The Past 

My name is Bruce Wayne and that is fascinating.

I could have been named something even more pretentious like Charles, or William, or Henry. But I am called Bruce.

Bruce Wayne.

I didn't want this name, yet it was given to me. I didn't want my parents to die, and yet it was hammered into my childhood, my fate... into my dreams.

As I grow older fake caretakers have whispered behind my back that I am overlord. A dictator. Poor me started to believe it after a while. I had only lived for fourteen years and already knew I  was the devil.

I became a crook and I was deadly; even self destructive. I liked to fight. I remember that I liked to set fire to the smallest things and watch them scream. I liked it and that drove me to the edge of insanity.

My anger festered. All of my ugly memories forced me to make the ugliest scars on my wrists. The broken bones from my repeated fights made the ugliest of poison capsules creep into my shaky hands. They all found a way to break my psyche into millions of pieces that flashed back to black and grey and red. More and more red. All of the torture ruined my perfect inheritance. All of it was ruined by my own stupid mental capacity for self doubt and deprecation.

But most importantly, I was everything everyone had said.

With the years and years that had passed, my tendencies only grew worse. In secret I kept cutting and laughing at my pain . People said it was bad. I didn't believe them.

It wasn't wrong what I was doing. It wasn't wrong to me. It was something that Alfred disagreed with, but never mentioned. He could never be my father.

As the seasons changed, it only grew more and more out of control. I knew I was crazy for liking to hurt my pets. They would wail as I pulled their limbs off and studied them. I knew that it was wrong to like to feel fire burn and tingle at my fingertips, but its orange and blue colors attracted more curiosities. I was sixteen by then. 

Something was wrong, but it was also so right. The fun times always made me joyous and crave more of it. The sickness was unstoppable.

*******

It was just another rainy day outside of the Wayne Manor. What a sad day it was. The clouds were an ashy grey as the rain wrenched itself from the clouds. There was an occasional flash of lightning here and there and the thunder rumbled through the house and shook the fragile windows, but the most sad thing of all, was that it was the day that I turned twenty two.

It was also the anniversary of the day my parents were brutally murdered in cold blood.

I sat on my bed as my bare feet touched the chilled wood floor. My shirt and jeans hung loosely on my body, making me shiver, but I remember that I didn't notice the cold because my eyes were fixed on the window pain. I watched the rain splatter and run wild everywhere. It reflected the moments of my day and my life.

I supposed that it wasn't a bad day. As grey as it was, the court had finally given me custody for the whole company of Wayne Enterprises because they couldn't prove that I was insane. I showed them. I was smarter than them. Alfred also said that he was finished renovating the basement for me. I didn't care what that meant. Apparently Alfred said that it would help develop my skills.

What skills? I'm a born mastermind. I don't need any help.

My thoughts only grew darker as my gaze grew fixed on a single drop of rain. It was the day a horrible man murdered my parents. I remember the blood spilling out of them after the man ran away from the distant sirens. I remember touching them and feeling their life leave them as their blood pooled and soaked into my jeans. I remember the feeling of them staring into my eyes, wanting me to run away, but I couldn't just leave them.

I swallowed as my stomach ached with a slight pleasure of was I was about to do.

I remember looking into my mother's eyes and wondering what it was like to feel the pain. I remember sticking my fingers into her wounded side. I told the police it was just, 'to get the bullet out.' They were all too dumb to see through my faked innocence.

Most importantly, I remember my mother's eyes widening and her mouth giving a soft high pitched moan and then her eyes closed and her body went limp.

The ambulance could have saved her, but I made sure they couldn't.

The memories of my mother flashed over and over again in my head. They never caught the man who killed my parents. A small smile appeared at the corner of my mouth at all of the repetitive flashes. Why did it feel so good to do something so awful?

A light knock appeared on my door. I cleared my throat. "Come in, Alfred."

"Sir, the kitchen staff has made you a cake." Alfred stood silent in the door frame as he carefully held his hands behind his back.

"I don't need a cake."

"They thought it could cheer you up."

"I don't need any cheering." I slowly moved my eyes to meet Alfred's and kept my stare firm. I wanted to see Alfred squirm under my predator like gaze, but Alfred didn't even flinch. In a whisper, I repeated himself. "I don't need any cheering."

"May I sit, sir?" I tilted my head and then nodded. Alfred slowly moved next to me on the bed. There was a long pause before anyone spoke. Alfred lowered his voice to speak so that only I could hear him.

"I know what day it is for you."

"Everyone knows that." I fixated on the rain drop again. It exploded as another drop crashed on top of it.

"But only I know all of it." The two of us sat in silence again. "Are you ever going to tell anyone?"

"Should I?"

I stared at the floor and tapped my fingers on my leg. "You know Alfred, I can't help but to think that you just can't see what I do, or are just too ignorant to believe it and see what's wrong with me."

"Sure, I can see it, but maybe I don't believe it."

I stood up and turned to face Alfred, a sudden rage coursing through me. "You should!" My teeth were clenched as I squeezed my fists tight. I wanted Alfred to feel afraid enough to leave me alone. "What if I hurt you, Alfred!? I can't control it." I sat down again, but on the wood floor. "And I'm too tired to fight it." I put my hands on my head.

Alfred moved closer and reached into his pocket. He sat down on the floor across from me. "Maybe this will help." Alfred's hand shot out of his pocket. His hand had a syringe with a clear liquid that he shoved into my leg. 

I flinched and soon my senses began to heighten. My vision became more in tune with my surroundings and I could smell the cake from the downstairs kitchen as the cooks all shuffled to get it frosted. I turned my head side to side and felt my muscles tense and relax over and over. My eyes settled on Alfred. 

"What did you do to me?

Alfred stood up. "I've been doing some research," he paused, "about your condition." Alfred extended his hand and helped me up. Alfred began to walk to the door and I followed him. "And I found out more about your psychology." Alfred went down the stairs and continued to walk. "I found out how your brain releases certain chemicals when you think about hurting people. How it formed in a way so that your Hippocampus is built to have the opposite reaction when you see danger. The serum I've been working on in the basement is supposed to help suppress your urges, help make your brain normal again."

I swallowed, and kept quiet. "So you've fixed me?"

"It's only temporary for now. I still have to work out the kinks, but yes, this serum should help you." Alfred turned to me and let out a fatherly chuckle. "Happy birthday, Bruce." Alfred stopped at a bookcase in the most secluded part of the manor. No sound could be heard except silence.

"How long does it last?" I stared at the bookcase.

"Two hours at most. At least, for now." Alfred shuffled his hands on the different books and pulled one down like a lever. The bookcase glided to one side and led to an open staircase spiraling down.

My eyes looked intrigued. "What is this?"

"The basement." Alfred moved down the stairs and I followed him. "I made some renovations."

When we got to the bottom of the stairs, there was a wide opening that extended beyond sight. There was a giant computer on one wall and shelves right next to it. There was a golden light cast from the small lights that hung from the ceiling. Everything looked so shiny and new.

I gave of a laugh of disbelief. "Alfred, what have you made?"

"All of this," he gestured to the room, "is to help you."

"Help me?"

"Look, Bruce, it's clear that your mind is one of the most intelligent ones I have ever known. Your mind works differently then the rest of the world, and knowing you, you can't just sit around and do nothing for a long period of time. This, all of this, is for you."

"I don't think you understand-" Alfred cut me off and began walking to the center of the room. It was a large circular space and when Alfred tapped his foot, a glass case rose from the floor. Inside of it, there was a suit; a black suit with armor and a spiked helmet. It resembled a monster. A black goblin in a way.

I stood speechless. Part of me was clinging onto my normality. 

"Alfred, I'll hurt people. It's what I do."

"It's only what you do because you can't control it. You can now. I believe you can."

I stared at my reflection in the glass, my outline fitting to the suit. It matched my strong and prominent features. I let out a sigh. 

"Alfred," I turned to him, "what do I do with this?"

******

On the night of Bruce Wayne's twenty second birthday a new figure emerged in the streets of Gotham City. Some thought that the new figure was evil, and some that it was a sign of new beginnings. Overall, the city needed a hero, and one who wasn't afraid to cross lines to get justice. The city called him a miracle. They called him Batman, and he was the real villain. He was the real mastermind: the darkness of humanity.

For it was on the same night, that a young man named Joe Chill got brutally tortured and thrown into a chemical vat by a shadowy figure. It was the same night that the Joker was created. 

That night a new monster roamed the streets and to this day no one knows who threw Joe Chill into the deadly chemical vat.