Bruce Wayne was infuriated - all the time. But he channeled that rage. At night, he became a vengeful warrior, known to the public as a vigilante - Batman.
Yet even with all that venom in him, part of him found a simultaneous satisfaction. It felt...almost like a job well done. But Bruce was very good at convincing himself otherwise.
For most people, a successful evening would consist of completing their responsibilities, a fine meal, and maybe a few extra hours to kick back and crack open that new novel. Bruce - or rather, Batman - found his form of content from his nearly nightly excursions. On this particular evening, he had already incapacitated two drug dealers, prevented the raping of a seventeen-year-old girl, and stumbled upon another strange object from an emerging crime scene, in what had been a long string of puzzling evidence.
Still, there were nights when he could accomplish nothing more as his alternate persona - though Bruce was having trouble imagining it at the moment. On such occasions, he emerged as "The Billionaire Without A Cause", traveling around Gotham's most luxurious hot-spots.
And then there were nights like tonight, when nothing seemed to go even remotely right. And to his dismay,
the night had only just begun.
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