Willingness | Bruce Wayne

{Willingness}

Please let me know what you think of the length of the chapter, thanks.

Gotham City, 2005, the year which marks the fated return of the renowned Bruce Wayne, a name you so frequently hear echo around the streets, but not one you trouble oneself with. It's indisputable that his return has already stirred quite the reaction from the public, predominantly the press who already seem unable to keep his name out of their articles. Not a day goes by where you don't see some extravagant front covers of magazines with his face plastered all over, which sometimes leaves you to ponder for a short while. How does he manage to be at the forefront of such an excessive lifestyle? Letting out a small exhale of breath, you avert your eyes from the billboard and continue on with your journey to work, a place which just so happens to be in the center of the enveloping city which is Gotham. While you follow the interlinking roads which represent the complexity of a meander, your mind wanders aimlessly, desperate to deter the pandemonium you face everyday. Continuing your trek, it won't be long before you need to clock in at work, so you lightly increase the pace, careful not to bump into the wrong person on the wrong day.

-

Setting up at the counter, you proceed to consider your surroundings, taking a step from behind the desk and heading for the labyrinth of bookshelves. Admittedly, the job is quite dull for a great sum of the time you spend here each shift, but the secluded feeling handsomely contrasts from the life in almost every other part of Gotham. Attentively reordering the books to fit their assigned positions, you almost dismiss the soft chime of the bell. Deciding you don't have enough time to rush back to your original position, you play it off as if you'd meant to have led yourself astray. A light cough alerts you as you turn around, studying the figure in front of you, being an individual that you've never seen in here before. "Hey, what can I help you with?" You greet, failing to hold eye contact as the person's cap covers their features almost entirely. "Yeah," A masculine voice begins, one that sounds oddly familiar, "If you don't mind could you check if you have this book, my... friend wrote the name down on this piece of paper." Approaching you as quick as he arrived, the man passes you a scrumpled piece of paper and you carefully unravel it. "We've got it, I'll be with you a moment." Smiling at your confirmation, the man nods as you guide your way to the science section, tracing your fingers over each book as you scan for it. Bingo. After getting a hold of it, you briefly read the blurb, seems like it's about different types of anaesthetic and other gases, and the impacts, he might be studying them. Returning slowly so you can further observe the book, you flip through a few pages and see impacts that match with what you've heard about some of the criminals in Arkham Asylum. Maybe this guy's got relatives in there, hopefully not. Closing the book, you get to the desk where he's awaiting you, shuffling behind it and blowing the dust of the book, along with the desk itself. "That'll be $15.99." Still being rather quiet, he nods and takes out $50, looking up at you apologetically, "Sorry, that's the only cash I have, keep the change." Keep the change? Deciding not to pry, you thank him and pass him the book, he then proceeds to leave. Blatantly lying through your teeth you add one more comment, "I've read this, it's super interesting. " Thankfully, the man hadn't heard your lackluster attempt at dragging an already shallow conversation to a miserable demise, and he promptly walks out of the door. Sighing at your own stupidity, you sit down at the desk and await for another customer, one you hopefully won't weird out like you think you did the last. Time seems to not be a concept whenever you're at work, being one of the few that works there, yet you rarely seem to come in contact with all your supposed colleagues. Accompanied solely by the ticking of the clock, your mind begins to wander as you zone out entirely, unaware of what mess you just got yourself into.

- 3rd person POV

He returns home, immediately planning to find out exactly what it is that makes The Scarecrow so presumably unstoppable. The echoes of his hurried footsteps are almost swallowed up simply by the size of the place, and the emptiness. Swinging the large door open, he gazes at the array of books, soon being hit with the intense chill as he slams the book on the table as he passes by to light the fireplace. Whilst the spark becomes a flame, so does his desire to get to the bottom of the thing that's been itching his brain for an exact conclusion. Lighting a candle from the flame, he carefully places it upon the table and it gives a warm glow in the dull room, one sinking in shadows. Bruce settles down at the spruce table in his library as he flicks through pages of a book, frantically searching for one thing in particular. His hair slightly ruffled from running his fingers through it, the man's cracked facade is on the point of completely breaking, with no fake rich demeanour to be found. Scribbles of notes decorate the table, outwardly expressing the chaos in the man's mind at the time, and each phrase all has a similar ending to it, how? Bruce quickly discovers that, finally landing on the right page, the page which deciphers the reasoning behind his problems. Tired eyes light up as he finds exactly what he needs, reading through the side effects, effects which perfectly match the criteria of the patients at Arkham. Arkham. It repeats in his mind constantly, desperate to conclude why it has even greater significance, until he eventually recalls. That's it, the book store, the worker, he pieces the fragments of his memory together, fuelling his desperation to find out exactly how a seemingly clueless individual could have access to such information. The whole reason he had been there was to make sure that the worker was the right one, the one who he had made a link with to Arkham Asylum, around a week ago. Thanks to his acquired anonymous alter-ego, he knows just how to find out for himself, he signals for Alfred to ask him about the book store, and when a certain worker's shift comes to an end.

- First Person POV

Eyes entirely focused on the clock, you let out a deep breath as it strikes 7pm, taking off your apron and casting it off to the side with lack of consideration. Ensuring all the lights are turned off, you grab the key of the side and throw on your coat, the fabric hugging your frame closely. Turning the doorknob, a gust of wind blows through your core, a strange sensation you're not quite sure you'll get used to. Fumbling around with your key as your hands shake, you eventually manage to lock the door as you close the shop off for the evening, desperate to get in the warmth. Whilst you empathise with visitors perceiving Gotham as frightful throughout the day, you always imagine their reaction to the sight of the City at night, yet another thing that's hard to adjust to here. Working your way through the maze of a City, an sense of eeriness distills any positive thought that could possibly cross your mind at such a time, causing you to instinctively change path. Heading for the nearest alley, darkness envelops you and your body freezes up, all sense of feeling ceasing to be. That is until the gloom slowly moves aback, not a great sum, but enough to be able to see the edges of the setting in front of you. Even so, your senses feel somewhat weakened as your vision moves in and out of focus, until after a few moments you acknowledge that what stands before you isn't just darkness, but darkness personified.

"What do you want?" You choke out, careful not to agitate the potential foe. Now leaning against the wall, conveniently in the shadows, the individual takes no account of your weariness and is quick to answer, "To know how you know a few things." An unrecognisable growl of a voice starts, leaving you no room to answer as he follows, "I see you have an almost insider view of Arkham Asylum, why is that?" For all he knows so far, you could be a problem for the goons behind it, you really hope he isn't on the side of them, not with what they're doing to people. "Well, I know, or rather, knew someone who used to visit there frequently until she saw something she wasn't supposed to and then...was dealt with accordingly." He steps out of the shadows, intrigued at the treatment of people who witness events there, "She died?", the newly visible man asks you as you take in his appearance, from all you can tell he's dressed up like a bat, but all his defining features are blocked. "Not literally no, but I feel she's no longer the person she was, more like one of the patients." You respond with a hushed voice, to his surprise you make no attempt to hold back any information, as if you've been wanting to have someone to tell this to. As if you've been wanting to have someone there to do something about it. Clenching your fists and tightening your jaw, you reminisce previous joyful times with your friend, eyes watering with pure frustration and rage, feeling hopeless in what you feel could be the downfall of Gotham. "Are you going to something about it?" You speak up, voice wavering in uncertainty in what his reply will be, to which the man nods slowly. "I'll see what I can do." His cold and immovable exterior staying the same way as it was before he even spoke as he moves back into the shadows. "Please do." You whisper as you assume the figure has moved away, traipsing back onto the path of your original journey.

-

After a rather strange encounter, you find it incredibly more odd as you analyse the scene pictured on your TV. That being the masked individual you had seen just the other night, the one that questioned you about some very private information. Mouth left agape, your heart sinks as you ponder the possibility of this masked vigilante being a common sight to see, for you in particular. Whilst there's been no mention of your name or the interaction whatsoever, you feel as if you're at a high risk. Though you're almost certain The Batman is on the same side as you, the weariness of enemies potentially overhearing your conversation dawns upon you rather soon. The man is even more considerate than he appears, willing to acknowledge the danger you'll most likely be in, and fears any disruption in your life will greatly interfere with his plans. With the power he holds, it'll be a priority for him to watch over you and keep an eye out every now and again, maybe he'll be able to get some more information out of you in not long. Contemplating your next move, you ponder on whether to trust and cooperate with the mystery man, if you can get anything out of the situation. It strikes you that if he truly does do something about Arkham, it'll be somewhat like justice for your friend, maybe you'll even be able to see her for the person she truly was again. Ashley. Her name constantly rings through your mind as you fail to piece together the memories of your last encounter, a short bittersweet one of that, until you had processed the look of distraught in her eyes as she bid you farewell. Maybe, just maybe, will she not be beyond the point of return, the man might be able to save your friend and restore her to the person she was before. Sighing at your unrealistic expectations, you turn off your TV and pull the covers on the couch over your face, too busy being lost in your thoughts to drag your feet along to your bed. Exhausted from your work efforts, your eyes shut tight almost routinely and you drift off, eager for the upcoming weekend.