work was far from over. He had saved his parents, but in doing so, he had taken on the mantle of Gotham's silent protector much earlier than anticipated. He was now the hidden variable, the Saiyan-armed conceptual guardian of the Wayne family and, potentially, the world.
As he closed his eyes, his emerald gaze burning with Saiyan intensity, he felt the profound relief of success. His family was safe. The foundations of the DC universe had been shaken.
'Now,' Alex thought, his consciousness reaching out to the infinite, shimmering gold of the Gate of Babylon, 'it's time to start preparing for the real threats. Gotham's villains. Metropolis's aliens. The inevitable arrival of gods and monsters.'