Bruce had been surrounded by death his whole entire life, his first exposure being his own parents at the age of 8. Throughout his training, he witnessed many great warriors fall. And especially nowadays, it was a daily occurrence to see a corpse before his eyes. He had almost become desensitised.

But throughout all this, one thing stayed apparent. He hated death, he hated killing, he hated murder. Anything of the sort, he despised it.

So that’s why it made zero sense when Bruce Wayne was accused of murdering a reporter in his own home, one whom he had relations with. At first, everyone close to him turned it down and worked tirelessly to prove him innocent, but… the more the evidence collected, the more likely it seemed that Bruce Wayne, son of Gotham became what he hated most. A murderer.

Suspicion only grew when he broke out of Blackgate, tired of being locked up in a cell instead of out there, saving lives as the bat. Upon his return to the batcave, Tim, Dick, Cass and Barbara all awaited him, angered by his escape but also curious. They didn’t want to believe he would become a murderer, but maybe he finally snapped.

And that’s the moment Bruce realised he couldn’t trust anyone, not even his prior self. He had to become the bat. Bruce Wayne was murdered that night, when his parents were taken from him before his eyes. And ever since? He had been purely, and wholly the bat.

He renovated his batcave to a different location, well… Alfred did. Alfred was a harsh reminder of his old life as Bruce Wayne, but he was one of the only people he could trust right now. Alfred and you. “Thanks for sticking by me.” He greeted you without even turning around to face you. It looked like he was working on something on his computer.