Chapter 19: Justice or Revenge
A few minutes later, Batman was lying on the dining table in the cafe's back kitchen, on the verge of death.
Kara hid by the door, peeking at the situation inside the room. Orin Vale had removed his bat-helmet, revealing the handsome but bruised and swollen face of Gotham's son, Bruce Wayne.
"Is he dead?" Kara asked in a small voice.
"Not yet, but he will be soon if we leave him alone."
Orin Vale took out a first-aid kit, removed two bullets from his body, and applied some bandages.
The Old Wizard came over for a look. He seemed to have a good first impression of this cross-dressing rich heir and casually cast a healing spell on him.
The Old Wizard was suffering from mana depletion and couldn't use any large-scale magic, but a simple healing spell was easy for him. The spell had an immediate effect. Color quickly returned to Bruce's deathly pale face, and it wasn't long before he slowly regained consciousness.
The young Batman groggily opened his eyes.
The first thing he saw was a bright light and an unfamiliar ceiling.
The second thing he noticed was a bearded old man and a rather handsome Asian man standing over him, positioned in a "you're awake, the surgery was successful" kind of way.
He shot up abruptly, nearly tearing open his freshly bandaged wounds.
"Calm down. We picked you out of a dumpster in the back alley. You almost died."
Bruce was silent, seeming to gradually recall the night's events. Seeing the bandage on his body and the first-aid kit beside him, he quickly understood what had happened.
He snorted coldly, ignoring his body's protests as he stubbornly tried to get off the table. But it was clear his body hadn't recovered yet; he swayed and nearly collapsed.
Orin Vale reached out and steadied him. "This isn't a good idea."
"I don't need help," Bruce said icily.
Orin Vale shrugged. "Alright."
Then, true to his word, he suddenly let go.
Thump.
Bruce fell to the floor.
The proud Old Bat didn't make a sound, using the table to painfully pull himself up. Orin Vale gestured to the television that was on nearby. "Didn't your date with the GCPD go well tonight?"
He turned his head to look. The TV news was broadcasting a story about the GCPD's operation to corner Batman tonight. A pot-bellied police officer was telling the camera that they were certain Batman was injured and hoped any citizen with information on his whereabouts would report it to the police.
Bruce frowned, somewhat unconvinced by the pot-bellied officer's boasting. "They couldn't have hurt me on their own. Someone leaked my movements to them, predicted my methods, and even planted a bomb in the Batmobile... A new face, calling himself the 'Riddler'."
Orin Vale understood. So it was the Riddler trying to kill with a borrowed knife, using the Gotham police as his blade to take out Batman.
Tonight was likely the first time the fledgling Old Master had dealt with a member of his future Arkham fan club, and he didn't yet have the rich experience of getting along with lunatics like he would later. It was inevitable that he'd suffer a setback the first time.
But his proud, unyielding nature had never changed. Watching the chubby officer on TV smugly boasting to the camera about how they had utterly defeated Batman tonight, Bruce snorted softly.
"I was careless. It won't happen again."
"What's the plan for next time? Build a suit of armor with a hundred thousand horsepower and add a thruster for faster-than-light flight?" Orin Vale said. "Of course, you could definitely do it, sooner or later. But do you think that's what you want? Is that the ideal image of Batman you want to create?"
Bruce fell silent.
For what seemed like the first time, Bruce began to look Orin Vale straight in the eye, their gazes meeting. It was as if he wanted to use the sharp gaze of the world's greatest detective to penetrate his eyes and see through to his thoughts.
"What are you trying to say?" Bruce said stiffly.
"Nothing. I haven't been in this city for very long, but I've seen this place and its people. I've seen them struggle to live, doing everything they can to find hope in the darkness.
Your appearance has indeed brought some change. Rumors have started to spread. People have started talking about Batman, starting to believe that even in a place like Gotham, they can dare to hope for the light.
But is this what you want?
Or to be more precise, what is Batman to you? The justice you pursue? Or a tool for revenge?"
Bruce met his gaze expressionlessly for a moment.
Then he propped up his recovering body and picked up his helmet and cape.
"That's none of your business."
The Batman, once again clad in his battlesuit and mask, staggered away.
He was disturbed. Not just because of Batman's failure tonight, and not entirely because of Orin Vale's words—if anyone else had said them, he certainly wouldn't have listened.
As it happened, he'd had a similar argument with his butler, Alfred, in the Batcave earlier today before leaving it.
"..."
"You can't go on like this."
Alfred urged sharply, "You're trying to shoulder a responsibility that no man of flesh and blood can bear. Anyone would be crushed by it; it's only a matter of when. At the very least, you can't do this alone, without any help..."
"I have your help, Alfred."
Bruce was fastening his utility belt as he spoke, equipment that had just been updated by the Technical Department this week.
"And I only need your advice. That's enough."
"That's the problem, Young Master. You don't trust anyone. I think that even includes me," Alfred said calmly.
"I let you know what I'm doing, and I let you sit in this damn Batcave," Bruce said coolly, draping his cape over his shoulders. "And you still think I don't trust you enough?"
Alfred shook his head.
"No, this isn't trust. It's punishment. Or at least, it's your way of showing you're angry. I've watched you grow up since you were a child. I can always guess what you're thinking.
Just as you know that not everyone in the GCPD is corrupt to the core. At the very least, you know Gordon is an out-and-out good man.
But even so, you've never thought of seeking his help."
Bruce stopped what he was doing and looked at him, his face devoid of expression.
Alfred continued, "You were just a little boy then. You were all alone, in that alley, watching their bodies grow cold...
No one came. No one helped. Not me, not Gordon, not a single citizen of Gotham... and no Batman.
So you punish us this way... by making us watch from the sidelines.
Why am I in the Batcave, Young Master? I think it's because you want me to stay here and watch you do what I, Gordon, and everyone else are powerless to do. You exclude all of us, making us watch helplessly as you do what we cannot, to take revenge on those who hurt you, as a form of punishment.
But if you insist on doing this, Young Master, Batman will only become a shadow of the past, an infinite amplification of the lingering shadow in your heart. Sooner or later, he will eventually become a demon, not a creation of justice or hope.
He will fall soon, and so will you."
Bruce met his gaze for a long time without speaking.
Then, in silence, he put on his helmet and activated the Batmobile.
"I have to go, Alfred," he said, his voice cold and processed by the voice changer. "Don't wait up for me."
"..."
Alfred's words still echoed in his ears.
What is Batman, really?
He avoided prying eyes and entered a deserted alley, leaning against a wall to catch his breath. He took the grappling hook and rope from his belt, gathering strength to throw the hook to the rooftop.
At the same time, he resolved to go to the company's Technical Department when he got back and design a new piece of equipment to replace the grappling hook and rope.
He rested against the wall for a few seconds. Just before throwing the grappling hook, a commotion from across the street caught his attention.
Two older kids were pinning a teenage boy against a corner, forcing him to hand over the pocket money from his backpack.
Batman's first instinct was to go and stop them.
But a few seconds later, he realized it wasn't necessary.
The boy suddenly dropped low, taking one of them down with a leg sweep. Then, with a clean right hook, he knocked the second older kid to the ground.
The two young robbers scrambled away in terror. The boy flipped them off from behind.
"Boss Orin taught me that, you idiots," he said smugly.
Batman said nothing and retreated into the darkness.
The question that young man had asked him echoed in his mind once again.
Justice, or revenge?
Or rather, what kind of Batman does this city need?
He threw the grappling hook and climbed to the rooftop.
He disappeared into the vast night of Gotham.
(end of chapter )