Gotham... is a blank page.
The pale script emerging from the void—your lifelong pursuit of corruption, a single incipit to your final, self-destructive tale.
—From "Batman: Gotham Impressions"
...
"Zzzz... The Gotham Gazette brings you breaking news: a tense standoff between the Gotham Crime Lab and the ventriloquist has entered its third hour. Experts speculate..."
"...This is merely a psychotic magnetism—at least that's what they're saying about Batman's role in the Arkham breakout..."
"To date, Batman remains unaccounted for. We must ask—could the rumor of his death at Bane's hands be true? Is the Gotham PD incapable of defending its city... Hold on! Batman is here!"
June rains drench Gotham, yet the plaza outside the Gotham Crime Lab hums with chaotic energy. Chen Tao's Batmobile screeches to an abrupt halt as paparazzi converge like carrion birds. Demonstrators brandishing "Gotham Doesn't Need Batman" placards clash with riot squads wielding batons beneath flickering neon signs. Camera flashes pierce the downpour.
"Batman! Regarding the rumors of your demise at Bane's hands..."
"What do you say to the ventriloquist's challenge?"
"You freak! It's all your fault—you attract these lunatics!"
"Grab him! Seize him!"
Protesters attempting to swarm the vehicle are swiftly subdued, but Chen Tao remains unmoved. Through the chaos of adoring, indifferent, and vitriolic gazes, he lifts the sliding roof of his armored car, inhaling Gotham's rain-saturated air.
Ah...
The familiar tightness in his chest resurfaces—a vestige of his former life as an actor accustomed to scrutiny, a psychiatrist trained to master emotions. Yet tonight feels different.
This body—Bruce Wayne's—carries memories of a lifetime as the Dark Knight. As a billionaire playboy turned crimefighter. As someone who's faced Deathstroke, Ra's al Ghul, and Bane himself. The legend of the world's greatest human being.
But those aren't his memories.
A silver subtitle flits across his vision:
[ALFRED PROTOCOL ACTIVATED]
[WARNING: Anchoring Artifact Required for Memory Synchronization]
Damn. No convenient Kryptonite to absorb Bruce's psyche. No easy path to assume the mantle. Three days in Gotham, and not even a scrap of Wayne's thoughts lingers—not even toilet paper.
Chen Tao knows the Alfred Protocol's purpose in canon—a failsafe against memory tampering. But this digital interface? Something new.
"Batman!"
Commissioner Gordon charges through the crowd, rain-soaked hair plastering his face. Dark circles under his eyes make him look like a sleep-deprived raccoon.
"You... you're alive! I thought Bane snapped your neck. Are you really Batman, or some clown in a stolen suit?"
Chen's gaze remains steady. Play along. "This charade ends now. I am Gotham's protector."
He needs leverage. The commissioner holds up a evidence bag containing Scarface—the ventriloquist's macabre doll.
"Here's what you wanted."
Chen takes it, his mind racing. As a comics aficionado and former profiler, he knows how to manipulate Gotham's rogues gallery. Use their weaknesses, exploit their obsessions. But without Bruce's memories, it's like navigating a maze blindfolded.
*"We'll discuss the 'death' rumor later," he says, pausing at the entrance of the Crime Lab. The crowd parts as he strides forward, Scarface cradled in one hand.
"Ladies and gentlemen..." His voice carries over the rain. "The stage is set. The players are assembled. Let the show begin."