DC:The Darkest Knight

[2 years later]

Standing in front of the window of my office at the top of Wayne Tower, I gazed out at the dark and gloomy city of Gotham. Even though it was noon, the dark clouds made it feel like evening had already arrived. Rain poured down heavily, a typical sight in Gotham.

The past two years had been mostly peaceful, or perhaps just the calm before the storm. My health drug and VR technology had become huge successes, as they became the most sold products in the world. The military contacted me for my VR technology, so I had to make a few adjustments and create a special version for them.

Taking advantage of that, the military contacted me; I also created a side product: a version of venom with no side effects and sold it along with nano armor. This armor wasn't the advanced type I used but a simpler version that offered maximum strength, speed, cloak, and armor—essentially a game version with a little twist—powered by a unique energy core exclusively sold by only Wayne Tech.

Can't help the capitalist in me.

The construction of the massive arc reactor was completed a few months ago. As of yesterday, I became a trillionaire, and a few weeks ago I reached of age and stopped using the puberty serum since I had fully matured.

I became bigger. I stand at a height of 205 cm (6'9") and weigh 145 kg (321 lbs) with muscles that make me look like a human tank. Being this big has its pros and cons; while it makes me intimidating, it also makes me stand out, making it harder to sneak. But all in all, I'm content with my physique.

[MC]

As for my life as Batman, that's where things get interesting. Just as I anticipated, me becoming Batman early had triggered a butterfly effect.

In the past two years, I have destroyed many of Falcone's operations, leading to his downfall from 'grace' and flee from Gotham. One of his henchmen, Oswald Cobblepot, has taken advantage of the power vacuum that was created by Falcone's absence and is doing his best to snatch power and replace him.

He even approached me before, more like letting himself be captured by Batman to provide information about Falcone's deals. Nowadays, he is renovating a club that he bought a few weeks ago.

Edward Nygma, who was kicked out of Wayne Enterprises when I took the company back, has become obsessed with me, or rather Batman. He collects every article about Batman, hacks into police communications, and visits every crime scene associated with Batman. He examines these scenes and looks for better ways to deal with them, always measuring himself against Batman.

Hugo Strange is also obsessed with Batman. He is trying everything in his power to find out my secret identity, of course, to no avail.

So far, I don't have to deal with Bane since he is still trying to gather his gang in Santa Prisca. But I am certain that I will be seeing him sooner rather than later because he also has a room full of my articles, just like Edward Nygma.

Jonathan Crane is still working as a psychologist, so there's still time before he becomes a college professor and tests his fear toxin on a student, then gets expelled and goes insane.

Recently, there have been rumors of people seeing a giant crocodile on two legs wandering the alleys. It seems Waylon Jones has chosen the sewers of Gotham as his new home sooner than I expected. But nothing can be done; it's the consequences of my actions. I triggered that butterfly effect. I should pay him a visit before he gathers himself an army of orphans.

There are others like Harvey Dent or Victor Fries, but they are still in infancy on their path to becoming a villain.

And now, as for my two favorite Gotham villainesses.

Pamela Isley actually started college this year. I didn't want to wait until the canon story where she finishes college and gets an internship at Wayne Enterprises through the dean's recommendation. I took the initiative and offered her one, or more specifically, Wayne Enterprises offered her one.

As for Harleen Quinzel, she actually left the college where she was studying veterinary and biological science to pursue psychiatry. I pulled some strings and got her a psychology scholarship at Gotham University. Of course, she has no idea it was me, and I plan to keep it that way. I have big plans for her.

Last but not least, the Red Hood gang, where it all started—the origin of The Joker. They appeared half a year ago and became the biggest gang in a few months. They are almost done with their Ace Chemicals project. I've had many chances to stop them, but I'm waiting.

I need to create the Joker; there must be a Joker, the nemesis of Batman. If not, something else, something unknown will rise to take his place.

*Knock...Knock*

The knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts as I shifted my gaze from Gotham.

"Come in."

"Mr. Wayne, your appointment for the new museum opening is in one hour," said Abby, my secretary, who I had made cry two years ago, avoiding eye contact. She still seemed frightened of me.

Why she was here despite how much of a crybaby she was because Alfred had taken pity on her and asked me to keep her on as my secretary. At first, I thought that old goat had regained his vigor after the serum and was trying to get some fresh meat, but he told me that Abby reminded him of his daughter.

I didn't want to refuse Alfred since it was the first favor he had asked of me, and Abby was more of a mascot than a secretary, as Eden managed my schedule. Still, I had to admit, Abby did a decent job of reminding me about my appointments.

"Begone," I waved her off coldly without giving her a second glance.

"Thank you, hehe," her face blushed, and she left while giggling.

She may be masochistic.

I turned my head and looked at my sole source of happiness, my beloved wife, or at least the portrait of her in my office.

***

I stood in the museum lobby, smiling. "...and with that, I would like to officially announce the opening of the new Gotham Museum, free to all who are interested and fascinated by the history of ancient times," I announced while cutting the red ribbon.

*Click...Click*

As reporters snapped photos, I maintained my smile, patiently waiting for them to finish.

"Mr. Wayne, Emily Dark from Gotham Gazette. Can I have a moment for an exclusive interview?" a female reporter asked as she shoved other reporters away and stood before me. We came face to face. Not that she was as tall as me, but she brought a damn stool with her to get my full attention.

"Of course, Miss Dark, but I must decline for now because I have other appointments to attend. Now, if you don't mind," I said with a polite smile, I had an image to maintain as I grabbed her by the armpit and put her aside. Then I ignored the reporters' questions as bodyguards moved them out of the way while I headed to my car.

{Sir, there is a bomb under your car.}

While walking towards my car, Eden warned me, but I opened the door and got in.

I activated the auto drive and tapped the screen to see who put the bomb under my car.

It was a man in a suit with a red balaclava.

Finally, they were making their move. I was getting bored.

"Eden, once I reach Gotham Harbor, disable the CCTV and bring me a replica of my current car, and then send the disguised Batmobile to Wayne International Cargo Ship No. 5 with 'me' inside."

{As you wish, sir}

***

I drove my car to a secluded area of Gotham Harbor. As soon as I stopped, a bomb under the car went off. The vehicle burst into flames, flew into the air, and flipped several times before crashing down.

Nothing happened to me, protected by my suit, of course, but using nanites in my body, I gave myself a makeover. Burst my lips and brow, bruises all over my body, burn marks on my face, and blood streamed from my head like I was taking a shower in my own blood, and my clothes were a little burned.

A few seconds later, I heard people walking towards the car.

"Looks like he's still alive, boss," a voice called from outside the car.

"Then what are you waiting for, you uncivilized brute? Pull him out," another voice said.

"But boss, the car is still burning," the first man protested before a gunshot rang out.

"We are not here for a Wayne barbecue; use your damn guns or something and pull him out," the voice commanded as the car door was pulled open and two hands dragged me out.

"Man, he's really heavy. What are they even feeding him?"

"I'm telling you, man, I've seen bears that are smaller than him. I mean, look at those arms. I think his arms are bigger than my torso."

"He looks really messed up," the man in a green suit and long-ass red helmet came to my side. First, he poked me with his foot, then he crouched down and grabbed my face and turned my head left and right, examining me, not caring about the state I was in or the blood that was getting on his hands.

"It's a shame; I'd love to do his makeup myself. Not to brag, but I'm a great makeup artist. Hahaha," the man in the red helmet laughed wickedly as others laughed along.

"Boss, should we finish him off?" one gang member asked, pressing a knife against my throat.

*Bang*

But the answer he got was a bullet to the head instead.

"64, you heartless bastard. How can you even think about killing an injured man? Don't you feel any shame?" The one in the red hood scolded the dead gang member.

"Boss, he's dead," another gang member pointed out.

*Bang*

"No shit, Sherlock," Red hooded one killed him too.

He then sat beside me.

"You might be thinking, 'This is the worst day of my life.' I understand, Bruce; I really do, at least to some extent since I went through something similar. Just mine was worse, so much worse. But just when I was about to lose my mind, you saved me, Bruce. You saved me when you left that theater with your parents... Ahhh, the good old Thomas and Martha Wayne. They were Gotham's angels, the kind, wealthy couple who helped the needy, saviors of the poor—"

Bro, what is he even yapping about? I thought he'd torture me, not bore me to death.

'Eden, how are things on your end?'

{All civilians rescued by 'Batman', sir. There are no casualties.}

'Good, and what about Selina?'

{Miss Kyle has successfully stolen the Kryptonite statue known as Laughing Dragon, sir. She will be home in approximately one hour.}

"-A few hundred dollars in your father's wallet and your mother's jewelry. Their deaths almost threw the whole city into chaos. People were scared, not just because of who your parents were, but because it felt so random. They thought they could be next since even someone as powerful and rich as the Waynes could be killed in an alley; how random. And that randomness is what inspired me. It was the randomness, the chaos of it, that brought this gang together, Bruce, not me; I'm just guiding them to this new light." The red hooded one continued to yap in my ear while I was almost at my limit I thought about ripping his jaw to shut him up.

"Boss, 46 from GCPD sent a message saying he and the commissioner are on their way here," one gang member said as the red-hooded one stood up.

"If you survive, remember us, Bruce. Fight against us, just like him. As futile as it is, at least it would bring some excitement to us. And if you die, let's hope you can inspire another youngster full of spirit."

Finally, the red hooded one finished his yapping and left.

Once the Red Hood gang was gone, I stood up and brushed off my clothes.

I grabbed one of the gang members as flames erupted from my gauntlet, consuming him. I placed him in the driver's seat, then took off my jacket, which transformed into a rope. I tied it around two dead gang members and shot the batclaw upward. Batwing flew by, caught the hook, and pulled me inside as it headed toward the Batcave.

I wasn't worried about cops finding my DNA. I had no fingerprints, and I didn't bleed or lose any hair or saliva, for that matter. And if my blood left my body, the nanites in it would destroy it the moment it left my body unless I actively prevented it.

***

[3RD POV]

A young officer shouted, "Commissioner, we found the car!" as he carefully moved toward the vehicle, his grip tight on his gun. He was uncertain if this was just an accident or a trap by criminals—something never to be sure of in Gotham.

"Relax, son. It's just a burning car," James said with an authoritative yet comforting father tone, giving the young officer a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

It was indeed nothing to fret about. A burning car was the most normal thing in Gotham, a place where murder, theft, and gang wars happened on a daily basis.

Standing a bit away from the flames, he scanned the area as a few cops with fire extinguishers hurriedly stepped forward to put out the fire.

Why were the police handling the fire instead of the firefighters, Because all the firefighters were busy responding to an airship crash that happened at the same time the car in front of him exploded. Fortunately, thanks to Batman, there were no casualties in the airship crash.

Gordon felt a headache coming on as he thought about Batman and began to rub his temples. Batman caused him more stress than the criminals did.

Although Gordon admitted that Batman was effective in Gotham and became the very reason criminals thought twice, thrice, or even four times before committing a crime, he also believed that while Batman cleaned up the streets, he himself was the biggest criminal.

Batman always interfered with police work, beating people to near death and crippling them 90% of the time, or playing detective and messing up crime scenes.

While Gordon had yet to confirm, he was even sure that Batman killed some of the criminals, mostly the worst ones, like rapists and child traffickers.

And not only criminals; Batman hurt civilians too, albeit indirectly. Since Batman's legend was first spread among the people, others decided to play vigilante. However, since none of them possessed the necessary skills and equipment to pull it off like Batman, most of these wannabe vigilantes either ended up dead or hospitalized after confronting gangs.

While Gordon was deep in thought, a police officer came up to him.

"Commissioner, we extinguished the car."

Furrowing his brows, Gordon moved towards the now extinguished car, crouching down to take a closer look. He peered inside through the open front door. Besides the charred body in the driver's seat, the smoke made it difficult to see anything else.

He squinted to examine the body closely. After confirming that it wasn't the person he feared it might be, he felt a wave of relief wash over him, though he didn't want to show it since he didn't want to seem like he was relieved to see someone die such a gruesome death.

"Are there any footprints around the car? Have you identified the victim or the vehicle?" Gordon asked, stepping back as the smoke began to suffocate him.

"No, sir. This car isn't registered in our system, and the body is too burned for identification right now. However, we did find a bullet wound in the victim's head, and there are about seven different footprints near the driver's side. They seem to have come from the forest and stopped a few meters from the car. It's likely they were the ones who opened the driver's door."

"Commissioner, over here," another officer called, waving near the vehicle.

"What is it, son?" Gordon asked as he approached.

"Commissioner, there are bloodstains in two places, two empty shell casings, and a large human shape on the ground."

Gordon examined the shape on the ground, and the more he looked, the more it seemed familiar. His instincts told him that this large shape resembled someone he knew—the only trillionaire in the world.

"Now, that complicates things," he said as he took out a cigarette, lit up, and took a deep breath, hoping that his gut feeling was wrong this time, because if another Wayne dies, especially someone like Bruce Wayne who contributes to Gotham more than any other before, to the point that he is called the patron saint of Gotham, instead of petty chaos like last time, Gotham will burn to the ground this time.