Chapter Three

"Unbelievable!" Bruce yelled. "There wasn't much of a chance we'd get there in time to save that family but still... the audacity of Gordon to not even try."

"You know he wanted to." Alfred interjected.

"Bullshit!" Bruce responded. "He took an oath to protect and serve. No matter the cost. I can't work like this."

"Are you resigning from the police department?" Alfred asked.

"Yes. I'll have to do this another way." Bruce said.

"Just remember to be careful." said Alfred. "I've already lost enough and I won't lose you, sir."

"I will, Alfred." Bruce responded.

The next day Bruce handed in his badge. He also "borrowed" some equipment.

"This just in," announced CNN anchor Jack Ryder. "an antifa rally is going to be held in downtown Gotham tonight. So go and show your support for their noble cause."

Bruce turned off the tv.

"Seems like a perfect way to gain some information." Bruce said while spray-painting a SWAT uniform black.

"But you're not going to get people to talk to you dressed like that." Alfred said, pointing at the armor. "Might I suggest something more inconspicuous?"

"Good idea." Bruce said.

After stopping at a costume shop and picking up mirrored sunglasses, a fake mustache, a beanie, and scar makeup, Bruce made his way down to the rally. Bruce maneuvered through the crowd of people and found an empty spot to stand. Next to him was the only calm looking person in the local area. Other than the frosty-blonde hair and the matchstick in his mouth, this man was the spitting image of Bruce's undercover persona.

"You from 'round here?" the man asked.

"Uh, nah," Bruce responded, trying to sound as different from himself as possible. "I come from Metropolis."

"Woah, ritzy." the man said while reaching a hand out. "I'm Matches, Matches Malone."

"I'm, uh, John Smith." Bruce said, shaking his hand.

"So what brings ya to this little slice a hell?" Matches asked.

"I..." Bruce started. "I'm in town visiting family. I just stumbled by this thing and wanted to know what it was. Why are you here?"

"Well, I have a few friends who are in this thing and I was thinkin' a joining myself." Matches explained. "But now they're just goin' too crazy. I mean the violence is way too much. So I'm here to try and tone down the madness."

Suddenly everyone directed their attention to the stage that had been set up. A man walked out. He was wearing a red hoodie with a yellow anarchy symbol spray painted on it, black sports gloves clumsily dyed yellow, and a yellow painted mask with no expression on it. The man raised up his hands as fists.

"Hello my loyal subjects!" the man said in an artificially deepened voice. "My name is Anarky. I encourage you to rise up and take what's yours. You must understand that violence is the only way! No more voting, no more marching, no social media hashtags. None of that is going to liberate the people! Violence is required for liberation! What if I told you that there is no way for a person to truly live free without the complete destruction of society's occupation of our minds, bodies, and souls?!"

The crowd cheered. Bruce gave a worried look. Matches held up a sign that said "Don't defund the police, just train them better". Anarky saw his sign, took out a gun, and shot Matches in the head. The loud bang followed by Matches hitting the floor gave Bruce a PTSD flashback to the night his parents were killed. Without thinking, Bruce immediately threw a punch at the person next to him. That person punched him back. What followed was a domino effect resulting in a battle. While everyone was beating each other, Bruce came to his senses and slipped away into a nearby alley. He pulled out a prototype grappling gun and escaped to a rooftop.

Back at the manor, Bruce went into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and grabbed an ice pack.

"I feel like I'm missing something." Bruce said, putting the ice on his black eye.

"Missing what?" Alfred asked as he came into the room.

"The leader of the movement, Anarky, had something on his chest." Bruce explained. "That's what I'm missing. A symbol, something that could make me more than a man. Something that could live on in the nightmares of criminals and lowlifes."

"What you're saying is running around as a faceless vigilante won't be enough?" asked Alfred.

"Exactly." Bruce said.

He looked out the window and saw a boarded up old well. Something flew out of a small hole in the decaying wood. It was a bat.

"Alfred," Bruce said. "I have an idea."