Chapter 3: Sins of Our Fathers
Alfred Pennyworth made his way down the narrow stone steps into the oldest part of Wayne Manor's foundation, his footsteps echoing in the damp quiet.
An electric lantern hung in one hand, a ring of antique brass keys in the other—their weight long familiar after decades of service to the Wayne family. He hadn't set foot in this storage room for nearly twenty years, but Dr. Arkham's research had stirred memories he'd spent decades trying to forget.
The basement beneath Wayne Manor formed a maze of connected chambers—some built with the manor's original foundations in 1855, others added during Prohibition when the Waynes secretlyy backed certain underground operations in Gotham.
Alfred had explored nearly all of them in his early years, cataloguing the relics and clutter left by four generations of the family. But there was one chamber he'd sealed after Thomas Wayne's death, following explicit instructions left in his private papers.
The heavy oak door waited at the end of a narrow corridor, void of any plaque or nameplate. Alfred slid an ornate skeleton key into the iron lock, surprised when it turned easily after decades unused. The hinges gave a long groan as the door swung open, releasing the musty smell of old paper mixed with a faint medicinal, metallic tang that made his stomach tighten.
The lantern's beam revealed a study that seemed frozen in time. Thomas Wayne's private research chamber had been left exactly as it was the night he died, every book and document in its original position. Unlike the rest of the manor, this room showed no signs of dust or decay, as if the very air had been preserved along with its contents.
Leather-bound journals filled the shelves along three walls, their spines marked with dates spanning nearly fifteen years of Thomas Wayne's medical career. But these weren't the surgical texts and case studies that had made him famous in Gotham's medical community.
In the lantern's glow, Alfred read titles that made his hands shake: "Abnormal Blood Chemistry in Medieval Populations," "Hemoglobin Analysis of Preserved Specimens," "Transfusion Techniques: Historical and Theoretical Applications," and most disturbing of all, "The Dracul Bloodline: Medical Observations and Theoretical Implications."
On the central desk, weighted down with a crystal paperweight, lay an open journal in Thomas Wayne's familiar handwriting. Alfred approached slowly, dreading what he might find but knowing that Master Bruce's life might depend on understanding the Wayne family's hidden history.
The journal entry was dated three months before Thomas and Martha's murder:
The Romanian specimens arrived today via private courier from Dr. Vernescu in Bucharest. His letter claims they were taken from subjects displaying 'remarkable preservation' despite being over two centuries old. The blood samples maintain cellular integrity that defies conventional medical science. Most unsettling of all, the red blood cells show ongoing metabolic activity even after long-term storage—something that should be impossible according to every medical text I've studied.
I've established a secure laboratory in the manor's foundation for this research. Martha must never know. She already worries about my late nights at the hospital. If she discovered I was studying what might be supernatural rather than medical science, she'd think I'd lost my mind entirely. Perhaps I have. But I cannot ignore the potential applications if this preservation effect can be understood and replicated.
Alfred's hands shook as he turned the pages, each entry revealing more of Thomas Wayne's gradual descent from scientific curiosity into something approaching obsession.
Day 47 of analysis. The specimens continue to defy explanation. Under electron microscopic examination, the cellular structure appears to reorganize itself when exposed to various stimuli—silver compounds cause violent reactions, exposure to ultraviolet light triggers rapid deterioration, but samples kept in complete darkness show signs of actual cellular regeneration.
I've documented temperature variations that suggest the samples generate their own heat through an unknown metabolic process. More troubling, I've begun experiencing unusual dreams since beginning this research. Always the same location: a castle on a mountainside shrouded in perpetual mist. I wake with the taste of copper in my mouth and a persistent sense that I'm being watched, even in the safety of Wayne Manor.
The entries became increasingly erratic as Thomas Wayne's research progressed, his normally precise handwriting growing hurried and sometimes shaky.
I've discovered documentation among the specimens—letters written in medieval Latin and what appears to be Romanian. My translation skills are limited, but I've managed to decode references to 'the Dracul covenant' and something called 'the American inheritance.' There are mentions of Gotham specifically, as if this city was chosen for some purpose I cannot yet understand.
The genealogical materials included with the specimens contain disturbing implications. Wayne family records dating back to our earliest ancestors, business partnerships with Carpathian trading companies that I have no memory of establishing. How could Dr. Vernescu possess more complete records of my own family history than I do myself?
Alfred moved deeper into the chamber, discovering filing cabinets that Thomas had clearly organized with care. The first cabinet contained medical records—blood analysis reports, cellular studies, experiments in preservation techniques that pushed the boundaries of acceptable science. But it was the second cabinet that revealed the true scope of Thomas Wayne's investigation.
Inside were genealogical charts spanning centuries, tracing the Wayne family lineage back to colonial America and before that to England, and further still to medieval European connections that Alfred had never known existed. Marriage alliances with Romanian nobility, business partnerships with Carpathian trading companies, financial dealings that had brought Wayne ancestors into contact with families whose names appeared in Dr. Arkham's research.
According to Thomas's meticulous reconstruction of the family tree, the Waynes had been tied to Eastern European supernatural events for generations—not by chance, but through what seemed to be deliberate alliances. There were shipping contracts moving specific cargo from the Carpathians to America, real estate deals in cities later haunted by unexplained disappearances, and charitable donations to religious groups devoted to "protecting ancient bloodlines."
The third filing cabinet contained the most disturbing discovery of all: correspondence between Thomas Wayne and scholars across Europe, researchers who had studied similar phenomena in their own countries. Letters from Prague describing mass disappearances that followed specific patterns. Reports from Budapest about aristocratic families with unusual lifespan and peculiar dietary requirements. Documentation from Bucharest about ancient castles that seemed to exist outside normal historical records.
But it was Thomas's own analysis, compiled in a leather-bound ledger marked "Personal Observations," that revealed how deeply the mystery had consumed him:
I can no longer deny what the evidence suggests. The Wayne family has been connected to supernatural forces for generations, possibly centuries. Not as victims or accidental participants, but as willing collaborators in something I don't yet fully understand. The financial records I've uncovered show payments to organizations dedicated to 'maintaining traditional bloodlines' and 'preserving ancient covenants.
My grandfather's shipping manifests list cargo that was never officially documented—sealed containers brought from Romania and delivered to addresses that no longer exist. My great-grandfather's business correspondence includes references to 'special clients' with 'unique requirements' who paid extraordinary sums for what he called 'preservation services.'
I fear that our family fortune, everything that has allowed the Waynes to become Gotham's most influential family, may have been built on transactions with forces that normal people would consider evil. And now, somehow, that legacy is coming due.
The final entries, written just days before Thomas and Martha's death, revealed the full scope of his growing terror:
They know I've been researching their history. I've received warnings—not threats exactly, but suggestions that my investigation should cease. Phone calls at midnight from voices speaking old English, asking about my 'family obligations' and whether I understand my 'generational responsibilities.
I've begun taking precautions. The chamber is sealed with locks that only Alfred knows about. I've hidden duplicate copies of the most important documents in safe deposit boxes across the city. If something happens to me, if my research has awakened sleeping enemies, I pray that Bruce will never need to discover this information.
But I fear the choice may not be his to make. The genealogical evidence suggests that each generation of Waynes has been called upon to fulfill certain obligations. My father died in a carriage accident when I was Bruce's age, just months after he'd begun asking questions about the family's European connections. His father disappeared entirely when he started investigating the source of our initial fortune.
If the pattern holds, Bruce may face the same choice I'm facing now: serve willingly, or watch everyone he loves pay the price for generations of Wayne family involvement with forces beyond human understanding.
Alfred closed the ledger with shaking hands, his mind spinning from what it revealed. Thomas Wayne's mysterious death, the seemingly random mugging that took him and Martha—it all now felt far more sinister. Not random violence, but the result of a family legacy reaching back centuries.
Alfred closed the ledger with trembling fingers, his mind reeling from the implications. Thomas Wayne's mysterious death, the seeming random mugging that took him and Martha—suddenly it all felt far more sinister. Not random violence, but the result of a family legacy reaching back centuries.
Moving to the chamber's eastern wall, Alfred discovered what appeared to be an altar of sorts—a stone table carved with symbols that matched those Dr. Arkham had shown Commissioner Gordon.
On it lay artifacts older than America itself: ornate silver chalices tarnished black with age, wooden stakes carved from what seemed to be hawthorn wood, and most disturbing of them all, vials of preserved blood that seemed to pulse faintly, as if alive, despite being sealed for decades.
Among the artifacts was a letter addressed to Bruce Wayne in Thomas's handwriting, sealed but never delivered:
My son, if you are reading this, then the worst has happened and the Wayne family's long association with supernatural forces has claimed another generation. I pray that you will choose differently than your ancestors, that you will find a way to break the cycle that has bound our bloodline to powers we should never have courted.
Everything I've discovered is contained in this chamber. Study it well, but remember that knowledge of the supernatural comes at a terrible price. The more you learn, the more visible you become to forces that have been waiting patiently for the Wayne heir to claim his inheritance.
Trust Alfred completely, but trust no one else until you understand the full scope of what we're facing. Gotham itself may have been chosen as a supernatural battleground because of our family's historical connections. If so, then your destiny may be far darker than simply continuing the Wayne legacy.
Be strong, my son, but be careful who you trust. The enemy we face has been planning for generations, and they know more about the Wayne family than we know about ourselves.
Alfred carefully resealed the letter, knowing that Master Bruce wasn't ready for this knowledge yet. The young man had enough to handle with his transformation into Batman and his war against Gotham's normal criminals. But the time was coming when these family secrets would become relevant, perhaps even critical to his survival.
As he prepared to leave the chamber, Alfred's lantern illuminated one final discovery—a map of Gotham marked with locations that corresponded to properties the Wayne family had owned over the decades. Churches, hospitals, charitable foundations, all strategically placed throughout the city in a pattern that formed what looked suspiciously like a massive protective circle.
Or perhaps a summoning circle.
Alfred extinguished the lantern and sealed the chamber once more, climbing the stone steps with knowledge that felt like a physical weight pressing down on his shoulders.
Master Bruce needed to know about his family's history, but the revelation would have to be timed carefully. The young man's mission as Batman was dangerous enough without the added burden of generational supernatural obligations.
But as Alfred emerged into the manor's main floor, where morning sunlight streamed through tall windows, he couldn't shake the feeling that time was running short. The murders in the harbor district, Dr. Arkham's warnings about ancient bloodlines, Thomas Wayne's research into Romanian supernatural phenomena—they were all connected in ways that suggested a plan decades in the making was finally coming to fruition.
Somewhere in Gotham, forces that had been manipulating the Wayne family for generations were stirring to full wakefulness. And Master Bruce, despite all his training and dedication, was walking directly into a trap that had been set before his birth.
Alfred looked out at the city skyline, where shadows seemed to linger longer than they should despite the bright morning sun. The Wayne family's sins were about to visit themselves upon a new generation, and he—the loyal butler of decades—was the only one who understood the full weight of what was coming..
The blood moon would rise again soon, and with it, the final reckoning for everything the Wayne family had done in the name of wealth, power, and influence. Alfred hoped that when the time came, he'd have the strength to help Master Bruce choose a different path than their ancestors.
But deep in his heart, he feared that choice might no longer be possible.