When Bruce opened his eyes again, he was met by the woozy pupil of Alfred. He heard a rumble to his right and turned his head to see Gordon's back turned to him.
"He's awake." Drowsily, Bruce heard Alfred say this. Gordon then came over, waving a hand in front of his eyes.
Bruce was roused faster than he thought, supporting his body with his arm, and looking at Alfred, he asked, "Was it you who brought me back, Alfred?"
"Actually, it was your friend, Peter, and a lawyer named Matt who controlled the crane that lowered you to a safe place."
Bruce sensed nothing painful, indicating that despite his earlier blackout, he hadn't sustained any serious injury.
"Andrewkin." Bruce took the glass Alfred passed him and sipped as he summoned this name. Turning towards Gordon, he sought clarification.
Coolly flipping his coat, Gordon said, "I'm surprised you remember him, Bruce."
Gordon sighed heavily without looking at Bruce. After a moment, he said, "I must take the blame for this. I never imagined he would confront you directly. After all, you were just a kid; an adult wouldn't normally do such a thing."
"What really happened? James."
Gordon's mouth tightened, "I am sorry, Bruce. Actually, he'd warned your parents."
Back then, he was investigating a series of murders of prominent people. He noticed that Mr. and Mrs. Wayne could be the next potential targets and made an anonymous call warning them. However, your parents were too busy and didn't have time to care.
"Your father was a good man who had helped Andrewkin's family with his charitable deeds. So Andrewkin didn't give up, called me instead. I and your father's secretary had advised your parents against leaving the house in a grave tone."
Alfred turned to Gordon, seemingly desiring him to stop, yet, Gordon shook his head understanding that he couldn't hide the truth from Bruce indefinitely.
"Your parents chose to trust us."
These words were like a bolt from the blue, stabbing at Bruce's heart like a sharp dagger. He recalled, in detail, their departure from their home.
Children aren't entirely naive; they can perceive emotions in a delicate way that adults can't. Bruce had felt the strange atmosphere at that time.
He felt as though the world was bristling against him. Thomas and Martha were evasive about rejecting his suggestion to go to the movies, yet they kept insisting that they were happy to accompany him despite the special circumstances.
Bruce understood their reasons; they were always skilled educators, providing abundant and consistent responses to him, making him realize they were always behind him, always loved him.
At that time, a very young Bruce couldn't comprehend why his parents had suddenly become unreasonable. He just wanted to watch a movie. It wasn't a hard endeavor. Why wouldn't his parents comply?
"Bruce, you were too young then for Thomas to explain the dark and dirty power struggles. He couldn't possibly tell you outright that his good deeds would provoke hostility. Their education was always about making you a good person."
Gordon was fiddling with his coat buttons as he said, "In the end, they chose your side, telling us that it was just a movie and that nothing would happen."
The sour pang that surged within Bruce's heart dazed him; he knew it was more than just a movie.
The movie had been halfway through when the theater experienced a sudden power outage. Thomas and Martha, unfortunately, had to tell Little Bruce that they wouldn't be able to see the rest of the movie that day.
What had he done, then? Bruce didn't want to recall. He had thrown a tantrum, determined to finish the movie in another theater. Thomas and Martha disagreed, so he ran out from the backdoor of the theater, right into a dark alley.
Thomas and Martha had chased after him. Then there were two gunshots. They were lying in a pool of blood while Bruce froze.
All was because of him.
Bruce completely broke down. The usual excuses like "the villains were too evil" seemed void now.
It wasn't like there were no good people on his parents' side. The police, secretaries, and reporters had repeatedly warned Mr. and Mrs. Wayne about the danger of going outside, even calling to advise them against doing so right before they decided to leave.
His parents were aware of the danger they were inviting by stepping out, but they chose to leave the safety of their fortress just to fulfill his desire.
Even until the last moment when Little Bruce ran out, there was a slight chance of things turning around, only if he had been a bit more rational.
Like when he was on top of the crane, he should have thought clear. If Andrewkin was only after news, he wouldn't have risked his career to contact a helpless child. If any of his colleagues found out that he was intentionally investigating a case, his career would be ruined.
Moreover, it would have caused him great danger. Now that Mr. and Mrs. Wayne were dead, the culprit behind the scenes was still alive. If anyone found out that someone was investigating the case, the ruthless killer wouldn't think twice about taking a life.
These things that he should have thought of, he didn't. He always made the wrong choice. Didn't investigate when he should have, doubted when he shouldn't have. Always being led by the nose, always being taken advantage of, never learning from his experiences.
Bruce crumbled under guilt again and chose to curl up again, ignoring everything around him and not thinking about anything.
In the face of severe pain, ordinary people can only hope that time will heal all wounds, everything will pass.
No one can argue that this is an escape, they're just among the multitude of losers who drowned in the tide of reality. And even if they're already lost, becoming floating corpses, they'll make an effort to sink to the bottom, so as not to hinder those still struggling above water. They might even make an effort to curl up, simply to prevent their bad luck from rubbing off on the living. The plain goodness displayed at a life's end indeed tells much more about human nature than emotional regrets expressed amidst cheers and applause.
Alfred brought him a blanket and said: "Rest well, don't go out these days."
When he finished, he turned and left. Gordon took one last glance at Bruce, turned off the room lights for him and left, gently closing the door.
"It's not that simple, Alfred, as you know. The plethora of news reports aren't solely aimed at overwhelming him. - Someone is behind all this. Besides the shareholders of Wayne Enterprises, I suspect Penguin Man is involved too," Gordon began, lighting a cigarette against the mounting pressure.
"I don't understand why he suddenly changed his stance," he said. "If the Gotham Police Department can't deliver on recent murders, we'll all be laid off, especially me."
As he exhaled a puff of smoke, his brows knitted deeply into an expression of gravity that hadn't been seen in a decade, creasing the lines on his face further.
"You know my fear. If I can't be a cop, there is no hope left."
Alfred knew indeed. He understood that apart from wanting to avoid further tragedies, Gordon never gave up the investigation into the murder of Mr. and Mrs. Wayne all these years.
Only a department's chief had access to the case files. Although different people were watching him, Gordon couldn't act now. But one day he would find that opportunity, Alfred believed him.
Just then, Alfred's phone rang. His expression changed after answering the call, his voice took on a higher pitch: "What? Someone accessed the files of the Wayne murder case under my name?!".
Gordon hung up quickly, turning to Alfred: "I think I'll have to head back now. Please take care of Bruce and apologize for me."
As soon as he finished, the police chief rushed out quickly. Alfred let out a sigh, took off the towel from his arm and folded it neatly.
Suddenly, he heard some noise from the backyard. He moved a step sideways cautiously, crouching down behind the wall by the window.
From the second-floor window, he saw a shadow dart from the porch into the backyard.
Could they be here so soon?
A seldom-seen murderous intent seethed within Alfred. First, they smeared reputations; then, they infiltrated and stole information; pushed to the brink, they zeroed in on vulnerabilities and went for the kill. Many heroes had fallen their way.
But not this time, as Alfred strode downstairs.
He picked up a gun, strode through Wayne Manor's hall, circled the house from the side, and darted through the porch at top speed. Standing in front of the porch, he aimed the gun at the French maple tree in the yard and yelled, "Come out! I see you!"
Boom!
A gunshot, followed by a huge hole in the ground before the tree. Alfred held his gun steadily, his steps edging closer to the figure who remained hidden behind the tree.
"I can come out, but I hope you won't be surprised."
Alfred froze. Disregarding the tone, why did the voice sound so eerily familiar?
"Come out," he repeated insistently.
The figure behind the tree finally moved. As it lightly swayed, Alfred followed its head with his gun. The moment the shadow emerged, Alfred's trigger-ready hand went rigid.
A young man, black hair, blue eyes, handsome face, slim figure... In essence, he was Bruce Wayne.
"I did say not to be surprised, Alfred. Nice to see you again. I'm Bruce Wayne."
"How can you be...?"
"Huh?"
"I'm asking you. How can you be Bruce Wayne?"
Alfred did not let his guard down, still aiming his gun squarely at this stranger's head. How long did they prepare to produce an identical Wayne?
"You misunderstood, I am not a clone, nor a super-villain's disguise. This is the Bruce Wayne known to Alfred, entirely the same.", shrugged Bruce Wayne.
"I come from a different cosmos, one that just happens to be quite similar to yours... You know about other cosmos, right?"
Alfred squinted his eyes.