**November 16, 1971. The recently rebuilt Gotham City elevated railway.**
Gotham was experiencing its second Golden Age—though scarcely thirty years had passed since the first.
Staring out the window of the elevated train car, an eight-year-old boy couldn't tear his eyes away from the skyscrapers the car was rushing past. Nowadays, such buildings wouldn't surprise anyone (and even back then they weren't exactly new), but in the eyes of an eight-year-old child, these towers seemed like something beyond human possibility. The child reluctantly pulls his gaze from the window, slumping back against his seat, taking another look around the train car, then turns to his father sitting beside him.
Bruce Wayne: "You built this train, right, Dad?"
Thomas Wayne, smiling slightly at his son in reply: "Hmm, no, Bruce. It was built by the people running Wayne Enterprises."
Bruce Wayne, slightly confused: "But don't you work in that tower?"
Thomas Wayne: "No, Bruce. You know I work at the hospital. Other people run the company."
Bruce Wayne: "Why, Dad? Why don't you want to run your own company? It's yours, it has your name! Wouldn't that be awesome?"
Thomas Wayne: "Hmm. Well, first, Bruce, the company doesn't have my name, it has my great-grandfather's name. He founded it, and it belongs to all of us. Second… *slight pause* I'm just not interested."
Bruce Wayne: "But, Dad…! Think what you could do if you ran it…!"
Thomas Wayne, allowing himself a slight smile at Bruce: "Bruce, the company's purpose is to help people, first and foremost. And what do you think I do? I help people too, working at the hospital. Sure, maybe it's not as prestigious or 'cool,' but does that change anything?"
Bruce Wayne, absorbing his father's words: "I guess not, Dad," he says, before his spirits rise again. "Still. Running a company like that would be awesome."
Thomas Wayne: "I help as much as I understand I'm capable of. I can't run a company like that, Bruce, it's just not me. Remember, don't try to help people on a scale you can't handle. You won't help them, and you'll only make things worse for yourself."
Martha Wayne: "Thomaaas… don't overburden the boy."
Bruce Wayne, falling silent again for a few seconds: "You know, Dad. When I grow up, I'm going to do the same thing you do."
Thomas Wayne: "What do you mean, become a doctor?"
Bruce Wayne: "No. I'm going to help people. Just like you, Dad. And yes, I'm going to run your company."
Thomas Wayne, smiling again, kisses his son on the forehead: "Look at this little future savior we're raising here."
**Evening of the same day. The Wayne family arrives at the Gotham Theater.** The rich have their quirks. One of them is attending operas, plays, and ballets. The Wayne family was, of course, no exception. Bruce quietly watched the performance before him, which was surprising, as children his age are rarely interested in such drawn-out events—they want more of a show. But Bruce wasn't particularly bothered. It seemed he was watching the play just to occupy himself, because in truth, he was simply glad to have the chance to spend time with his parents, especially his father, who was often held up at work.
Bruce continues watching the performance until two large figures appear on stage—simple painted wooden shapes, resembling bats in form and color. You couldn't scare an adult with that, but for an eight-year-old child, it was a different story. Bruce grew uneasy, watching the stage. He wanted to cover his eyes with his hands, but stopped himself because of Thomas sitting next to him—Bruce didn't want to look scared, or rather, weak, in front of his father. Instead, Bruce just looked at Thomas, gently tugging at the sleeve of his jacket.
Bruce Wayne: "Dad… dad…? Can we go… please…?"
Thomas didn't ask Bruce anything more before saying 'Of course, of course' in a calm, soothing tone, then looks at his wife, and stands up, leading his family through the crowded rows of the opera house, saying 'excuse me' and 'pardon me' to everyone present.
The Wayne family exits onto the street through the rear alley. The front doors are usually locked during the performance. It was already night outside; they'd been inside for about two hours, and in the dark, unlit alley, the night seemed darker than usual.
Martha Wayne: "So… what was that about?"
Bruce is about to answer, but Thomas speaks before Bruce can open his mouth.
Thomas Wayne: "I needed some fresh air. You know, honey, all those rich folks wear such heavy perfume, makes you wanna puke. … Your perfume doesn't count, dear. … Alright, need to find a payphone and call Alfred to pick us up."
The Wayne family starts making their way out of the alley, spotting a man passing by in the distance. In the poor light, he might have seemed like just another homeless man, but the way he was moving toward them was unnerving. Thomas tried not to pay attention to the man, wanting to just walk past, but everything changes in an instant when the man gets a little closer and raises the gun he'd been holding all along—a small revolver—pointing it directly at Thomas's chest. Bruce immediately hides behind Martha, who had stepped back.
The Mugger, with clear intentions, tries to sound threatening, but there's something else in his voice: "Wallet! Gimme your wallet, you son of a bitch!"
Thomas simply raises his hands: "Easy, easy. Calm down," he says, trying to smooth things over, then reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket, pulls out his wallet, and tosses it on the ground in front of the mugger. "There it is, take it."
The mugger crouches for the wallet, keeping his eyes and the gun's barrel on Thomas. After picking it up, he shoves it in his pocket. Then, his attention is caught by something else—the diamond necklace around Martha's neck, a gift from Thomas for her last birthday.
The Mugger, still trying to sound threatening, but his tone more uncertain now: "Hey! The necklace too, gimme it!"
Martha Wayne, frightened and alarmed: "Thomas!"
Thomas Wayne, stepping in for his wife: "Hey, listen, we talked about just the wallet…"
At that moment, Thomas makes a mistake. He reaches a hand toward his collar to adjust it. But in the eyes of that mugger, especially under such pressure and in the poor light, it could look like anything—for example, Thomas reaching for a gun in his jacket pocket. The next second, only one thing happens—a *bang*. Loud. Loud enough to set off car alarms nearby, if they'd existed back then. The next second—Thomas falls to the ground. Martha lets out a piercing scream—"Thomas!"—coming from the deepest parts of her soul and heart. The mugger's face wore an expression as if he were about to scream like Martha himself. He clearly didn't realize what he'd just done. It was obvious he wasn't some hardened criminal, just a guy with a gun and a desperate need for money. Four seconds later—another *bang*. Just as loud. If any birds had been flying by, they'd have scattered instantly. This time, the shot hit Martha. Another second later, her body was already on the ground, touching her husband's body. The mugger, still reeling from shooting Thomas, seemed more deliberate with the shot at Martha. Another second later, the mugger bends down to rip the necklace from Martha's neck, which takes him another four seconds. A second after the necklace is in his hand, the mugger turns and runs off, not even looking back at what he'd done. For all those twelve seconds, Bruce was still trying to process what was happening right in front of him, before his legs give out and he falls to his knees, unable to support his weight under the weight of the scene before him. Thomas, in the last moments of his life, turns toward Bruce, who is sitting before him.
Thomas Wayne, with the last of his vocal strength: "B-Bruce… don't… don't be afraid…"
Thomas tries to turn toward Martha, but his head stops moving halfway toward her body. At the same moment, Thomas's breathing stops.
The sound of police sirens could be heard growing closer. Bruce simply continued sitting there before the corpses of his parents. The lack of light in the alley hid his face from any outside view.