February 1, 1989. Around 10 AM. Central Avenue, the main street of all Gotham.
For nearly the entire history of the city, which began as far back as 1635, Central Avenue had been its most bustling and vibrant street. Today would be hard to call an exception, as the street was packed to capacity—only there wasn't a single car in sight.
Along the entire avenue marched a massive assembly of people, in a steady, slow-moving formation. They were all in police uniform; some carried American flags, others held flags with the emblem of the Gotham Police (a yellow-and-black wheel with a swan in the center, flanked by two silhouettes—one with a rifle, the other with scales, and the inscription 'Founded 1820'). On either side of the formation marched trumpeters, sounding the rhythm of the U.S. national anthem from their instruments. It was the day of the funeral for the former Police Commissioner of Gotham City, Gillian B. Loeb.
It would have been surprising if a mass parade hadn't been held throughout central Gotham in memory of such a man. The parade was broadcast on all news channels, even far beyond Gotham City. The parade lasted six hours. The casket containing the commissioner's body was already being slowly lowered into the ground at Gotham Cemetery, located about seven miles west of the city, where the greatest figures in Gotham's history rested—such as former Mayor Theodore Cobblepot, who ruled Gotham in the late 19th century, or Nicholas Anders, who designed a good half of Gotham by 1881. Nearly all the city's most influential people attended the funeral, including its current mayor, Wilson Klass, several council members, and a few high-ranking officers of the Gotham Police.
Of course, mourning couldn't last forever; the Gotham Police had to return to work. The atmosphere in the Gotham City Police Department building was somber, but no one lacked the spirit to sink into despondency. On the third floor of the building, Lieutenant Gordon sat in a chair awaiting the first words from his interlocutor, in the office of the Gotham City Police Commissioner, Jack Grogan.
Commissioner Grogan: "I have good news for you, Lieutenant. You're being relieved of your duty as lead on the Bat-Man case. From this point forward, I'm handing this mission over to Captain Branden."
James Gordon: "And so… what are my duties now?"
Commissioner Grogan: "You're still part of this operation. Just not as the head. Look, Lieutenant, it's not about you. We both know Commissioner Loeb put you in charge of capturing Bat-Man as a punishment. I don't care what you did wrong, as long as it doesn't happen again under my watch."
James Gordon: "If you're saying you think I'm not responsible enough, say it straight."
Commissioner Grogan: "That's not it. I'm making the capture of Bat-Man the top priority for the entire police force. Bat-Man is no longer an invention, a rumor, or a delusion. He's reality. Because of him, Commissioner Loeb is dead, and he openly fought our SWAT team. We have every reason to consider him an enemy of the law. Our enemy."
James Gordon: "Yes, yes. You're right, Commissioner. I'm… grateful you're not losing faith in me, truly."
Commissioner Grogan: "It will stay that way as long as you don't give me reason to. Alright, that's all from you. You can go."
Gordon leaves the Commissioner's office with obvious relief. Though not completely removed from the bat hunt, the news that he was at least no longer leading it was enough for him. A couple of hours later, at night, Gordon was in a patrol car, heading to the South-East End where a jewelry store robbery had recently occurred. Only one thought occupied his mind.
James Gordon: "He's afraid of him, isn't he? Grogan is afraid of Bat-Man. Afraid he'll take his job. He doesn't need to turn Bat-Man down for Gotham's sake. … He's better than Loeb."
Gordon was already pulling up to the robbed jewelry store. There was already a substantial gathering of police at the scene. Getting out of the car, Gordon heard his colleagues discussing Bat-Man. What did he have to do with it, you'd think? Listening to the detectives' deduction, Gordon noticed the robbery had been carried out completely without a trace, which was the clue pointing to Bat-Man's guilt, since he also leaves no traces. Watching the scene before him, only one thought drifted in Gordon's mind—how willing are people to blame all their vile on the Devil, while failing to see that they are worse than any Devil? As the police were already leaving the crime scene, Gordon kept thinking about the same thing he had been pondering since the first rumors of Bat-Man—how far is this Gotham from God, that the Devil has ended up closer to them?
Meanwhile, on the other side of Gotham, specifically twelve miles west of it, and to be even more precise, another sixty-five feet underground.
In the cave beneath his house, which Bruce had begun gradually furnishing, starting with a small workshop. At the workbench, he was grinding plates of tempered steel, shaping them into the form of a bat, with very sharp edges. Finishing one such blade, Bruce threw it at the cave's stone wall as if throwing a boomerang, and the blade lodged itself dead into the rock.
Finishing his work underground, closer to morning, Bruce finally emerges to the surface—strangely, given how hard he tries to emulate a bat.
Alfred Pennyworth, sitting in an armchair, reading the evening paper: "Mr. Fox's toys aren't enough for you, so you've decided to start manufacturing your own?"
Bruce Wayne: "Need to start putting this place to use. Rejoice, you'll be seeing even less of me soon."
Alfred Pennyworth: "Hmm, never've thought you're much into humor."
Bruce Wayne: "I'm much into politely asking people to talk no-shit when it's out of timing," he says, sitting in a chair not far from Alfred. "Will need to figure out a descent directly from the house."
Alfred Pennyworth: "Well, the entrance to the wine cellar is still inside the house. Unless you've moved it."
Bruce Wayne, finally not containing his irritation: "Alfred, enough. The joke about the cave being an extension for the wine cellar has run its course."
Alfred Pennyworth: "There's nothing else left to joke about. Only jokes about how soon I'll have to switch from AM to PM permanently, since you're a night creature now are still there."
Bruce Wayne: "Alright, I changed my mind. Keep joking about the cellar."
Alfred Pennyworth, sighing lightly: "The urge has passed. I take it you still don't read the news?"
Bruce Wayne: "And I don't plan to. I have plenty to do."
Alfred Pennyworth: "Well, here's something just for you. 'Gotham City Police Blame Bat-Man for Death of Former Commissioner Gillian Loeb, and in Response, Escalate Manhunt.' How much attention were you lacking that you decided to get twice as much?" He read the headline specifically to needle Bruce.
Bruce Wayne: "For starters, I'm not interested in attention. And to continue, my father had enemies too."
Alfred Pennyworth, in a know-it-all tone: "At least the police weren't among them."
Bruce Wayne: "We've been over this, Alfred. Corruption is a virus, and it's everywhere in this city. And the police are just another carrier, one that simply masked itself as the vaccine."
Alfred Pennyworth: "If you tell me you intend to become that 'vaccine,' I will reconsider many things about this place," he says, still lightly teasing.
Bruce Wayne: "I'm not the vaccine. I'm a virus that just performs the role of a vaccine."
Alfred Pennyworth: "Now I almost wish you'd just said you were the vaccine."
Bruce Wayne: "Has it only just dawned on you? I'm saying it's long past time you reconsidered all of this. My behavior. I'm not that selfish, egoistic thirteen-year-old boy you might think I still am."
Alfred Pennyworth: "I know, Master Bruce. I'd rather have remembered you as that cheerful eight-year-old boy."
Bruce Wayne: "Sorry for bluntness, you need to come to terms with it. My father was an angel trying to turn hell into its more prosperous form. He made a mistake, couldn't show the inhabitants of hell that he was one of them, and paid for it with his life. The only way an angel can survive here, Alfred, is to mask himself as a demon."
Alfred Pennyworth: "So you are both an angel and a demon, a virus and a vaccine. Aren't you a ballerina and a television comedian now too, Master Bruce?"
Bruce Wayne, his voice rising just a little bit. "Enough nonsense, Alfred. I am who I am. I will be whoever—whatever I need to be. Anything—anywho to fulfill my father's promise."