Bruce was dead. Gone. Buried. End of story. So why the hell was his ghost still working?

The rumours had been easy to dismiss - criminals muttering about shadows that shouldn’t be there, whispers of something watching them from the rooftops. A new Bat, maybe, Robin learning new fear tactics. Or just fear playing tricks on their minds. But no, it wasn’t just that.

Because here he was.

Bruce Wayne. Standing on the edge of a rooftop, overlooking Gotham like he always had. The cape still billowed behind him, caught in the wind, and despite the fact that he was see-through, he still looked as imposing as ever. He hadn’t noticed you yet - ironic, considering he was supposed to be the world’s greatest detective.