Knight Night-City

Clad in armor that already felt more like a tombstone than protection, Bruce Wayne passed the massive gates of Wayne Manor. The headlights of the police cars still illuminating the neighborhood cast bizarre shadows on the familiar gargoyle statues. He could hear them. The stinging, intrusive voices of the reporters, like a flock of vultures gathered around a fallen beast.

The smell of Wayne Manor hit his nose, mingling with the odor of creosote and blood that soaked his worn suit.

Bruce Wayne, his shoulders slumped under the weight of recent events, walked through the massive gate like a ghost.

"Mr. Wayne! Comment!"

"Billionaire Bruce Wayne is the masked vigilante who terrorized Gotham?!"

"Wayne! Is it true you're Batman?"

"The billionaire has been hiding his double life all this time?"

"Mr. Wayne, how do you explain that?"

He ignored them. They were nothing. Empty shells, eager to fill their emptiness with his tragedy. In his head, in his heart, only one thing pulsed:

"The Fall of the Knight." He had to see this through to the end.

The Batmobile remained standing outside the gate. It didn't seem like a symbol of strength and hope today, but rather a monument to his failure. He stepped out of the car, legs pumping with fatigue. Every muscle ached. The suit, once a symbol of his struggle, was now a heavy burden, a reminder of every wound, every broken bone, and every lost soul.

He headed for the massive doors of the manor, ignoring the camera flashes and the shouts of reporters. Alfred should be inside. Ready as always.

Alfred was waiting for him at the door. The old butler, his family, stood motionless, like an ancient tree that had weathered more than one storm. His face, which had always radiated calmness and confidence, was now mottled with wrinkles of anxiety.

"Mr. Wayne," - he said quietly, letting him inside. 

"I...I was expecting you."

Bruce stepped into the hall.

"Alfred," Bruce began, his voice hoarse, like rusty machinery.

"It's time. Prepare everything you need for the Falling Knight Protocol."

Alfred remained silent. He knew this moment would come. He had always known. But that didn't make the pain any less.

"Mr. Wayne," - he spoke at last, his voice trembling.

Alfred froze for a moment. His shoulders slumped. He knew this day would come. He hoped he could talk him out of it, convince him there was another way. But he knew Bruce. He was stubborn and adamant, especially when it came to protecting Gotham.

 Alfred stepped closer and helped Bruce remove his mangled helmet. Bruce's face was covered in dirt, blood, and fatigue. His eyes, usually bright and full of determination, were now dull and burned out.

"Let me at least make you some tea, Mr. Wayne," - Alfred pleaded.

Bruce closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He felt broken, exhausted, and lost. All he wanted was for it to be over.

"There's no time. We have to finish this today."

His mind worked at manic speed, calculating every possible scenario.

Arrest. It was inevitable.

But arrest was only the tip of the iceberg. Gotham's underworld, stripped of its greatest deterrent, would descend into chaos. His enemies, like hyenas smelling blood, will descend on those he cares about. Dick, Tim, Barbara, Jim... all those who were close to him, who helped him, who believed in him.

Bruce had already made up his mind.

"One more thing, Alfred," Bruce added after a pause.

"Azrael, it is his time. Time to take up the mantle."

Alfred flinched. Azrael. Jean-Paul Valli.

"Mr. Wayne, are you sure about this? Azrael... he's unstable. He's... he's dangerous."

"He was unstable. I fixed it." - Bruce replied, though even to himself the words seemed unconvincing.

"He's been through a lot. Through tests, trials, examinations. He's proven he's ready...he's my receiver."

"But, Mr. Wayne..." - Alfred began, but Bruce interrupted him.

"That's enough, Alfred."

He went down into the cave. Into Batman's sanctum sanctorum. To the place where he became who he was. He looked around at the familiar outline of the Batcomputer, the racks of gadgets, the Batmobile standing in the center of the cave.

This was where it all began. This was where it would end.

Bruce Wayne, shrouded in a worn suit, stood in the heart of the Batcave. Next to him, as always, was Alfred, his loyal friend and mentor. The atmosphere was saturated with the heaviness of waiting for the imminent. Outside, at the gates of the estate, reporters were demanding explanations, and the police were preparing to make arrests. But none of that mattered now. All that mattered was what would happen here, in this dark sanctuary.

Bruce looked at Alfred, and his eyes reflected all the pain and weariness he was feeling. He had given Gotham everything. Now it was time to pay the final debt.

"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce said quietly, his voice trembling. 

"For all these years. For everything you've done for me."

Alfred didn't answer anything. He just nodded, his eyes filling with tears. 

Bruce walked over to the Batcomputer and erased all the data. He destroyed anything that might have gotten into the wrong hands. He then disabled the remote access system so no one could use his technology.

Finished, he turned to Alfred.

"It's time," Bruce pronounced.

Alfred walked over to the control panel at the back of the cave. His hands were shaking, but he knew he had to do it. He pressed the button.

The ground shuddered. An explosion, far more powerful than the size of the manor would suggest, ripped the air. Flames and smoke soared into the sky, engulfing Wayne Manor in a fiery tornado. Reporters and police officers recoiled in horror, blinded and stunned.

The explosion had been designed to destroy not only the estate, but also the cave beneath it. Everything connected to Batman was going to be gone. All the evidence, all the technology, all the memories.

Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth died together, in the flames they themselves had ignited. They'd gone together, just as they'd lived - shoulder to shoulder, to the end.

He knew Alfred would make sure it looked the way it should. As if the villains, taking advantage of his exposure, had planted a bomb in his house to destroy Batman.

Let them think that. 

This was his last trick. His last performance. 

He knew this explosion would cause panic. But he also knew it would give others a chance. Dick, Tim, Barbara, Azrael. all of them. A chance to step into his shoes. A chance to carry on his work. 

He walked away knowing he was leaving Gotham in the hands of those who would protect it.

He was leaving knowing that the sacrifice he made would not be in vain.

He walked away knowing that Batman would never die. He would simply become a legend.

And legends, as we know, live forever.