Chapter 3
Gotham City, California
"Master Wayne." Alvarez whispered in the darkness of the cave.
Unbeknownst to Thomas Wayne when he built it, Wayne Manor sat on top of a massive underground cave. Bruce had found that out the hard way when he was eight.
Playing on the beach one summer day, Bruce had discovered the caves opening while collecting seashells. Much to his dismay, he had awoken the caves residents, all two thousand of them. Bats flew out of the cave, paralyzing Bruce with fear as they passed over him into the light.
His father had told him that those bats were nothing to be afraid of, that they were more scared of him than anything. But, even twenty-one years later, as he stood inside the very cave, that day had stayed with him. In his journeys throughout the world, every teacher he studied under, that day with the bats always lingered in the back of his mind.
Tonight was the night he took that fear and used it as a weapon.
"Master Wayne?" Alvarez spoke again, in his arms was a bundle of clothing.
Bruce stood next to a horse in the darkness. The horse was massive, a Clydesdale that was as black as midnight and stood at least eighteen hands high. The horse alone was awe-inspiring.
"Master Wayne?" Alvarez spoke once more, this time snapping Bruce out of his thoughts.
"Yes?"
"It is ready." Alvarez carried the bundle of clothes heavily, almost like a great weight was on them, as he handed them over to his master.
"Thank you."
Bruce stared down at the clothing, he knew that tonight was the night.
Arizona
RAWK!
A buzzard flew low over the desert, it could smell death in the air, and it was almost time for him to feed.
Unfortunately for Barry Allen, the smell of death was coming from him.
"Iris." He whispered softly as he stared up at the sky, his blood slowly trickling into the sand.
"Im sorry, maam, but looks like youre gonna have to marry a corpse." He snickered at that thought.
He wasnt sure how long it had been since Thawne had shot him, but the pain in his chest had given way to slow spreading numbness. It was already moving to his brain, as hallucinations and fever started to set in on him.
"Glory glory hallelujah, glory glory hallelujah, his truth is marching on." He weakly sang.
The end was almost here, he could feel it.
He had to be hallucinating now, he could see a shadow blot out the sun and a face above him. It was the face of an old Indian, his face wrinkled and red.
"THis truth is marching on."
Barry Allens eyes rolled into the back of his head as he blacked out. The Indian above him grabbed his ankles and started pulling him in the sand.
Off in the distance, storm clouds loom.
Indian Territory, Oklahoma
He had crushed and mashed up grass all day, but in the end it was well worth the effort.
The grass had been made into a green paste. Green was his tribes color. Now he was all that was left of the tribe, and he would make damn sure that the tribes color would be the last thing these white men saw.
Painstakingly, he had used to paste to turn each and every one of his arrows green, now all that remained was his face.
He rose out of the grass, his face turned emerald by the war paint. He had managed to save the headdress of his father, and thats what he wore with his blonde hair tied up inside of it.
With green face and green arrows. He called for his horse.
Arizona
Smoke and incense filled the shamans tent. He danced around a fire, chanting for the white man on his deathbed.
"Hemmotonya!" He chanted as he circled Barry Allens dying body.
Outside the tent, rain started to pour down and thunder rolled.
"Hemmotonya! Hemmotonya!"
The shaman had done many healings in his time on this earth, but this would be the hardest one he had ever done.
Thunder rolls again outside the tent, the shamans horse whines and bucks in fright.
"Hemmotonya! Hemmotonya!" his hands now placed on Allens chest, he chants and pumps, trying his best to heal the dying man.
"Hemmotonya!"
The shamans horse crashes into the tent, but the shaman doesnt look up. Hes too focused on the dying man.
"Hemmotonya! Hemmotonya!"
Hes so focused on Barry Allen, he doesnt notice his hair rising from the static electricity.
KRAKOOM!
Lightning tears through the tent, blowing the shaman away and striking Barry Allen and the shamans horse.
Rain starts to pour into the tent as the shaman looks at Barry Allens body, smoke rises off of it, but he lets out a cough and sputters.
Somehow, some way, Barry Allen still lives.
Gotham City, California
Nighttime in Gotham meant one thing, The Iceberg Club was hopping.
On the outside, The Iceberg Club appears to be a social club Gothams social elite meet and share drinks. But only few really know what goes inside of it.
Run by would be socialite Oswald Cobblepot, the Iceberg was in reality an opium den where Cobblepot has trafficked in Asian children to service his clients, some girl as young as nine years old.
While Loeb had every right to shut the place down, he choses not to. It made sense to him, seeing as how Cobblepot paid him a hundred dollars a month to look the other way.
Loeb wouldnt do anything to stop Cobblepots business. But for Bruce Wayne, it was a start.
"Password?!" The bouncer standing outside the door rudely says through the slot.
WHAM!
A fist drives through the wooden door and grabs the bouncer by the collar.
"Ahh!" He screams as the hand slams him hard against the door.
A figure kicks down the door and moves through the shadows into the dimly lit opium den.
"Did you hear that?" One man says to the man next to him as he lays on the dens cushioned floor, sucking on a pipe full of opium.
"I dont-" Is all his friend can manage to get out, as hes grabbed into the darkness.
"Oh god!" The man screams as hes drug into the darkness as well.
Oswald Cobblepot sits up and pushes the young Asian girls off of him. Something is going wrong in his establishment.
He pulls out a revolver just as a hand appears out of the darkness and grabs it.
"Whaaa!" He yells, a whip comes out of the darkness and grabs him by the throat.
The figure emerges from the shadows, the stitches on his leather cape and cowl are illuminated by the lamps of the den, his pointy ears resembling the horns of the devil.
"Wha?" Cobblepot croaks as the whip tightens around his neck.
The masked man pulls him closer, until he can smell the fish on Cobblepots breath.
"Im Batman."
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