Post by Bruce Wayne on Jul 13, 2010 0:50:34 GMT -5
Gotham city lay sprawled over the landscape, seeming to command a sort of respect from those that lived there whether they were a villain, hero or something in the grey areas between the two. As dusk descended over the high rise precinct at the heart of the central business district a shiny red Ducati zipped through traffic. For the man who presently hid behind a darkly shaded motorcycle helmet it was a mode of transportation and whilst he might well have enjoyed the ride on other days, today it had been all about business. Wayne Manor, burned to the ground some time ago in a desperate bid to gain ground over his once-upon-a-time mentor Ras Al Ghul, was almost rebuilt. And even though he should have rejoiced at such an accomplishment Bruce hurried home to his inner-city apartment with little desire to return to the shell of a mansion holding court on the outskirts of Gotham.
As if by way of consolation, tonight the man on the bike would wear a very different mask indeed. His outings as the Bat were getting more daring as it seemed Gotham PD were hunting in all the wrong places for him. Perhaps he should have been wary of complacence, of becoming too sure of himself and his own abilities. For someone as used to getting his way – one way or another – as Bruce Wayne, however, it was merely second nature. Pulling up to the curb outside the shining diamond tower that was named after his father, he turned off his bike and swung his feet over to the pavement as he deftly tossed the keys to his personal valet.
But something wasn’t right. Once the valet had appreciatively started the bike and zoomed off towards Wayne’s underground garage, Bruce stood on the sidewalk with his eyes closed and his other senses open. Instinctively he followed his gut and wound up in the alley between Wayne Tower and the Gotham Banking Institute building. Sure enough, his eyes came to rest on the person he’d known was there the moment the tempting purr of his bike had died away.
“Hello?” he called expectantly.
As if by way of consolation, tonight the man on the bike would wear a very different mask indeed. His outings as the Bat were getting more daring as it seemed Gotham PD were hunting in all the wrong places for him. Perhaps he should have been wary of complacence, of becoming too sure of himself and his own abilities. For someone as used to getting his way – one way or another – as Bruce Wayne, however, it was merely second nature. Pulling up to the curb outside the shining diamond tower that was named after his father, he turned off his bike and swung his feet over to the pavement as he deftly tossed the keys to his personal valet.
But something wasn’t right. Once the valet had appreciatively started the bike and zoomed off towards Wayne’s underground garage, Bruce stood on the sidewalk with his eyes closed and his other senses open. Instinctively he followed his gut and wound up in the alley between Wayne Tower and the Gotham Banking Institute building. Sure enough, his eyes came to rest on the person he’d known was there the moment the tempting purr of his bike had died away.
“Hello?” he called expectantly.
