April 20, 2065, 22:17
Old Gotham Slums, Gotham City
The rain was a living thing, a roaring beast that clawed at Elias Kane's face as he vaulted over a dumpster in Old Gotham's neon-drenched slums. His boots splashed through oily puddles, reflecting the flickering holograms of street vendors hawking bio-implants and hacked Enforcer drones buzzing like angry hornets overhead. The 24-year-old artifact hunter's HUD goggles sparked with static, their cracked lenses mapping a path through the chaos. His target: Wayne Manor, a crumbling fortress on Gotham's edge, rumored to hide the Batsuit and the mythical Batcave.
Elias's lean frame darted between market stalls, dodging a cyber-augmented thug who swung a plasma cutter at him for cutting too close. "Watch it, slag!" the thug bellowed, but Elias was already gone, sliding under a tarp and sprinting down an alley. His patched jacket flapped like a tattered flag, heavy with gear: a graphene lockpick, a pulse disruptor, and a datapad crammed with scavenged intel on the Batman.
He'd grown up in these gutters, an orphan who learned to steal before he could read. Now, the Batman's relics were his ticket to immortality a find to eclipse the Kryptonian ruins unearthed in Metropolis. A Batarang had sold for millions in Blüdhaven; a grapple gun surfaced in a Star City auction. The Batsuit? That was history itself, and Elias would carve his name into it.
He leaped onto a rusted fire escape, the metal groaning under his weight, and scrambled to a rooftop. Gotham's skyline unfolded a jagged maze of megacorp spires and flickering neon, dwarfed by Wayne Manor's distant silhouette, its gothic towers stabbing the storm clouds like daggers. Elias's datapad pinged, a smuggler's map highlighting a route through gang territory. He grinned, adrenaline surging, and launched into a run, vaulting skylights and sliding down rain-slicked pipes. The manor was calling, and nothing not rain, not gangs, not ghosts would stop him.
June 12, 2030, 01:43
Batcave, Beneath Wayne Manor, Gotham City
Damian Wayne, 16 and raw with grief, paced the Batcave's cold stone floor, his shadow dancing across the Batcomputer's glowing screens. Bruce Wayne's death three months ago a heart attack, the news claimed, though whispers of the Court of Owls lingered had left the cave a tomb. Trophies gleamed in their cases: a Joker card, a Penguin umbrella, relics of a war Damian was now expected to fight.
Dick Grayson, Nightwing, leaned against a console, his blue eyes heavy with exhaustion. "You don't have to do this, Damian. The cowl's not a crown it's a chain."
Damian's fists balled, his League of Assassins training warring with his father's moral code. "Gotham doesn't get to quit, Grayson. Neither do I." His voice cracked, betraying the boy beneath the warrior. He'd never wanted the mantle, only Bruce's pride.
Dick tossed him a Batarang, its edge glinting. "Then move fast and think faster. We hit a Falcone smuggling ring tonight. Don't make me regret this."
Damian donned a prototype Batsuit sleek, lightweight, its cape snapping as he tested its grapple gun. The weapon's recoil yanked him upward, swinging him across the cave's stalactites. He landed in a crouch, heart pounding, the suit's HUD flaring to life. Dick smirked. "Not bad, kid. Let's fly."
They raced to the Batmobile, its engines roaring like a caged beast. As the platform lifted them to Gotham's surface, Damian's cape billowed, and the cave's lights dimmed, as if the Batman himself was watching.
April 20, 2065, 00:32
Wayne Manor Perimeter, Outskirts of Gotham City
Elias sprinted across a weed-choked field, the manor's iron gates looming like the jaws of a beast. Lightning cracked, illuminating shattered gargoyles perched on the walls. Since Alfred Pennyworth's death in 2049, the estate had crumbled ivy strangled its spires, and wind howled through broken windows. Elias's pulse disruptor fried the gate's ancient security grid with a sizzle, sparks showering his face.
He vaulted the wall, landing in a crouch, and dashed to a collapsed balcony. His goggles switched to thermal, revealing no guards, only rats skittering through the ruins. Inside, he swung through a shattered window, glass crunching underfoot, and landed in a cavernous parlor. Dust swirled like ghosts, stirred by his movement. A toppled chandelier glittered faintly, and a holo-frame flickered, showing Bruce Wayne with a young boy Damian, the lost heir.
Elias's datapad buzzed, detecting a signal deep within the manor. He sprinted down a corridor, dodging fallen beams, his boots echoing on cracked marble. Paintings of Waynes stared down, their eyes seeming to follow him. At a sealed door etched with a bat symbol, he knelt, his lockpick whirring. The door resisted, humming with old tech. A shadow flickered in his peripheral vision too fast, too human. Elias spun, disruptor raised, but the hall was empty. His breath hitched. "Just the wind," he muttered, but his hands shook as he forced the door open.
June 12, 2030, 03:15
Falcone Warehouse, Gotham Docks
Damian, as Batman, swung from a grapple line, crashing through a warehouse skylight in a spray of glass. Below, Falcone's smugglers unloaded crates of illegal biotech, their flashlights slicing the dark. Nightwing landed beside him, whispering through comms: "Hit hard, stay clean. No bodies."
Damian's blood sang with the fight. He dove, cape flaring like wings, and tackled a guard, his fist cracking bone. Batarangs flew, disarming two more in a blur of steel. The warehouse erupted gunfire sparked, crates splintered. Damian weaved through bullets, his suit's plating absorbing a glancing shot. He flipped over a thug, snapping his arm, but the man's scream drew more fire.
Nightwing grappled a shooter, shouting, "Damian, control it!" But Damian was a storm, his League training unleashed. He disarmed a smuggler, his blade grazing the man's throat too close. Blood welled, and Nightwing's glare cut deeper than any knife.
Sirens wailed as they fled, swinging across the docks. Back in the Batcave, Dick shoved Damian against a console. "You're not Ra's, and you're not Bruce! Rein it in, or you're done!" Damian's chest heaved, the Batsuit's weight suffocating. He didn't know if he could be Gotham's savior or if he even wanted to try.
April 20, 2065, 01:05
Batcave, Beneath Wayne Manor
The bat-etched door groaned open, revealing a spiral staircase plunging into darkness. Elias descended, his boots clanging on rusted steps, the air growing colder with each turn. His goggles flickered, picking up faint EM pulses tech, ancient but alive. The staircase ended in a cavernous chamber: the Batcave, a cathedral of shadows and steel.
Consoles loomed like tombstones, their screens cracked but humming. A glass case held a tattered Robin suit, its cape shredded. Elias's breath caught as he spotted a vault across the cave, its Wayne Enterprises logo glowing faintly. His datapad screamed military-grade encryption, beyond his tech. This was the Batman's heart, and he was standing in it.
He sprinted to the vault, dodging stalagmites, but a holographic Bruce Wayne flared to life, his stern face projected from a hidden emitter. "Intruder," it boomed, voice shaking the cave. "State your purpose, or be erased." Elias stumbled, pulse racing. The hologram's eyes bored into him, alive with judgment. "I'm here for the Batman," he stammered, "to keep his legacy alive!"
The hologram flickered. "Legacy is a blade, Elias Kane. Wield it poorly, and it cuts."
Elias's jaw dropped how did it know his name? A low hum vibrated the cave. Wall panels slid open, revealing automated turrets, their red lasers locking onto him. He dove behind a console, the cave alive with movement gears grinding, lights strobing. He wasn't just an intruder; he'd woken something ancient and angry.
July 3, 2035, 23:59
Rooftop, Gotham Financial District
Damian, now 21 and battle-scarred, balanced on a skyscraper's edge, Gotham's neon veins pulsing below. Five years as Batman had saved the city from Penguin's riots and Riddler's blackouts, but the cost was carved into his soul. The Batfamily was fracturing Dick gone, Tim distant, Barbara a voice in his ear. The cowl was a noose, tightening with every night.
A figure emerged from the shadows: Talia al Ghul, his mother, her silk cloak billowing in the wind. "You're dying for a city that doesn't care, my son," she purred. "Ra's offers you the world. Leave this graveyard."
Damian's grapple gun twitched in his hand, his body tense. Bruce's code justice, not vengeance clashed with the League's promise of control. He'd saved Gotham, but it never stopped bleeding. Talia's words were a blade, slipping through his armor. She vanished into the night, and Damian swung away, the city's weight dragging him down.
April 20, 2065, 01:12
Batcave, Beneath Wayne Manor
Elias rolled from cover as turrets fired, laser bolts scorching the console. "I'm not here to steal!" he shouted, voice lost in the chaos. The Bruce hologram watched, unmoved. "Prove it," it said, and the turrets paused, their hum deafening.
Elias's mind raced. Fame? Redemption? "I want to understand him," he gasped. "To honor the Batman."
The hologram's eyes softened, just for a moment. "Honor is a heavy burden." It vanished, the turrets retracting. Elias staggered to the vault, his lockpick trembling as it cracked the seal. Inside, black armor gleamed the Batsuit, its cape pooling like ink.
A shadow moved, swift and silent. Elias spun, but a cloaked figure slammed him against the vault, a gloved hand pinning his throat. "Grave robbers don't get to play hero," the figure rasped, eyes glinting like a predator's. Elias's goggles sparked, dying. The figure's grip tightened, then released as alarms blared anew.
Elias stumbled back, the vault slamming shut. The figure vanished into the cave's depths, a ghost swallowed by shadows. Elias ran, tripping over cables, the cave's pulse chasing him up the stairs. He'd found the Batman's heart and something alive was guarding it.