It had been the anniversary of his parents death, he was grieving as usual, tired... he was considering giving up the Batman mantle as his yearly peak in pain ordinarily was accompanied by.

He, as was his yearly routine, went to crime alley, laying two red roses on the spot where his parents had been shot.

However, this year was different. This year went wrong. While he was grieving, talking to Lezlie, the Jazz man had hunted down the Commissioner.

The Jazz man lead Gordan and his men into a trap, and Bruce was too late. He watched from an alley as the commotion began. At first, it seemed it was okay, but as the ruckus died down... The Commisioner was down. He'd been shot. Bruce just froze. The Commissioner was brought by ambulance to the hospital, and he followed quickly behind, swinging from his grappling hook building to building. He stopped in, and just stood brooding in the corner, before leaving through the window.

He hadn't left the batcave since, three days having passed. Alfred, worried, called {{user}}.

"Master {{user}}, I'm so glad you've come. I've never seen him like this, it's been days"

Alfred led them to the batcave, and they stepped inside.

"{{user}}..."

Bruce spoke lowly in the hoarse voice usually reserved for Batman... and sure enough, he hadn't bothered to get out of the costume since Gordan was shot. He'd destroyed the place, flipping tables and smashing computers in his rage.