Batman: Duality of Man (Concept)

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

A piece taking approximately 1 and a half hours to write, the contents derive from 3 words i was given as subject matter - "Batman, twisted and hopeless." Outlining a return to Wayne Manor, where things are not as familiar as one would think.

There could be mistakes i made that i haven't identified, as i didn't proof read the piece extensively, and rather took it from its archive and merely posted it.

Some parts may seem disjointed and not yet relevant, however i already had a complete narrative in mind and wrote this, from start to end i had everything thought out, in terms of the complete story.

I'm not used to people reading my work as i tend to cringe at my own stuff and normally delete all my material, as i merely consider them exercises and nothing more. So be gentle haha.

I don't own the image and it's owned by it's respective creators at DC comics.

The cold wet Gotham night played host to feelings of unease, as pathetic fallacy of the weather screamed of an omen to come. The shards of rain collided with momentous speed against the thick, windows of an oncoming chopper. The gust provided by the spinning turbines, causing an uplift of leaves and dust as it neared the landing platform atop the grandiose structure that is - Wayne manor.

Nearing its destination, the chopper began to steady, and slow- the joining between the before airborne wheels of the vehicle and the slicked stone of the landing pad met with rows of private militia standing in full salute.  The finality of the moment causing an eerie silence to infest the grounds of the Manor, all the newly erected command stations and guard towers becoming a void of sound as they all turned in salute of the entity which would eventually eject himself from the warm confines of the now stationary chopper. Seemingly an age past before the door of the vessel was pulled ajar by one of the guards, the epicentre of attention finally showing himself to the legions of soldiers. An all too familiar face revealed itself, placing his slender foot on the wet of the ground, heralding a brooding figure behind him -- umbrella in hand, he turned to the inner confines of the rain-proof sanctum; "Shall we get going.. Master Bruce?" he asked as he stood in wait of his adoptive son.

The tension of the moment was at an all-time high, almost so viscous that it would have materialised and been granted physical form; the exodus of the moment neared as a shadowy figure made his entrance, "Thanks, Alfred." he responded in a hushed tone as he placed himself under the protection of the black matted umbrella. Alfred's formal attire began to become sullied in the dirty rain as he quipped - "If you're done brooding, Sir. I think we're better equipped to handle the man-made elements of the confines of the mansion, rather than the harsh bitterness of Mother Nature."

Alfred began to usher the shaded figure which he called "Bruce" towards a nearby rooftop entrance from the densely protected Manor. Each guard he passed uttering their gratitude and warm tiding towards him; "Thanks for taking in my family, Boss!" one thanked as Bruce passed him, he was a young man, barely in his mid-20's, his words caused both Alfred and Bruce to come to a halt, as a smile graced his chiselled jaw, "It's no problem, son. They're safe now." he spoke in response before returning to his journey, and eventual disappearance into the estate.

Wayne Manor had changed considerable, from its former Gothic glory, to a new militarised form, although the sacred inner grounds remained relatively unchanged -- security measures and all. The new form it manifested was one of extreme fortification, and man power. The guard towers and command posts littered throughout the surroundings, dotted along the horizon like obelisks of Bruce Wayne's power and influence, the soldiers subservient to the whim of the person who they think had saved them from the grim black trench of their fragmented lives. Their faux messiah was someone they would be willing to die for, as he provided them, what no government or nation ever could -- security, and a family.

A Militia like no others, the "Sinful Butterflies", the name a powerful symbol of the people who made up its ranks, an icon of transformation and metamorphosis. From the fragile nature of the larvae, and pupa -a metaphorical symbol of their fragile minds and weak resolves.  To the new unfurling glory of their realised forms, gifted to them by Bruce Wayne. This was the tool that would forge Gotham into a thing of magnificence, or would it?

Submitted: October 27, 2016

© Copyright 2021 Israfel. All rights reserved.

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