A body slammed heavily onto the floor, and the echo of the impact rolled through the bank hall. Moments later, the gunfire finally stopped, leaving behind a suffocating silence broken only by terrified screams.
The hostages still lying on the ground clutched their heads and cried out in panic. None of them dared to stand, and many were shaking so violently that they looked as if they might collapse at any second.
Outside the bank, police sirens wailed endlessly.
One patrol car after another screeched to a stop around the building, forming a loose barricade. Gotham police officers jumped out of their vehicles and immediately ducked behind the doors and engines, using them as cover.
Most of them looked terrified.
Several officers crouched low, refusing to raise their heads as if a machine gun might open fire at any moment. A few of the braver ones managed to peek toward the entrance, but their faces were pale and strained.
Their hands trembled so badly while holding their pistols that it looked like they were suffering from Parkinson's disease.
"Don't move! Drop your weapons and surrender immediately!"
The loudspeakers blared the command again and again.
David casually picked at his ear while glancing outside through the shattered glass doors.
Not a single officer looked eager to rush in and rescue the hostages. Instead, they huddled behind their vehicles like inexperienced recruits pinned down on a battlefield.
"Don't be afraid," David said lightly.
He bent down and picked up the stack of money he had withdrawn earlier from the counter. Then he looked at the frightened people lying on the floor and smiled in a friendly manner.
"Gotham's elite police force is here. You're all safe now."
With a casual flick of his hand, a gust of wind surged through the hall. The swirling smoke from the earlier explosion dispersed rapidly.
Then David vanished.
Bruce Wayne's eyes widened as the figure disappeared.
He had once studied ninjutsu under a master who specialized in stealth and infiltration. Through a clever combination of light, smoke, and distraction, trained ninjas could achieve something close to invisibility.
But the technique David had just used…
Bruce had not seen even the slightest flaw.
Realizing the police were about to rush inside after seeing the bodies of the robbers, Bruce reacted instantly. He sprinted upstairs through the bank, smashed through a glass window, and dropped into a narrow alley outside before disappearing into the maze of Gotham's streets.
The surveillance cameras inside the bank had stopped working long before the robbers arrived.
Meanwhile, after the brief incident of withdrawing money, David had already left the bank behind.
A few hundred meters away, inside a quiet alley with no pedestrians, he waited calmly. The unnatural texture of his skin gradually returned to normal, restoring his ordinary appearance.
He was just about to leave and search for a hotel.
"What's your purpose in Gotham?"
A deep voice suddenly came from behind him.
David turned his head.
Standing within the shadows of the alley was Red Hood No. 5.
Bruce Wayne's expression was cold and steady, like ice that had never melted on a mountaintop. The gun he previously carried was gone, discarded somewhere along the way.
Now he stood with empty hands, yet his entire body radiated tension.
Beneath the suit, the powerful muscles along his frame were drawn tight like coiled steel cables. He resembled a Greek warrior confronting a terrifying beast with nothing but his bare fists.
"You actually dared to follow me," David said with a faint smile. "Aren't you worried about running into your fellow gang members again?"
"You know I'm not one of them."
Bruce Wayne frowned slightly.
The young man standing before him was wrapped in mystery from head to toe. Bruce had no idea whether those lasers had come from hidden weapons or some advanced technology concealed in his gloves.
Even more unsettling was the invisibility technique.
And above all—
The stranger had exposed his identity in a single sentence.
"You're not a police officer," David said lightly, "so you don't have the authority to interrogate me."
He chuckled quietly.
The Bruce Wayne in front of him already carried a shadow of the man he would one day become.
Compared to Clark Kent—who was still a teenager in school and far from becoming Superman—Bruce Wayne stood much closer to the completed form of Batman that would shape the fate of the world.
Even though Bruce's strength was nowhere near Clark's Kryptonian power, the emotional reactions he generated were still quite valuable.
"I'm not a police officer?" Bruce asked slowly.
His voice remained calm, but countless questions churned beneath the surface.
"Then who else would risk their life infiltrating a gang just to stop a robbery?"
He admitted to himself that today's operation had been reckless.
He had made several mistakes while impersonating Red Hood No. 5, largely because he hadn't spent enough time studying the gang beforehand.
But no matter how much he replayed the situation in his mind, he still couldn't figure out where his disguise had failed.
"You're right," David said with a casual shrug. "But you forgot one important detail."
He spread his hands.
"This is Gotham."
The words sounded almost like a travel tip delivered by someone visiting a city for the first time.
Bruce remained silent.
"In this rotten city," David continued calmly, "being a police officer is just a part-time job. Being a gangster or an informant is the real profession for most of Gotham's cops."
He gestured toward the distant bank building.
"Those officers out there won't risk their lives for a daily paycheck of a few hundred dollars."
Bruce Wayne fell quiet for a moment.
"Gotham won't always be like this."
His voice dropped low, carrying the weight of a vow he had silently committed his life to fulfilling.
"I hope you succeed," David replied with a small smile.
He said nothing more and began walking away.
"You don't sound like you believe that," Bruce said.
He stepped forward suddenly, moving like a cheetah stalking prey.
Whether Gotham could truly change was a question many people had debated. Bruce had already chosen his answer long ago, and nothing would shake his resolve.
Still, he wanted to know what this mysterious man believed.
Because for reasons he couldn't explain, the stranger seemed to understand him far too well.
Not only had he recognized Bruce's identity, but he also seemed to know the thoughts Bruce had never spoken aloud.
"Gotham is a city with a long history," David said after a brief pause.
"It has given countless people the life and opportunities they dreamed of. But there's no denying that right now the city is gravely ill."
In comic books, there were countless explanations for Gotham's darkness.
Some said the city sat atop the gates of hell. Others believed it was cursed. Some blamed the secret manipulation of the Court of Owls. In certain stories, even the city's spirit itself had become twisted beyond recognition.
But there was one statement that summarized everything perfectly.
"Gotham is easy to destroy," David said quietly, "but incredibly difficult to change."
Bruce listened carefully.
"If no one steps forward to pick up the cold, precise scalpel and cut away the rotting flesh," David continued, "the city will keep decaying until it finally dies."
"Like what you did?" Bruce asked sharply. "Kill them?"
Years ago, when Joe Chill had been temporarily released from prison as a witness against a gang leader, Bruce had once stood outside the courthouse with a gun hidden in his coat.
He had been ready to pull the trigger.
But someone had stopped him.
His parents would never have wanted him to become like the criminals who murdered them.
"You seem new to Gotham," Bruce continued. "But you've already taken seven or eight lives in this city."
David shrugged.
"Am I not allowed to defend myself against a group of armed gunmen?" he asked casually. "The only difference is that I didn't use a gun."
He no longer felt like continuing the conversation.
Turning away, David began walking down the alley.
Although he had come to Gotham searching for someone, Bruce Wayne couldn't help him yet.
As far as the public knew, Bruce Wayne was still missing. That meant Batman had only recently returned to the city.
At this stage, Bruce probably didn't even control his own company yet, and many of Gotham's deeper secrets were still unknown to him.
"Oh, one more thing."
David reached into his trench coat pocket and flicked something backward without looking.
"Next time, don't throw tracking devices at me, Gotham vigilante."
Bruce reacted instantly.
A sharp gust of air sliced toward him, forcing him to twist his head aside. The tiny coin-shaped locator skimmed across his cheek like a razor blade, cutting a thin line in his skin before embedding itself deep into the brick wall behind him.
When Bruce looked forward again—
The alley was empty.
No footsteps.
No movement.
Only a cold wind blowing through the narrow passage.
Bruce didn't seem surprised.
He simply frowned thoughtfully.
…
Deep within an underground alleyway, a jet-black motorcycle sped through the darkness.
The vehicle looked powerful and intimidating, its thick tires nearly bulletproof. After a moment, it slowed and came to a stop before a concealed bunker entrance.
The rider removed the torn artificial skin from his face.
Underneath was the young, cold face of Bruce Wayne.
His eyes were steady and unyielding, like steel hammered into shape by countless blows. Yet beneath that composure lingered a quiet urgency, as if he were racing toward a purpose only he could see.
"Master Bruce?"
The voice of an elderly man came through the communication line.
"It's me, Alfred."
"I saw the news," Alfred replied with a sigh. "You seem to have had another rather desperate day, Master."
The motorcycle engine fell silent.
"It's not over yet, Alfred."
At the bunker entrance, Bruce dismounted and adjusted his suit like a gentleman preparing for an evening event. He removed the red rose pinned to his chest.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Hidden within the flower's stamen was a tiny black dot, almost invisible.
"Please forgive me, Master," Alfred said after a moment. "Operating a supercomputer was not included in my butler training."
The bunker door slowly opened half a minute later.
"That's fine, Alfred," Bruce replied calmly.
"I still have plenty of time tonight."
He walked into the cavernous underground chamber he called the Batcave.
Connecting a miniature camera to the enormous computer system, he replayed the footage from the bank robbery.
The recording ran until it froze on a single frame.
A young man's face filled the screen.
The flickering monitor light illuminated Bruce Wayne's expression as he stared at the image.
Then he pressed the search button.
"Now—let me see who you are."
....
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