Chapter Text
Gunshots. The alleys of Musutafu were always prone to acts like this even in the age of Pro Heroes. Dark nights brought out the worst of the citizenry with the Pro Hero patrolling being at its minimum; it was this loss of patrols that allowed a family to be broken that day. Walking out of Association Theatre, the Wayne family seemed to be in a rush. Their son Bruce had felt afraid of the play they were watching; so, they had decided to head back home. Unknown to them, they were being followed by a rather shadowy figure. Being unfamiliar with the area, the father Thomas had led the family into a dead-ended alley; perfect for the figure following them. As the Waynes stumbled into the alley, they were pushed forwards and turned around by the figure following them who had a dark mask on.
“Put your hands up,” he said pointing a gun at Thomas with shaky hands; the fear in the man’s eyes would be clear if they could be seen. The figure had hidden them knowing that letting his fear be seen was a failure in his mission.
“Now… we can talk about this. This doesn’t need to go how it is. What do you want?” Thomas responded, moving his hands up slowly to get in front of his son and wife.
“I said, hands up! Wallet on the ground!” the figure shouted back. The shake in his hands increased slowly as his fingers steadied on the trigger.
“Alright! Just wait…just wait…,” Thomas said.
All through this, Bruce had been cowering behind his father; Thomas was well-respected in the city, but no one respected him more than his own son. Bruce was afraid, yet sure that his father could handle this situation; he handled a million times worse every day of his life. For Bruce, his father was perfect; with Thomas at the head, no problems could occur.
That perspective wouldn’t last long; as Thomas reached into his pocket, he saw an opportunity to counter the figure. Thomas took his chance and rushed forward at the figure moving faster than he thought he could. It didn’t matter. The shaky hands, the sweaty face under the mask, the distraught, cold eyes weren’t enough to make up for Thomas’ speed. Gunshots.
Two, at first. Into the rushing chest of Thomas Wayne. Wayne fell to the ground, his face falling at the feet of his shooter. “I told you to put your hands up,” the figure said, shaking his head at Wayne’s body before looking ahead at Wayne’s wife Martha.
Martha’s screams were short-lived. The attacker hooked his hand around her pearl necklace shattering it to single beads before shooting her in the chest. Martha fell much the same way her husband did- at her attacker’s feet.
Bruce was quiet. What else could he do? Screaming wasn’t going to help; he had soon realized that after seeing his father fall. Running? The man had a gun. There was no point. So, Bruce stood there expressionless; what could they do for him in this situation? But the tears wouldn’t stop flowing. Bruce’s eyes- even in his attempt to be emotionless- were wide and staring. Moving back and forth from the bodies on the ground to the approaching figure, Bruce was in shock. As he stood there, the man who had killed his parents walked up to him, leaned down, and spoke,
“It’s a tough world, kid. You wanna survive out there? Use your Quirk. This world isn’t for people like me, the Quirkless. We’re worth nothing here. So, this is what I do to survive. You wanna come with me? Ha. That’s a joke; hope for some luck out there, kid. You’re gonna need it.”
Ruffling Bruce’s hair, the figure escaped into the open side of the alley into the endless night of the city. Bruce could do nothing but stand there; he fell to his knees in between his parents' bodies. As his parents bled, Bruce cried. He tried to scream but couldn’t. It was his fault. He asked his parents to leave the theatre out of fear; he wanted to see the city at night, he had said. He wanted to walk in different directions and explore. Where had that gotten him?
Soon enough, the police arrived. Lucky for Bruce, someone had heard the gunshots in a nearby home and had called the police. 15 minutes of the dark and being lonely in that alley were enough to shatter Bruce. By the time the police arrived, they found the boy emotionless again and in attempts to comfort got no response; the police were worried. The heir to the company making the best Support Items had just witnessed his own parents gunned down in an alley; and was unresponsive- to say the least. As Bruce was driven away to the station for his statement, he saw his parents’ bodies being wrapped in that black, plastic bag he had only ever seen on shows his father used to watch. At 6 years old, Bruce Wayne knew what he wanted to do with his life.
Bruce didn’t scream until he got back home; the screams reverberated around the large mansion as he chose to finally let out all the emotions having built up in the past few hours. The family butler, Alfred, could do nothing but watch as his almost-son tore himself apart over something that wasn’t his fault; Bruce blamed himself for his parents’ death. Alfred had tried his best to try and convince Bruce that it wasn’t his fault. Bruce refused to listen- focusing instead on letting his emotions out and being cooped up in his room. Alfred was willing to wait as long as possible outside Bruce’s door. As long as the innocent boy who left the home this morning returned. Really, it was a lie that he told himself; he knew that whatever happened, Bruce wasn’t ever going to be the same, even if Alfred wanted it.
Somewhere nearby, a certain green-haired boy was born to Inko and Hisashi Midoriya. Unbeknownst to the child, his fate would become intertwined with the emotionless boy in that alley. Years would pass before they met; and yet, it was almost inevitable.