Broken(DC)

The days rushed by in a blur as Christmas drew nearer and nearer. My daily routine remained the same, but my hand-to-hand combat skills were improving far faster than Alice's. I could easily defeat her in sparring matches, though she refused to admit defeat, claiming that I was just stronger and luckier. Despite being two years older than me, she struggled to keep up. This made it clear that I absorbed skills and information much faster than others. Still, I needed more time to fully process and understand everything.

When we couldn't visit Bruce at his house, he disappeared from school for a few days. Eventually, he returned, seeming like his usual self. However, after that incident, Bruce was no longer eager to invite us over to his home.

Later, worse news reached him: the man who had murdered his parents was released due to insufficient evidence. Bruce shared that detectives had assured him they'd collected and handed over all the necessary proof to the prosecutor, but it was deemed inconclusive, and the murderer walked free.

My friend was visibly upset when he recounted this. Anger flashed across his face as he vented about corruption among the police, who, in his words, had likely let obvious criminals go free while imprisoning innocent people.

All I could do was try to comfort and encourage him.

Hoping to lift his spirits, I suggested we go out and have some fun. After calling Alfred to get permission, we set out for every kid's favorite spot: GameClub. This popular chain had locations all over America and was packed with arcade machines and the latest gaming consoles. It was a lively place, brimming with excitement, kids running around, snacks like chips, and endless Coca-Cola.

The gaming club was located in the basement of a shopping mall. When we walked in, we were greeted by a dazzling array of arcade machines, and the sheer number of kids there was overwhelming.

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Without wasting any time, we stocked up on chips and soda to fuel our gaming spree. After purchasing a two-hour session, we headed to the nearest arcade machine. It was a two-player setup, and the screen proudly displayed the title "Mortal Kombat 3."

Grabbing the joysticks, we began figuring out the controls. After a bit of trial and error, we restarted the game and carefully picked our favorite characters. I went with Kabal, while Bruce chose Smoke.

The battle kicked off with both of us frantically mashing random buttons, trying to land a hit. It seemed like I was doing better, as Bruce's health bar dwindled steadily. However, he suddenly pulled off some kind of special move, launching my character into the air and following up with a punishing combo that drastically cut down my health.

That's when I realized the key to winning was mastering combinations. By pressing the right buttons more thoughtfully, I managed to unleash a spinning dash attack that sent Bruce's character flying. Finishing the fight wasn't much of a challenge after that.

"Hehehe, that was easy," I exclaimed, grinning like a kid, basking in the thrill of my victory. I couldn't help but gloat a little—it felt too good not to.

"Lucky shot! Let's go again," Bruce growled in frustration, slamming his hand on the machine.

"Hey! No hitting the machines, or you'll have to pay for them!" shouted the administrator from across the room.

"Sorry," Bruce mumbled, his face flushing with embarrassment.

"Alright, let's do a rematch," I said with a shrug.

For the next hour, we kept playing, alternating between victories and defeats, all while munching on chips and mocking each other's losses. Every time I managed to pull off a combo, I memorized it, refining my strategy with each round. My gameplay improved rapidly, but Bruce wasn't far behind. In the end, our wins were evenly matched, and we decided to call it a tie—declaring that friendship was the real winner.

Next, we decided to try out other games. The zombie-shooting arcade immediately caught our attention. Standing at separate machines, we began a new competition to see who could score the most points. Thanks to my precision, I quickly pulled ahead, racking up a significant lead.

"Damn it, how are you so fast and accurate? Are you sure this is your first time playing?" Bruce asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"Yeah, just had a lot of practice throwing rocks at cans," I replied casually, though I left out the part about replacing rocks with knives and cans with wooden targets.

"I need to beat you at something else! Come on!" Bruce exclaimed, his competitive spirit reignited.

Time flew by as we were completely absorbed in the games, and our purchased session came to an end. However, we were so engrossed that we kept extending our playtime again and again. Eventually, the club closed, forcing us to leave.

When we stepped outside, night had already fallen. Bruce pulled out his phone and found a slew of missed calls.

"Oops. We were only supposed to play for two hours, but it's been over eight! We got way too into it," he admitted sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.

Indeed, the games were so captivating it was impossible to stop. Not wasting any more time, Bruce called Alfred to let him know where we were. After a brief conversation, he hung up.

"He'll be here in twenty minutes," Bruce informed me. "Want to walk around while we wait?"

"Sure," I replied. The streets were mostly empty, and we began strolling through the city, passing the time until Alfred arrived.

As we walked, we suddenly heard people shouting from a nearby alleyway. Exchanging a quick glance, curiosity got the better of us. Quietly, we crept closer and peeked into the alley. What we saw made our stomachs drop: three men and a small child. The child was hiding behind the back of a frail, homeless man whose clothes were filthy and tattered. Two of the other men were dressed in utility uniforms bearing the logo of a cleaning company.

The tension in the air was palpable. The homeless man stood his ground, fiercely protecting the child as the other two men threatened him, telling him to leave or face the consequences.

"We have to help them," Bruce whispered urgently.

"How?" I whispered back, unsure of what we could do.

The situation escalated quickly. One of the men pulled out a gun and pointed it at the homeless man. A shot rang out, echoing in the alley. We froze in horror as the bullet struck the man's head, and his body collapsed onto the pavement. Before we could process what had happened, the other man grabbed the child and jabbed a syringe into their neck. The child twitched slightly before going limp.

"We need to save him—now!" Bruce exclaimed loudly, unable to contain himself. His voice gave us away.

"I heard something. Let's check it out," said the man carrying the child, turning toward us.

The armed assailant started moving in our direction. There was nowhere for us to hide, and it was only a matter of time before he spotted us. Calm down. This is what you've trained for. Forcing myself to focus, I pulled the knife from my chest pocket, ready to act.

With a sudden burst of determination, I lunged out from our hiding spot and hurled the knife with all my strength. The blade flew true, embedding itself in the man's hand just as he reached for his weapon.

The bandit, caught off guard, screamed in pain as the knife lodged into his hand, forcing him to drop his weapon onto the pavement. This was our chance to escape.

"Run, now!" I shouted, grabbing Bruce's hand and pulling him away from the cursed alley.

"Damn it, catch them!" yelled the other man.

"That little punk threw a knife into my hand!" the injured criminal shouted back angrily.

For a brief moment, I thought they might not chase us, but the pounding of heavy footsteps quickly shattered that hope. They were gaining on us—we weren't fast enough to outrun them. But running was the only option we had.

"Shoot those brats!" the injured man snarled.

Hearing this, I yanked Bruce and dove behind a parked car. Gunshots rang out, the bullets ricocheting off our makeshift cover.

"Slippery little rats!" one of the shooters yelled in frustration.

We crouched behind the car, pinned down with no obvious way to escape. The footsteps grew closer and closer. I decided to take a chance and peek out from our cover for another throw, but a bullet zipped past my face, close enough to send a chill down my spine.

"Got you now, you little pests!" they jeered, their voices dripping with malice.

We braced ourselves for the worst when suddenly the screech of tires pierced the air, followed by the sound of a car abruptly braking.

"Police! Drop your weapons!" commanded a familiar voice.

"Damn it! Cops! Let's get out of here!" one of the criminals shouted.

The gunmen began firing back as they retreated into the alley. The officers returned fire, their shots lighting up the narrow street. I cautiously peeked out from our hiding spot and immediately recognized our saviors—Detectives James Gordon and Harvey Bullock. The two chased the fleeing criminals into the alley but returned moments later, clearly unable to catch them.

"Who were they shooting at before we arrived?" Bullock asked gruffly.

"At us," Bruce said, stepping out from behind the car.

I followed suit, emerging from our hiding spot. My heart was still racing.

"And what did you two do to piss off those big guys?" Bullock asked, reloading his pistol before flicking the safety on and holstering it. "You're damn lucky we were staking out this area."

"We saw them kill someone and try to kidnap a kid," I explained, my voice steady despite the fear still lingering in my chest.

"A kid?" Gordon clarified, his expression sharpening.

"Yes," I confirmed. The two detectives exchanged a quick glance, a silent understanding passing between them.

"It's definitely them," Bullock muttered, nodding to Gordon.

"Who are they?" Bruce asked, his curiosity laced with urgency.

"You've probably heard about the recent string of child disappearances in the city," Harvey explained, adjusting his tie. "We think you stumbled upon those same criminals. So, where's the body and the kid?"

"Oh, right. Follow me," Bruce volunteered, taking on the role of guide.

We led the detectives back to the alley we had fled moments ago. They instructed us to wait at a safe distance, saying there was no need for us to see the deceased man again. While we waited, Bruce's phone buzzed. He answered, confirming our location.

"That was Alfred," he explained as he hung up. I had already guessed.

Within two minutes, the familiar black car pulled up. Alfred stepped out and, noticing the detectives, gave them a puzzled look.

"Did they break any laws?" Alfred asked hesitantly.

"No, quite the opposite," Harvey replied with a theatrical smirk. "These two heroically intervened in an attempted kidnapping."

"Is that so?" Alfred turned his gaze to Bruce, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern.

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Bruce replied curtly.

Alfred glanced at the alley and then back at the street, piecing together the situation with remarkable precision.

"So, you heard something unusual from the alley, decided to investigate, stumbled upon criminals, and ran when they noticed you. They gave chase, and the detectives saved you. Is that correct?" Alfred asked, demonstrating his keen deductive skills.

"Maybe we should quit, Gordon, and let the butler take over," Harvey joked, elbowing his partner.

"That's essentially what happened," Gordon confirmed. "Though reckless, their actions did save a life."

"We'll discuss this at home, Bruce. For now, it's time for you to head back. Thank you, detectives; I owe you one," Alfred said, shaking their hands firmly before ushering us toward the car.

He opened the door, practically pushing us inside before climbing into the driver's seat himself. Without wasting a second, he started the car and drove off at a brisk pace. The initial silence was heavy, but Alfred's glances at us through the rearview mirror spoke volumes.

"Do you realize how close you came to losing your lives?" he finally said, his voice carrying a mix of worry and reprimand. "Bruce, you could have been killed."

"Alfred, we had to help! That child was in danger!" Bruce protested.

"And I must remind you that you're just children yourselves," Alfred retorted firmly.

"We can take care of ourselves. Brian even—ow!" Bruce exclaimed as I jabbed him in the side. He looked at me in confusion, but I shook my head, silently urging him not to finish that sentence.

"What about Brian? He's seven years old, Bruce! You endangered not only yourself but your friend as well," Alfred said, oblivious to our silent exchange.

"In the end, the result justifies the risk. We saved the child," Bruce countered stubbornly.

"The result could have been two more bodies in that alley if your luck had been even slightly worse," Alfred shot back. "Next time, think about the consequences."

I silently agreed with Alfred on that point. It had been sheer luck that none of the bullets had hit us.

The debate between Alfred and Bruce carried on for the rest of the ride, with neither willing to concede. Eventually, the car slowed and stopped in front of my house. By then, their argument had faded into tense silence.

Not wanting to linger in the awkward atmosphere, I quickly said goodbye and headed inside, eager to retreat to the safety of my home.

As soon as I opened the door, I was met by the furious storm of my mother, Alice, her face a mask of rage, while Elizabeth stood nearby, watching silently.

"Where have you been?" she demanded.

"I was playing with a friend," I replied, which was, in essence, the truth.

"Really? Then why are your clothes filthy, you've got scratches on your face, and—where is your crutch?" Her eyes scanned me critically. I glanced down. My clothes were dirty. Wait. My crutch! I'd left it in that alley when we were running. I hadn't even noticed I was walking without it.

"I lost it," I admitted.

"I'm not buying you another one. Tomorrow, you're going to find it," she declared, leaving no room for negotiation before stomping off to continue watching TV.

Then, I was immediately ambushed by a far more personal wrath. Alice crossed her arms and glared at me like a hawk closing in on its prey.

"Who said I wouldn't even notice you coming back, huh? Wasn't it 'just two hours,' in your own words?" she mocked, trying to mimic my tone.

"I got a bit carried away," I admitted sheepishly, scratching the back of my head.

"And what happened to you?" she asked, clearly referencing my scruffy, worn appearance.

"I… fell," I tried to sound convincing.

"Either you tell me everything, or I stop considering you my brother," she threatened, turning away dramatically, her arms still folded.

"Alright, alright! Just not here. Let's go to my room."

Once inside, I had no choice but to tell her everything that had happened. Her anger quickly melted into worry as I recounted the encounter with the criminals.

"Be more careful next time," she said softly, pulling me into a tight hug. "I don't even want to think about losing you—or your cookies."

"Cookies? That's it?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well… maybe also that delicious pie you make," she teased, her tone now playful.

"Is that so? Then it's time for payback—tickle attack!" I declared. Holding her in my embrace gave me the perfect opportunity to launch my counteroffensive.

"Ha-ha! Stop it! I'm dying! Ahaha!" she squealed, laughing uncontrollably as I tickled her.

Our shared laughter chased away the gloom of the evening, lifting both our spirits.

"You must be starving by now," Alice said once she had caught her breath. "Let's go eat something."

"Let's," I agreed, realizing just how hungry I was.

That night, I ate as if I had three stomachs, devouring a truly staggering amount of food. It wasn't until my third helping that the gnawing hunger finally began to subside. Even then, I still felt like I could eat more.

When I finally stopped eating, exhaustion overtook me. The day had been long, and it was high time to sleep. After washing off the grime of Gotham's streets in a hot shower, I felt much fresher.

The moment I lay down, a deep, bone-deep fatigue settled over me. My soft bed welcomed me like an old friend, and sleep claimed me almost immediately.

*****

I woke—or thought I did—feeling strange. I tried to roll over, but I couldn't. Something held me in place. I attempted to lift my arm, but it wouldn't move. My limbs were heavy, unresponsive, as though bound by invisible chains. Was it a nervous system failure, like when I was a kid?

I forced my eyes open. But I wasn't in my room.

I was kneeling before a strange altar, glowing with eerie, unfamiliar symbols. Around me were tall, foreboding columns, and from each extended chains that wrapped tightly around my body. I couldn't move my arms or legs; even my fingers barely obeyed me. The oppressive darkness around me seemed to stretch endlessly, pierced only by a faint, solitary light above me.

Where am I?