Broken(DC)

The monotony of school days took a turn with the arrival of my new friend, Bruce Wayne. I learned a lot about him. Despite being remarkably intelligent for his age, he carried a certain arrogance and self-importance typical of wealthy kids. However, the tragedy of losing his parents had left its mark, and he often seemed distant, as though lost in thoughts about future plans.

His personal butler, Alfred, who drove Bruce to school every day, also acted as his guardian. Bruce told me about his home—a mansion larger than our school, surrounded by an estate that was even more expansive.

Bruce showed genuine interest in me too. He asked about my hobbies, my parents, and where I lived.

When he learned I was adopted and had never met my biological parents, Bruce showed sympathy. Our shared experiences of loss brought us closer, and one day, he invited me to visit his home. I asked if I could bring Alice along, and he agreed. We made plans to visit the next day, discussing the details before school ended. Then Bruce left for home.

I took the bus back alone, as Alice had joined the hand-to-hand combat club. I had wanted to join too but was denied because of my condition. I felt deeply frustrated—I lacked the physical skills that could help in close combat. I could throw a knife with precision at long distances, but in close quarters, I was helpless.

Alice and I came up with a plan: she would share everything she learned in the club each day and teach me some techniques. We would spar together so I could at least grasp the basics. However, to truly improve, I'd need professional training, and I hoped I could overcome my limitations by then.

Lost in thought, I didn't even notice when the bus reached my stop.

"Hey, kid! You asleep or something? You're the last one here," the bus driver called out.

This was the last stop on our school route, and only Alice and I lived in this area while attending elementary school. I hurried off the bus so as not to delay it and noticed that my left leg felt more responsive. It was growing stronger by the day, and I was relying less and less on my crutch. Soon, I wouldn't need it at all.

The walk from the bus stop to home wasn't far. I checked the mailbox on my way—empty, as usual. I reached the door, unlocked it with my key, and decided to put my peculiar ability to the test since no one else was home.

I went into the bathroom, took out my knife, and, closing my eyes, made a deliberate cut across my left hand. Pain shot through my palm, and when I opened my eyes, I saw bright red blood dripping into the sink. The stream of blood gradually slowed until it stopped altogether. This time, I resolved to observe the entire healing process.

After ten minutes, a scab began forming over the wound, and the edges of the cut, as if drawn together by an invisible force, started to close. Within thirty minutes, the wound was completely gone, leaving no trace behind.

The regeneration process had significantly sped up. A faint hunger stirred within me, suggesting my body had burned through resources to fuel the healing. Could my ability be evolving? Perhaps I'd eventually heal within seconds.

But what if I ran out of resources? Would the regeneration still work? I had no desire to test that theory anytime soon.

If I've had a regenerative ability all along, why haven't I ever managed to become completely healthy? Up until my first major injury, I didn't have any severe trauma, aside from the ones I was born with. This must mean that event triggered something within me.

A similar thing happened with knives. I struggled to master knife-throwing for ages but never saw any real progress. Then one day, something clicked inside me, and every throw started hitting the target with pinpoint accuracy. Maybe I should try mastering another skill. Hand-to-hand combat seems like a good choice. When Alice and I begin learning, it might all become clearer.

Not wanting to dwell on my thoughts any longer, I decided to grab a quick snack and resume training.

Today, I decided to take my knife-throwing skills to the next level by practicing with my eyes closed. In the dark or under poor lighting, you can't always rely on sight alone.

Tying a blindfold over my eyes, I spun around a few times to disorient myself and lose my sense of direction. Now I had to locate my target. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't figure out where I was aiming, and the confusion only grew worse. When I finally lifted the blindfold, I saw that I had almost thrown my knives straight at the house window. That was dangerous.

Alright, time to try a different approach. I picked a target in advance and faced it before covering my eyes with the blindfold. Then I started throwing knives—six in total. I could hear the clang of metal as they struck wood. But when I removed the blindfold, I saw that my throws were all over the place. The knives were scattered far from one another.

I realized what I'd need to focus on over the next few weeks. I spent a few more hours practicing diligently until, suddenly, I heard the front door opening. It sounded like Alice was back home.

Quickly hiding the target and knives in the shed, I rushed to greet Alice as she stepped into the yard.

"Hey! Throwing knives again? Don't you ever get tired of that?" my sister teased.

"You know it's not just for fun," I reminded her for what felt like the hundredth time.

"Oh, I know. Let me tell you how my training went," she said, launching into an animated account of her day.

She described the session in detail: starting with warm-ups, then practicing straight punches and kicks, and finishing off with a round of physical conditioning.

"Maybe you could show me how you practiced those moves," I asked, genuinely curious.

"Sure, get up and follow my lead," Alice said, quickly assuming a basic fighting stance. "Left foot forward, right foot slightly back, hands in front of your face. Keep your right hand close to your head, and extend the left slightly. For a punch with your right, make a sharp push with your whole body and throw your fist forward."

We began practicing hand-to-hand combat. Alice demonstrated, and I did my best to copy her movements. We focused on punches first, aiming at imaginary targets. Alice often corrected my technique, repeating what she'd learned in her training. Once we finished practicing punches, we moved on to kicks. Unfortunately, my left leg still hindered me, and after two falls, we decided to leave lower-body techniques for another day.

Our impromptu training session came to an end, and Alice ran off to shower before starting dinner. Meanwhile, I continued with some physical exercises to round out my workout. Once I was done, I headed for a shower as well. The smell of food wafted through the house as I got out, so I hurried to the kitchen.

Just as I arrived, Mom came home—perfect timing. Alice had already prepared a meal for everyone. We gathered around the table and enjoyed a pleasant dinner. Elizabeth was more talkative than usual, and it seemed life had become a little easier for her. The burden of debt and hard work had caused her a lot of stress in the past, which often reflected in her mood.

During dinner, I decided to ask her something.

"Mom, can Alice and I visit a friend tomorrow?"

"I don't know... How will you get back home?" she asked, clearly concerned.

"They'll give us a ride back," I replied.

"What about their family? Are they good people?" she asked again.

"Yes, very strict upbringing," I said, though technically, his family was just him and his butler.

"Alright, you can go, but make sure you're back before I get home," Mom finally agreed.

"Yay, thanks, Mom!" Alice exclaimed, rushing to hug her.

The day was coming to an end. We spent the rest of the evening watching TV together, but when bedtime came, we reluctantly turned it off and headed to our rooms.

The next day was ordinary at first. We met up with Bruce again during lunch, and the three of us sat together at the table.

"Is everything still on for today?" Bruce asked.

"Yeah, we got permission to visit, but only until six," I replied.

"That's great," he said with a grin.

The rest of lunch was spent discussing plans for what we'd do. My anticipation made the remaining classes drag endlessly. By the last minutes of the sixth period, I couldn't sit still. It felt like I might jump out of my seat at any moment. Finally, the long-awaited bell rang, and I bolted toward the exit, hobbling in haste.

I was in such a rush that I nearly tumbled down the stairs but managed to catch the railing just in time. With a groan, I steadied myself and continued at a more cautious pace.

At the school entrance, I sat down to wait for Alice and Bruce. Alfred's car, Bruce's butler's vehicle, had already arrived and was parked near the entrance. Scanning the crowd, I spotted my friends approaching.

"Shall we go?" Bruce asked, and we both nodded in agreement.

As always, Alfred opened the car's back doors, waiting for us to step in.

"Good afternoon, young friends of Master Bruce," he said with a polite nod.

"Good afternoon," Alice and I said in unison.

"Please, step into the car," the butler gestured graciously.

Once we were all seated, Alfred shut the door, walked around the vehicle, and took his place in the front seat.

"Off we go," he said as the engine roared to life.

We drove onto the highway, the car smoothly picking up speed. During the ride, Alfred struck up a conversation.

"Master Bruce tells me that you, young Brian, are a bright boy with a sharp mind," Alfred remarked.

"Well, I'm just a bit smarter than average, nothing special," I said, blushing at the compliment.

"Ah, and modest too. I quite approve of Master Bruce's choice of friends," Alfred said warmly.

"Alfred, stop making things awkward," Bruce interjected.

"Very well, I'll hold my tongue," the butler replied with a slight smirk.

With the conversation lighthearted, we continued our journey toward the estate. The scenery outside the car windows shifted from the bustling cityscape to the picturesque tranquility of forested landscapes. Turning off the main highway, we followed a well-maintained road, and soon Wayne Manor came into view in the distance.

The grand structure perched on a hill was visible to anyone traveling this road. Tall towers flanked either side of the building, which was styled like something out of a bygone era. The façade was adorned with intricate statues and ornate patterns. As we approached the entrance, the full splendor of the manor became clear.

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In front of the gates to his home stood a car, and next to it waited two men. They were dressed in coats with unbuttoned fronts, revealing formal suits beneath. The older man was stocky, with a beard, and wore a hat. His face looked tired, as though he rarely got enough sleep. He held a folder in his hands. The other man was younger, with orange hair and a more energetic demeanor—perhaps due to the cup of coffee he held.

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As we stopped by the gates, Alfred exited the car and approached the two men. They began talking, and Alfred frequently glanced back at us. After a brief conversation, he nodded to them and walked over to open the rear door of the car.

"Pardon me, Master Bruce, these are detectives. They'd like to ask you a few questions," Alfred said, sounding almost apologetic.

"It's all right, I'll answer their questions," Bruce replied, stepping out of the car.

We decided to get out as well to hear what the conversation was about. Approaching the men, the detectives introduced themselves immediately.

"Good afternoon, I'm Detective Harvey Bullock, and this is my partner, James Gordon," said the older man.

"Good afternoon," added the younger one.

"You wanted to ask some questions, detectives?" Bruce inquired.

"Yes, we've been assigned to investigate your parents' murder. We've identified a suspect, but we need to confirm if it's really him," Bullock explained, opening the folder and showing an image.

I noticed Bruce's hands begin to tremble, his face reflecting a storm of deep emotions. With great effort, he managed to say:

"Yes, that's him." After taking a deep breath, he regained his composure. "When will he be put away?"

"We're close to concluding the investigation, and I assure you, he'll be behind bars soon," Bullock replied confidently.

"That's good news," Bruce said, his tone slightly lighter but still subdued.

"We have no further questions. Thank you for your time," James Gordon said politely as he and his partner wrapped up the conversation.

"Take care, detectives," Alfred said as he supported Bruce and led him toward the house.

It seemed our cheerful day had turned into one of sorrow. The good mood we had was entirely gone. Bruce was filled with grief, the image of the murderer visibly shaking him to his core.

Bruce asked us to leave him alone, and Alfred escorted him to his room. Since we couldn't just leave immediately, Alfred offered us tea and cookies. He apologized for the wasted time and the abrupt change of plans that cut our visit short.

After enjoying the excellent tea, we headed back home. The car ride was filled with silence, none of us wanting to break it. Soon, we arrived at our house, and as we stepped out of the car, Alfred called out to us.

"Master Bruce is going through a very difficult time right now, and only good friends like you can help him," he said. "Will you help him?"

"Of course, he's our friend," I replied.

"Thank you," he said, bidding us farewell before driving off.

It was only sixteen minutes past four, and Mom wasn't expected to return for another couple of hours. We decided to use this time to practice hand strikes and have a small sparring session.

We started with a light warm-up, then moved on to practicing strikes against an invisible opponent. With each attempt, our punches grew faster, and our stamina improved. After exhausting ourselves with strikes, we switched to dodging. Either I attacked while she dodged my punches, or she attacked, and I dodged hers.

Following the tiring training session, we took showers and began preparing dinner. On the menu today were pasta and a vegetable salad. Just as the food was nearly ready, Mom returned home, as usual, bringing a large haul of groceries.

"Now we can cook something more varied," she said, placing the bags on the table.

We unpacked the bags, taking out a variety of ingredients. Alisa portioned the food for everyone, and we sat down to eat. At the table, Mom suddenly slapped her forehead, as if she'd remembered something.

"That's right, you went to visit someone today. How did it go?" she asked.

"Well, it turned out he was busy, so we just stopped by briefly and came back right away," I explained.

"I see. It's good that they gave you a ride home. My colleagues at work mentioned something alarming—children have been disappearing from the streets. They say nine have gone missing already. Please be careful," she said, her voice full of concern.

"We will, don't worry. Besides, we can take care of ourselves," Alisa responded.

"Believe me, even adults can't always protect themselves. You're still kids. It's better to avoid trouble and stay out of dangerous situations," Mom said firmly.

"Okay," Alisa agreed reluctantly.

The day ended as usual—with physical exercise, finishing homework, and going to bed. Well, here's hoping tomorrow will be even better.