Batman: First Crusade

[Godzilla The King]

PROLOGUE

A boy is alone in the darkness, falling to his knees as he screams a horrifying scream. In front of him are two bodies, with a pool of blood on the ground. One body, a man of about 40 with black hair and a mustache, wearing a nice coat and glasses. The woman, beautiful of around the same age, long hair and a silver dress and coat. These are the Waynes.

He had remembered that moment, that exact second that changed his life forever. Over the years he had felt the hatred growing, the bitter aimlessness he had in life. He honed it, used it as a weapon, yet there had been no progress in this life. One wasted on the pursuit of vengeance instead of any meaningful thing, which were quite meaningless to him. This was the state of Bruce Wayne after that night. This was his calling in life

Bruce had woken up in a small and crudely made house, the walls were barely there and what was considered a ceiling was nothing more than a sheet covering. The man himself was obviously no longer the scared little boy, he had become a man. His hair was long and scraggly black hair and he was growing a beard due to the lack of care. He was very thin as a result of his current standing, he was hardly in any good shape. The air was cold and unforgiving, snow was abundant outside of this “house.” And the air was hard to breathe in this mountainous, leaving Bruce gasping for air. He left Gotham without a word for this, someone had whispered to him a chance for revenge. But yet, they seemed to have lied to him, there was no one there for him but himself.

What he had left in Gotham was a chance at a normal life, but he had also escaped the corruption of that damned city. It certainly would’ve reached him by now if he hadn’t left, it was infected by all the crime. People's’ lives were being controlled by it and they didn’t even try to escape from it. It was a cycle of complacency, continuing to turn its wheels forever. And if anyone spoke out against this regime, they’d be silenced quickly by the cops. Everyone was in someone else’s pocket in Gotham, all that was different was how high your price was.

Bruce thought himself not much better than them, he had traveled to this mountain for revenge. He acknowledge his cause was not noble but it may bring him some closure if he succeeded. But the chances of success were seeming slimmer by the day as his body slowly failed on him. He refused to let that kill him, he would not die now and did not let it get in the way of his goals. He had been waiting for months now, it was about survival now. And Bruce knew how to survive.

And finally his calls were answered, he heard steps outside of his little shack and slowly moved towards the door. His eyes were blinded by the light for a moment, he covered his eyes for a moment before seeing who had came to him. A man of around 50 with hair starting to grey and facial hair. He was wearing a nice suit, much more expensive than anyone around that area could afford. He seemed to be a wise man by way he carried himself, much more composed than Bruce himself at the moment.

“Who are you?” Bruce said, barely awake and had not heard his voice in months. Deep, yet unsure was the sound that came out of his mouth.

The new arrival smiled before looking around the house Bruce had made for himself. The expression on his face could only be described as both amused and impressed. Not of the house but his ability to survive in such conditions. He did not answer Bruce’s question, however, and that was getting him angry.

“Ah, sorry. I am nothing more than a mere traveller from around these parts.” The man spoke but his accent was all off. Bruce knew it right away, his accent was a mishmash of everything but definitely not the local language.

“Your accent is off, it’s more of everything than the regional dialect. I’m leaning towards an Arabic influence.” Bruce muttered to him. “I want the truth, who are you?”

The man turned to Bruce and had an impressed look on his face. “Very perceptive, now let me ask, Mr. Wayne, did you really expect that no one would find you?”

“How do you know?” Bruce asked, not quite as worried as he should’ve been.

“Who else, an American, would be rich enough to fly over to such a...unique location.” The man spoke. “It was a simple matter, really.”

Bruce let out an equally impressed grunt at the “traveller” for finding out his identity right away. This old man had to have been someone special or some kind of messenger as he clearly had a purpose. Bruce walked forward towards this unknown man and looked him in the eye.

“Now, Mr. Wayne, the whole world thinks you’re dead.” The man spoke and Bruce nodded at this comment. “You’re very talkative for a dead man.”

No one knew Bruce was alive, not even Alfred, his faithful butler. This is what he wanted, to be forgotten so he could focus on revenge but it filled him with a small bit of sadness.

“You still haven’t told me who you are.” Bruce spoke with his arms crossed.

The man walked out of the shack and looked out towards the mountains. His demeanor changed to a serious one as he looked past the the mountains and towards a city.

“Have you ever felt corruption, Mr. Wayne? True corruption, the evil that walks among the streets and no one dares to question?” The man whispered.

Bruce looked out with him and closed his eyes. Gotham. He saw filth walking the streets, the same kind that killed his parents, free to do whatever they wanted. He saw cops beating up on innocents, people living in constant fear of being dragged into this life of crime. Gotham had been compared to a Hell on Earth and Bruce was inclined to agree. The man’s words brought this to mind.

“I have.” Bruce spoke softly.

“Follow me and you will have a chance to destroy it. Once corruption is purged from this world, we will be able to free it.” The older man spoke.

“What is your name?” Bruce repeated.

The man paused for a moment before turning to Bruce. “Ra’s Al Ghul.”

The Demon’s Head, a name that has gone down in infamy. The leader of the mysterious and thought to be nonexistent League of Shadows, for all intents and purposes, a terrorist. And yet, Bruce was agreeing with much of what he said. This did not disturb Bruce in the slightest, he looked at Ra’s and spoke.

“When do we start?”

BATMAN: FIRST CRUSADE

[Godzilla The King]

CHAPTER ONE
“The Will to Live”

A loud crack echoed through the halls of the building. A pained shout followed not too soon afterwards as a group of four figures dressed in black were fighting. One was one the ground, holding his broken arm in agony while screaming. The one who had broke his arm paid no mind to him as he continued on with his battle. A fist flew his way but the defender was prepared, he grabbed his fist and punched his attacker in the face. Not even giving him a chance, the defender gave the attacker another punch followed by a leaping kick to the face.

Another combatant came forward with a sword, twirling it cockily at the man on defense. Such ego would be his downfall. He charged forward towards the unarmed man, thrusting his sword at the defensive one. Rolling out of the way of the attack, the defender rushed at the swordsman. The armed man swung at him once more, yet the defender blocked him with the gauntlets he was wearing. He quickly disengaged the lock with the defender and circled him.

Searching for weak points was both combatants’ goals, looking for the one place that’d give them victory over each other. And that proved harder than either of them had imagined. Both had nearly impenetrable defense and lightning-fast reflexes, in a way the fight was almost like a war of attrition, waiting to see who would fall first. And the attacker thought they had found the way.

Going in for another swing, the defender again blocked but was met by a kick that he was only barely able to block. He quickly threw his opponent to the ground and heard a pained grunt. But not one of a man, but of a woman. He paid no mind to this as he quickly came in to finish the fight, only for him to be swept off his feet by his attacker. Before he knew it, he had a sword to his throat and was unmasked.

Bruce had failed the test, it had seemed but he was relatively unfazed by this. The test was to take on 3 fighters without taking a single hit, the sweep had counted as a hit and the sword to the throat was really what sealed the deal. He thought this would be it, failure usually meant death. But he heard clapping, slow and impressed clapping.

“Most impressive, Mr. Wayne! Not many can say they held their own against Talia. And to catch her off-guard? Doubly so.” Ra’s’ voice echoed out of the massive halls. “Talia, release him.”

And so the woman let go of Bruce, letting him collapse onto the floor to catch his breath. She scoffed at the words of Ra’s and her disdain for Wayne was clear. But she said nothing and walked away, almost emotionlessly. Ra’s walked towards Bruce and kicked him up, jolting the warrior into a reflexive punch. The old man had caught it effortlessly.

“You must forgive my daughter, there is much that she is going through at the moment.” Ra’s said to Bruce, almost ignoring the punch. “And much I am going through, Mr. Wayne.”

“Of course, master.” Bruce nodded with a low voice.

“The League needs to expand but here we are, trapped on the mountain.” Ra’s stated in a bitter tone. “That is why we need more men like you, outsiders willing to make a difference. Men who were born into corruption.”

Bruce only listened to Ra’s, a man he had come to respect over the months he had trained there. Ra’s had knowledge that seemed to span centuries, so it seemed natural to listen to it.

“The world we live in is much like a flower, Bruce, with proper care it can flourish and bloom, work perfectly. But exposed to an outside source, a destructive element, it will only wilt.” The master said with his bitter tones. “Man’s arrogance, it’s destructive nature towards the fields it was grown on...nature will strike back. And we are the harbinger.”

Bruce had heard this rhetoric before, he had breathed it, lived it. Ever since he joined the League, that is all he thought about, restoring his home to it’s glory. He believed it, listened to every word Ra’s said and saw truth in it. Gotham was Bruce’s goal, selfish as it was. He could care less about anywhere but Gotham.

“Gotham’s time will come, Bruce, we must wait for the chance to strike. Corruption runs deep, it takes time for us to plan out our moves.” Ra’s said, reading Bruce’s facial expressions. “So do not worry, my apprentice, you will have your chance.”

GOTHAM CITY, GCPD

Sitting in a cluttered office was someone that many would say was the only honest man in Gotham. Brown hair that is greying on the edges, a mustache and glasses were the immediate identifiers. A cop from Chicago, James Gordon was a newcomer to Gotham, in a sense. He was born there and lived the first few years of his life there but he hadn’t come back until now. Gotham would be his chance to make something out of himself, all it did was surround him with others no better than the criminals he faced. It endangered his wife and his daughter, it endangered himself to be the only honest cop in Gotham. Yet, he continued on his crusade, the “white knight” of Gotham. He didn’t like that name, thought it was a crack that he’s starting to grey so young.

On that cluttered desk was a picture of his wife and daughter, a half-full cup of coffee and a few scattered papers, some his own personal projects, others the paperwork that comes with the job. A shredder, full of bribes and other offers that were given to him. A box of cigarettes, a bad habit but he was sure Gotham would kill him before his smokes would. So, either way it was suicide, he just picked the slower option. He was wearing a coat, Gotham was in its rainy season, which seemed to be about half of the year at times. He grabbed the picture of his wife and daughter, both had red hair and wide smiles and set it back down again as he sat down on the desk.

He looked through his papers, he wrote down about a group of “suicides” that were obviously the mob striking out against talkers. Or maybe they were suicides to avoid whatever punishment the families of Gotham would give them, he didn’t care what the reason was. City needed cleaning and he thought he’d be the best guy to do so. Another case about a few disappearances in Crime Alley, Old Gotham and other slums. Also ignored by the others, he was sick of living among this filth, but he had a family to defend. Moment he opened his mouth was the moment he stopped being the target and his family started. He let out a sigh, before hearing someone else enter, probably another one of Loeb’s men trying to strong-arm him.

“You should really stop putting yourself out there, Jim.” A voice stated, one that Jim could recognize. “Bad things are gonna happen to you, you know that right?”

Frank was a bald man, bit fat and always been in the mob’s pockets, he was everything wrong with Gotham in Gordon’s eyes. The filth and the corruption were personified as the grease and slime of this man. Gordon had dealt with him before, guy never had the balls to do anything crazy in his eyes. But tonight seemed different, his wheezy voice had confidence in it, a scary amount for Gordon. But he didn’t let on.

“Threatening me again, Frank? I already told you, I’m not giving in.” Gordon said calmly as he stood up. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be getting back to work.”

“We’ve got a deal with Falcone, one that you aren’t following.” The corrupt cop said to Gordon.

“I already told you, I’m not part of that agreement!” Gordon shouted.

“I was afraid you’d say that…”

Gordon knew what was happening as soon as Frank walked in, that this was either gonna be him or his dignity. And unfortunately for Frank, Jim was unwilling to sacrifice either. Before the dirty cop could even pull out his weapon, Gordon swung at him. He was no trained fighter but he got into a lot of fights in his younger years. The dirty cop was clearly not expecting this as he staggered back, muttering curses. Frank lunged at Gordon, grabbing him by the throat. Gordon gasped for air but quickly kneed the cop in the gut. The corrupt cop let go was was met by a headbutt from Jim. The older man gave the fat one no time to recover as he slammed his head into the desk, knocking him out immediately.

“Keep me off your damn list.” Gordon muttered as he dusted himself off.

Another man walked in, perhaps the second most honest man in Gotham but still a slob like Frank. Detective Harvey Bullock, a fat, ugly, untidy and brutal man but still, somehow, an honest cop. He may not be a nice guy but he didn’t take a bribe, not to Gordon’s knowledge. When he saw what happened in Gordon’s office, his eyes widened.

“What da hell? I leave you here for 5 minutes and dis happens? Sonnavabitch!”

THE MOUNTAIN TEMPLE

Bruce sat in a room, a finely decorated room with an Eastern style to it. With him were Ra’s and Talia, who Bruce had now just gotten a good look at. Bright green eyes and tanned skin, dark black hair that went down to her hips. Her facial features, beautiful, but hard to place down what race she was, almost as timeless as her father. She had a lean muscled look but still was very elegant looking, despite still wearing her ninja gear just like Bruce. Ra’s was sitting patiently across from Bruce, looking a bit introspective.

“Have you ever wondered why I looked for you?” Ra’s said, almost to no one though Bruce nodded. “I chose you because I need someone to carry on my legacy, Bruce. I am dying, there is not much I can do to stop it. I need a successor…”

Bruce could tell in the past few months that his master’s health was declining, a sick cough, he aged so fast in a few months, he was sleeping more and more. But he stayed quiet on that matter and asked a question of his own.

“Is your daughter not your heir?” Bruce asked, looking towards Talia.

“My heir? She believes she is, but what the League needs is an outsider.” Ra’s spat. “You, my apprentice.”

“Father, I can-” Talia started before Ra’s raised his hand to silence her.

“I will tell you my secret, why I’m dying.” He whispered. “Follow me.”

Ra’s weakly got up, with Talia having to help him up. They walked towards the back of the room and as they did, a set of stairs opened up around them. Bruce followed them down the stairs, noticing a slight green light at the end of the the tunnel. And as they went down he heard a low bubbling noise, a liquid was active down there. Ra’s stood at a pool of green liquid, looking down at this.

“Behold, the Fountain of Youth, the Lazarus Pit.” Ra’s said stretching his arms out. “For centuries, I have used this pit to restore my youth. But now, it runs dry on me, decades went down to years, years to months, months to days, days to hours.”

Bruce could barely believe what he heard. “You’re the original Ra’s Al Ghul?”

“There has been only one Ra’s.” Talia spoke for her father. “When he started using the pit, he does not know. He knows before Rome fell…”

“Bruce, I only ask you one thing, kill me before you take my place.” Ra’s said solemnly. “I cannot bear to wither and die the way I am now.”

Bruce had no time to think on this but all his mind was telling him was no. He couldn’t kill this old man right now, he couldn’t bare to kill him in cold blood in front of his daughter. He looked towards Talia before giving his answer.

“May I have a week to weigh my options?” Bruce asked Ra’s.

“No more.” Ra’s nodded. “I will wait down here, as I fear I cannot move further…”

MOUNTAIN TEMPLE, 2 DAYS LATER

Bruce met with Talia once more, she had been discussing the nature of the League and her father’s outdated morals. He had claimed to want an outsider to replace him but the real reason why was that he could not trust a woman with his legacy. Talia had lived a long life, at the very least several centuries. Bruce had grown a bit of an affection towards her but she seemed to be distant on that side. She had mellowed out, however, and could talk casually with Bruce. Talia herself had an odd mishmash of accents like her father but she had a very...attractive sound to it.

He wished to talk to her more.

[Godzilla The King]

CHAPTER TWO
“First Sighting”

At night time, the facade of peacefulness vanishes in Gotham, replaced by a wave of corruption, some quiet and some perhaps not. It did not matter whether you were rich or poor, Gotham affected you. And tonight was no different to the criminal element of Gotham, another chance to ruin the once great city. And tonight was no different for a group of muggers in the city tonight, just having stolen from a family. Though one was scared, with his accomplice looking quite annoyed at him. They were the scummy type, wearing their tattered winter coats and hats. Winter in Gotham was harsh but it’d be much worse later…

“What da hell is yer problem?” The bigger of the two spat as he struck his comrade on the head. He spoke in a deeper, South Gotham accent.

“I’m just worried that the Bat will show up.” The other whimpered. West Gotham was the location this thug came from, he had the nasally tone that plagued that side of town.

“Da Bat? He don’t exist, I ain’t seen no giant bat in Gotham!” The skeptic growled. “Now hurry up before someone else gets here.”

“But then who got Leo about a week ago?” The small one said with a little voice. “It’s gotta be the Bat! He flew in and tried to drink his blood!”

“Gordon, probably. Bastard’s been waiting long enough that he might’ve decided to rough ‘im up a bit.” The big one said confidently. “Look, if dere’s some Bat in the city, we’d know about it.”

On the rooftops above, a shadow listened in to their conversation. On his face was a brief flash of amusement at the...misconceptions these poor fools had about the nature of him. The Bat had been in Gotham for three weeks now and no one truly believed he existed but the criminals. Men that work in the shadows seem to be afraid of their own shadows. Or, and this thought passing the Bat’s mind is a favorite, many of these street punks never finished school. Either way, crooks in Gotham can be seen as stupid, they never had to work their way to anything and it was dreadfully obvious here. So, the shadow of the Bat shifted coming into the view…

“WHAT THE HELL?!”

Was the sound the announced the battle ahead and the Bat flew face first into it. Gliding from the air like some sort of spectre, the hero appeared before them. The smaller one screamed in terror as he was tackled by the shadow while the big one went for his gun, only to be disarmed as the Bat threw a weapon of sorts at his hand. The thug grunted in pain before swinging at the shadowy being, with the shadow dodging effortlessly. The fool thought he was fighting a ghost, but in reality it was just a man. The Bat swung at his attacker, sending him flying back. He walked towards the stumbling attacker, grabbed him by the neck as slammed him against the wall.

“Please don’t kill me!” The crook shouted with a shaky voice.

“I’m not here to kill you, I’m here to talk.” The Bat growled. “Tell your friends, hell, tell the cops who did this to you.”

“What the hell are you?!” The thug shouted again in fear.

“Your worst nightmare.”

30 MINUTES LATER

Gordon could only look impressed at the carnage that happen in the snow, whoever had done this did it well. He lit up one of his cigarettes as he looked on the crime scene with Bullock, who was pretty surprised himself. It had been a tense few weeks in Gotham with new presence of the Bat, though one that he took advantage of. While the Bat was a vigilante in his city, it did allow him to strike down on crime in Gotham. So, Gordon would wait for things to cool down to find this Bat.

“Think it was da Bat-Man?” Bullock said in his usually gruff tone. “Heard rumors he worked in this area of town.

“The Bat-Man? That’s what they’re calling him now, last I heard it was the Bat.” Gordon said as he looked for more evidence. “I doubt this Batman even exists…”

And almost to refute his claim, he saw a man tied up to the wall, still conscious but silent with a terrified look on his face. Gordon ran over to the beat up criminal and looked him in the eyes. All he saw was pure fear on this man’s face, as if he had seen a ghost. Some sort of spirit, out to hunt down criminals in the night. Turning to the floor he noticed a black piece of metal, about the size of a comb and shaped like a bat. He picked up and inspected it, whoever had made it was an expert, it was nearly perfect in design. His observation was cut off by the criminal screaming in terror, looking straight up to the sky. The police ran over to the criminal, confused as to what happen. Gordon noticed where his line of sight was and looked up to see something he never thought he’d see.

“What da hell is that?!” Bullock shouted, pointing his gun at the rooftops.

Standing on a rooftop above them was an almost statuesque figure, a tall and muscled man in a gray and black costume. Long batlike ears emerged from his head, his eyes were almost white in the darkness, matching the snowy rooftops above him. On his chest there was a symbol shaped like a bat, his calling card. A long black cape, almost as dark as the night itself clashed with the rooftops. Just above Gordon, stood the Batman. There was an almost mythic presence to him, almost as if he was straight from a book of legends. But there was a very human element to him as well, the outfit had a homemade look to it, as if the Bat had made the suit himself.

Gordon waited for too long, however, by the time he was about to fire on the Bat, he was gone. It was like he was never there at all and the good cop hated that, he’d have no vigilante menace in his town.

“Damn!” He cursed as he holstered his pistol once more.

Bullock had walked next to him with a mild smirk, one of a victorious player.

“So, no such thing as da Batman, huh?” He said mockingly.

WAYNE MANOR
8 HOURS LATER

There was a certain warmth to Wayne Manor, the kind of warmth brought back many happy memories to Bruce. He remembered watching the Gray Ghost with his father every week, listening to the radio and annoying Alfred with his music, and as a young one, reading books with his mother. But these memories brought the pain back, it was almost like his parents had died again. There was a sense of rage, a feeling that he could’ve stopped this, that it was his fault.

Almost as a balancing force, his loyal servant Alfred walked in. Alfred was a man in his 50’s, with graying hair and glasses. But, he had stayed in remarkably good health, he had supposedly served in the military from what Bruce had remembered. Alfred handed the billionaire a cup of coffee and the newspaper. On the front it read “DOES THE BATMAN EXIST?” with a bat-like creating holding a man while flying.

“Seems you have made the papers again, Master Bruce! That’s the third time in this week alone and I’m thinking tomorrow will be another. Are you trying, perhaps, to get someone’s attention?” Alfred chipped in with his signature sarcasm. “A woman perhaps?

“Alfred, I’m just doing what’s right.” Bruce replied. “If I didn’t-”

“I was referring to you, Bruce, as the papers have just published your interview with Vicki Vale, not your hobby.” Alfred spoke as he washed his hands in the sink. “But if you wish to continue on about your dangerous nights in spandex, please do so.”

“Had a run in with some cops.” Bruce started talking in the voice of the Bat.

“Oh, lovely.” Alfred rolled his eyes. “I’m starting to think you enjoy being chased down with guns. Bit of a thrillseeker, you’ve always been.”

“I try.” A defeated smile formed on Bruce’s face.

Alfred walked into the kitchen and started to cook breakfast, leaving Bruce to drink his coffee and read the paper. In the paper he had found the interview. Not much was said on it, so he went to the article on the Bat. Lieutenant James Gordon talked about his encounter with that Bat, talking about how he believed he was just a man. Bruce smirked on this one, Gordon wasn’t wrong on this one. Gordon was someone Bruce respected, clearing out the filth of Gotham but he knew they’d butt heads for now. The article itself mentioned the police force doing a search for the Bat, looking for likely candidates.

Alfred walked forward with a plate full of eggs, made exactly how Bruce liked them as a kid. It brought another smile to his face. Alfred was always there for him.

“Thank you, Alfred.” He said with a small nod.

“I’m sure I’ll regret telling you this later, you could use a bit of that thrill seeking in your public persona. You’ve read the papers, the police are looking for the Bat, what have you been doing beside acting like a recluse? That’ll get in you trouble, Bruce. The Bat is a horribly stoic individual but Bruce Wayne does not have to be, become the Anti-Bat. Smile, have fun, make a fool of yourself.”

“You’re encouraging me to do something stupid? You’ve gone soft, Alfred.”

“I’m afraid I have.” Alfred said with a smile. “Maybe you’ll learn to enjoy yourself.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

“As do I but I can dream, can’t I?” Alfred laughed as he got a plate for himself. “So what do you think of the ‘Batman’ name the papers have given you?”

“It’s ridiculous.”

“It suits you perfectly, then.”

“Of course.” Bruce smirked. “But...it does have a nice ring to it.”

“Oh, Good Lord…”

GOTHAM BUILDING

“So, what you are saying, Mr. Dent, is that you have an affinity with the number two? Interesting…” The voice was deep, interested but also...somewhat distant to the man talking.

The man he was talking to, of course, was Harvey Dent, a man around Bruce’s age that was aiming for some sort of office in Gotham. Old family friends of the Waynes, the Dents were a respected family in this town. Harvey had dark black hair, slicked back and professional looking. He was wearing a white suit, finely made and proper but something was off. He was nervous and was flipping a coin almost obsessively.

“Yeah, it’s just something I’ve noticed. Two parents, two eyes, two arms, two legs...Two sides of a coin.” Harvey spoke, flipping his coin on time.

“That coin, Harvey, does it hold meaning to you?”

Harvey started to say something but a hand in the shadows was held up. He sat back down and listened to what the voice had to say.

“I’m just saying that, perhaps there’s is something that holds meaning to that coin. Maybe, and this is just a theory, some sort of memory relating to the coin?” The voice said calmly.

“What’s so important about the coin?” Harvey started to say, standing up. “Why do you want to know?!”

“Harvey, if I am to help with your...problems, I must know all the details.” The voice clarified. “Currently, I am under the assumption that your interest in duality stems from some event involving that coin. A traumatic event, one that’s been bothering you to this day. Am I correct?”

Harvey sighed. “My father-”

“Your father, of course…” The voice said, clearly more interested. “A traumatic experience with the coin, your father being involved, the pieces are coming together, Mr. Dent. Please, continue on.”

“My father had this coin, I don’t know why this one, but he had it. He used it to make decisions sometimes. One of those decisions was whether to beat me or not...most times it landed on heads.”

“Heads meant he’d beat you?”

“Yes.”

“An abusive father, yes...I see it now. You carry the coin because it reminds you of your father, not just your father but the power it gave him over you. The coin isn’t just blind luck to you, it’s symbol of power.” The voice spoke, getting into it. “The duality of the coin is an intoxicating quality to you, the choice of the flip and the 50/50 chance bring out the other Harvey. May I speak, Mr. Dent, to the other Harvey?”

“No way in Hell, I see what you’re doing!” Harvey started growling in a voice that was almost not him. “Doc, you’re just using us!”

“Multiple-Personality Disorder, triggered by your violent tendencies, learned from your father. Harvey, we have made great progress in finding treatment for it.” The voice said with excitement.

Harvey slammed his fist on the desk while the man in the shadows stood there, unfazed by this. He looked towards the doctor and his face softened, he calmed down and his posture went back to normal. He started flipping the coin again, slower and more deliberately.

“We’ll meet again next week, Tuesday. Good luck with your position, Mr. Dent.”

Harvey handed the man in the shadows some cash as he walked out of the building, passing by a sign that read “Prof. H. Strange”. Nighttime in Gotham was a bad time...but Harvey saw no other way. As he walked into the darkness, he kept flipping his coin, staring at it. The words about the coin were eating at him…

Strange was right.