Gotham City - Two Weeks Later
The city was quiet. Too quiet.
There were no muggings in Crime Alley. There were no jaywalkers in the Diamond District. The citizens of Gotham hurried home with their heads down, afraid to look up at the gargoyles.
Above them, The System watched.
Jean-Paul Valley stood on the spire of the Wayne Enterprises tower. His suit had evolved again. It was now fully red and gold, more machine than man. He had installed automated drones that patrolled the streets, scanning faces.
"Sector 4 secure," Jean-Paul's synthesized voice echoed in his helmet. "Sector 5... purged."
He didn't patrol. He hunted. He didn't arrest. He punished.
Gotham was safe. But it was the safety of a prison yard.
Wayne Manor - The Master Bedroom
Bruce Wayne sat in a wheelchair by the window. He was awake, but he wished he wasn't.
He watched the news. A report on "The Batman's" latest bust—a drug den leveled with military-grade explosives. Twelve criminals in critical condition.
"He's destroying it," Bruce whispered. He tried to grip the armrest, but his hands were weak. "He's turning the symbol into a weapon of terror."
"He is efficient," I said, adjusting the blanket over his useless legs. "Crime is down 80%."
"At what cost, Sebastian? Fear? Oppression?" Bruce tried to turn the wheelchair, wincing in pain. "I have to stop him."
"You cannot even use the bathroom without assistance, Sir," I said bluntly. "You are in no condition to fight a tank."
"Then fix me!" Bruce shouted, smashing his hand against the wheel. "You're a demon! Use your magic! Make me walk!"
I stopped. I looked at him with pity.
"My magic deals in souls, Master Bruce. To heal a spine this shattered... I would have to replace it with something unholy. You refused the Lazarus Pit. You refused the blood."
"There has to be another way."
"There is," I admitted slowly. "A human way. Or... metahuman."
I opened the door.
Walking in was a woman with kind eyes and dreadlocks, carrying a medical bag. She looked nervous.
"Dr. Shondra Kinsolving," I introduced her. "She is a renowned physiotherapist. But her methods are... unconventional."
Shondra looked at the broken man in the chair.
"Mr. Wayne," she said softly. "I've heard about your 'skiing accident.'"
"Cut the act, Doctor," Bruce said. "Sebastian told me you have a gift. Can you heal me?"
Shondra put her bag down. She looked at her hands.
"I can," she whispered. "But energy cannot be created or destroyed. It has to go somewhere."
The Healing
We moved Bruce to the bed.
Shondra placed her hands on Bruce's back.
"Close your eyes," she commanded.
I stood in the corner, watching with my demon sight. I saw the aura around her. It was a brilliant, blinding white light. Pure psychic energy.
"Focus on the break," Shondra murmured. Her hands began to glow.
Bruce gasped. "It burns!"
"It's knitting," Shondra said, sweat beading on her forehead. "Nerve by nerve. Bone by bone."
The room began to shake. The windows rattled.
I saw the energy transfer. It was violent. The trauma, the pain, the physical damage from Bruce's spine was being pulled out of him... and pushed into her.
"Doctor, stop!" I warned. "You are absorbing too much!"
"I have to finish!" Shondra screamed.
Her nose began to bleed. Her eyes rolled back in her head.
Bruce arched his back, screaming in agony as his vertebrae snapped back into alignment. The sound was sickening, like wet wood cracking.
FLASH.
A massive pulse of psychic force exploded outward, shattering every window in the room and knocking me into the wall.
The Aftermath
Silence returned.
Bruce lay on the bed, panting.
He moved his toes. Then his ankles. Then his knees.
Slowly, shakily, Bruce Wayne swung his legs over the side of the bed.
He stood up.
He didn't fall. He was weak, his muscles atrophied, but the spine held. He was whole.
"I... I can stand," Bruce whispered, looking at his hands. "It's a miracle."
He turned to thank the doctor.
"Shondra, thank you. I don't know how..."
He stopped.
Shondra Kinsolving was sitting on the floor in the corner. She was rocking back and forth, hugging her knees.
"Shondra?" Bruce took a step toward her.
She looked up. Her eyes were empty. Vacant.
"Look at the pretty bird," Shondra giggled, pointing at nothing. "Fly, fly, fly."
Bruce froze. "Shondra?"
I walked over to her. I waved a hand in front of her face. No reaction.
"Her mind is gone, Sir," I said quietly. "The psychic backlash. She absorbed your damage, but her brain could not process the trauma of the Batman. It shattered her psyche."
Bruce fell to his knees beside her. He took her hand.
"Shondra... no..."
"Pretty colors," she smiled a child's smile. "Make the bad man go away."
Bruce looked at me. His eyes were filled with horror and guilt.
"I did this," Bruce whispered. "I traded her mind for my legs."
"A life for a life," I said solemnly. "It is the law of equivalent exchange."
Bruce stood up. His face hardened. The guilt was there, yes. But beneath it, the old fire was returning. The fire of the Bat.
"Make sure she is cared for," Bruce ordered. "The best doctors. The best facility. Wayne Enterprises pays for everything. For the rest of her life."
"It shall be done, Sir."
Bruce walked to the mirror. He looked at his reflection. He saw the scars. He saw the cost.
"Jean-Paul," Bruce growled.
"Sir?"
"Get me a suit."
"The Batsuit is currently being worn by a lunatic with a flamethrower, Sir."
"Not that suit," Bruce turned. His eyes were cold steel. "I'm not ready for the Cape yet. I'm rusty. I'm weak. I need to retrain."
He looked at the window, toward the East.
"I need to go back to the beginning. Before I fight the Monster... I need to fight the Master."
"Lady Shiva?" I guessed.
"Set up the meeting," Bruce said. "I'm going to earn my title back. In blood."
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