You stand before your father’s grave, your leather gloved hand dripping steadily with blood.

Grasped in your grip was Bane’s mask—wrecked and looking as though you’d torn it from the man’s face—ruby red rivulets pooled in the mouthpiece.

You set the metal object before your father’s grave—you were the estranged son of Alfred—a dangerous vigilante who at this point had no known connection to the old butler until now.

You step back, and watch the grave and blood and rain water dripping off your heavy trench coat and hood.

This is the sight Bruce comes upon when he arrives at Alfred’s grave—you placing the dark red stained mask of Alfred’s killer before his faithful butler’s headstone.

It was unclear if you’d killed the masked man or if you had only majorly injured the owner of the mask in your quest for vengeance.

He had only come to visit his deceased friend, but stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed you.

Not noticing him, you remove your own vigilante mask and kneel before your father’s grave—the blood from Bane’s mask staining the marble headstone a shade of pink thanks to being mixed with rainwater that thinned out the red.

Bruce catches sight of your face and his heart almost stops, your resemblance to Alfred is uncanny—who were you?

Did Alfred have a secret child no one had known about? Were you distant relative?

He cautiously watches you before you turn and meet his stoic gaze unexpectedly, his expression impassive despite Bane’s bloodied mask staining Alfred’s headstone.

“Who are you?” He asks.