Batman: The Chill of Old Ghosts

Prologue

I.

The rain came down fast, loud and all of a sudden. Though furious in its downpour, this was not a heavy, powerful shower that soaks everything in seconds and lays waste to the light, burying all under its blanket in darkness and water. This was a rain that gives the illusion of ferocity, coming down onto every surface with scattergun effect, while glistening from every drop and reflecting every light and neon glow emanating from the crowded, bustling street outside of the famous Monarch Theatre in the heart of downtime Gotham on this typical Friday night. This was a rain that the fortunate sons and daughters of this great city, while much used to, would take immediate shelter from with their bone dry designer umbrellas, fashionable headwear that costs more than the average Gothamite's coat, and beneath the welcoming bosom of their overpriced and overpaid for cars. These types would run from it as if a single drop would stain them in any way, that this was commoner's weather and the high and mighty did not deserve to be poured upon like the others that often welcomed it. For those common, poor and not so poor alike, this is Gotham, and this is Gotham weather. The children, loose and free from their overcrowded and underdeveloped neighbourhoods took great joy to feel the lashings of cool rain upon their faces and found it amusing and satisfying that they would return to their parents, dripping wet and carrying the days weather with them. The poorest and most unfortunate of Gotham's sons and daughters found solace in the storms also. Whether aching to feel the cool drips of water wash away any and all shame as it swarmed their faces and filled their dry and forgiving mouths, or simply provided a natural shelter to dwell unseen as those who would look down upon them ran and hid in every hole and hovel they could find to escape a simple pattering of water. This gave some of those poor great satisfaction to see.

On this night in Gotham, the rain sparkled as it bounced in chorus against every car stuffed in this narrow street, frozen in time amidst a crescendo of horns, alarms, and profanities levelled back and forth, broken up only by the patter of the downpour. The brightest lights dazzling in between the blur of rainfall are those of the Theatre.

The Monarch Theatre stands as a modern monument of Gotham's greatest days as a city of great economy and flourishing status among the great cities of the United States, and in certain departments such as industrial and technological advancements, the world. The Theatre was constructed in 1851 at the birthing of that great age when the wealthiest families of Gotham such as the Wayne's, the Kane's, and the Cobblepot's among the most influential, stood as the patriarchs in name and fortune of the rapidly expanding city, before the first of the depressions struck and left the fledgling city's vast skyscrapers and architectural wonders as symbolic headstones that left the inhabitants of Gotham below in their shadows.

On this night, the famous old (and in certain areas, dilapidated, due to the financial bleeding its greatest backers and promotors endured) Theatre would be hosting the latest marvel of film; an action-packed, family pleasing romp of heroic leads, visually pleasing damsels, and morally bankrupt villains as was its usual fair. At the climax of the evening showing, the warm, colourful foyers, decorated with golden painted columns and red velvet draped walls, emptied with crowds of dozens departing the auditoriums in haste, only to slow at the sight of Gotham pouring its cold and grey splinters onto the bustling, car-swollen street. Of the swarm of entertained movie-goers leaving to make a street long dash for their vehicles and shelter, a tall, broad-shouldered man hurries his wife and son underneath the wing of his jacket as they wait, teeth-gritted and eyes wincing under the canopy of the Theatre entrance where the beaming bulbs of light above almost blind the exiting from the grey before them.

"God, it's coming down like crazy" the father reveals to his family as his eyes behold the wonder of the rain. They are a family who treat the rain with contempt, richer than most who frequent the cinema. The father wears a fine perfectly pressed suit, the mother a knee length cream dress and blouse combination under a brown jacket, and the son, a boy of no more than 10 is dressed equally for show; a shirt and blue tie with smart trousers and black shoes shining against the lights, while his mother carries a well-tailored blazer over her elbow.