In Darkest Knight – Gotham Rewritten
I watched the first season of Gotham, and unfortunately, I didn’t really like it. It seemed too dark, too mean spirited, and I was pretty disappointed. It seemed that they started with Bruce Wayne being too young. I get the idea that Gotham is a very nasty place, full of creeps and perverts, but couldn’t that have been covered within the first two or three episodes?
I do like the casting of Bat Jim Gordon, Dr. Tompkins, Alfred, Bruce, and Catwoman. You’ll see that I liked those characters throughout the following story. I’m no expert, but I found all of the histories of Gotham’s villains to be disturbing. Why did they dwell on them for so many episodes?
Fish Mooney was one of the worst characters that I have ever seen. Barbara Kean was also an unnecessary and over the top pervert, in my opinion. So I created this fanfic with my take on how the great character of Batman could be created. It seems more suited to CW than Fox though. I want to run this story like Smallville. Batman Begins was also a fairly good origin story.
Please feel free to respond with any suggestions for this ongoing story.
In Darkest Knight – Gotham rewritten
Opening Shot:
Camera pans down from a gray and black winged gargoyle perched atop the corner of a large twenty story gothic style skyscraper. It’s nighttime, relatively cool and damp, with no moonlight visible. The camera continues its trajectory towards the bottom of the building.
The camera angle stops on a young girl, no more than twelve or thirteen years old. She’s dressed in ragged black and gray clothing. As she sits alone on the third floor landing of the building’s fire escape, she pets a black kitten.
The girl is chewing absently on an old, but not yet spoiled, apple. She gives a small juicy chunk to the animal who voraciously devours it. The kitten meows appreciatively, but amid its purring, the cat’s ears perk up and it turns towards the lighted end of the alleyway.
“Do you hear something, girl?” The child asks the now fully alert young cat. The kitten arches its back and hisses, turning towards the unlit side of the alley. At this time of night, the area is in full shadow. Despite being located in the heart of the bustling downtown area, the local darkness is nearly impenetrable. The young girl is now fully alert.
She silently reaches into the partially torn pocket of her sweatshirt, retrieving a slingshot and a fairly good-sized rock. She readies her weapon, and assumes a crouching position.
Three figures emerge at the dimly lit entrance to the alley. The theatre district was usually crowded, yet the night was far too silent. Two adults and one child carelessly enter the alley and begin walking towards the darker side. They pass right beneath the young girl.
She quickly shields herself from their sight, ducking into the shadowy doorway of the apartment behind her. Predictably, the cat scampers away, running down the stairs of the fire escape. It leapt acrobatically onto the large metal door of a garbage scow. Though the animal landed cleanly and silently, two startled rats bolted out into the midst of the alley.
The rodents, frightened by the arrival of their arch enemy, clumsily brushed against an old rusted beer can. It clanked noisily, having fallen from atop the garbage bin onto the grimy concrete. It rolled to a stop at the alley’s center. The cat darted in the opposite direction.
By now the three pedestrians had made their way halfway through the filthy alley. They could see the dimly lit alley exit, just beyond the suffocating darkness. They were unaware that two sets of eyes had been focused on them. The young girl forced her breathing into near silence.
Warily, the three citizens passed into the building’s shadow. “Thomas? Must we go this way?” A frightened female voice broke the deafening silence. “I don’t think we should.” She hesitated briefly as she held the child’s hand tightly. The child peered into the shadows. Had he seen something? The man held his son’s other hand in his.
“I know honey. You know how the media is. They’re all over the theater entrance.” A deep male voice responded. “I found that it’s always best to avoid them.” He continued. “Still, we shouldn’t…” Her protests went unheard. “You’re not scared, are you, buddy?” Thomas asked his twelve year old son. “No, Poppa.” He replied nervously.
“Really, Bruce, we don’t have to walk this way.” The woman pleaded. “It’s okay Momma.” Young Bruce tried to sound brave. Suddenly, out of the shadows, near a building’s rear exit doorframe, a thief emerges and points a large silver gun barrel at Bruce’s head and clicks the trigger.
“You shoulda listened to the lady, dude.” The gunman spoke in a low, deep, gravelly voice. “Gimme your wallet, purse, gold watch, and pearl necklace, right now, or the kid gets it.” The robber threatened. “Eek! Honey! Do as he says!” Bruce’s mother, Martha cried.
“Okay! Okay! Take it easy!” Thomas Wayne pleaded as his hands rose. “Let me get my wallet!” The middle-aged billionaire business tycoon said as he reached across his body and picked the wallet out of his suit jacket pocket. Mr. Wayne tossed the wallet on the ground in front of the hoodlum, hoping that the hood was dumb enough to reach down for it.
Thomas’s plan was to either take a bullet himself to save his wife and son, or attack the thug and disarm him. That plan failed. “I ain’t that stupid!” The gunman menaced. “Lady, toss the pearl necklace over here, nice and easy. Dude, don’t move a muscle!” The assailant ordered.
He waived the glistening gun randomly between Bruce and Martha. “Who gets it first?” the goon growled. Mrs. Wayne removed the necklace, letting go of Bruce’s hand. She edged towards the criminal ever so slightly to hand him the necklace. Thomas Wayne moved barely a fraction of an inch, but it was enough to unnerve the crook.
The mugger freaked out, firing a few shots at the middle-aged couple. Mr. and Mrs. Wayne were killed instantly. The pearl necklace broke as Martha Wayne’s bloodied hand hit the ground. Pearls scattered in every direction. Thomas fell beside his wife and Bruce, and now lay in a puddle of blood. Young Bruce stood silently between them.
The girl that had been hiding along the fire escape landing stifled a scream. She vaulted down onto the next level of the fire escape, and had only one more group of stairs between her and the alley way to jump from. The murderer pointed the gun squarely at Bruce’s head.
“Sorry kid! I can’t have no witnesses.” The thug’s voice rumbled. He clicked the gun’s chamber into place. Bruce uttered a terrifying scream, and simultaneously, the young girl leapt across the remaining distance to the ground, landing with a thud in the darkness. She’d accidentally kicked the beer cans to the side as she fled. The fire escape ladder clanked noisily against the brick wall.
The murderer had had enough. He picked up Mr. Wayne’s wallet, and grabbed a handful of the fallen pearls. “See ya around, kid!” The crook taunted and grinned evilly as he ran off into the darkness. Blood pooled at the alley’s center, as Bruce fell to his knees between his parents’ bodies, wailing and hyperventilating, as sirens were heard in the distance.
Flash Forward Four Years
Scene opens at Stately Wayne Manor. Camera pans from above the enormous “Y” shaped mansion and its surrounding grounds. There is a waterfall at the far south end of the fenced in property. A ten foot high decorative stone and steel beam wall encircles the acreage. A massive double iron gate delineates the property from the darkened access road.
At the center of the broad black gate is a capital letter “W”. Beside the gate is a sophisticated electronic access panel complete with monitor and sound. Oddly enough, a common looking brick and cast iron mailbox has been riveted to the wall. The lettering upon it says only “Wayne.” A simple decorative set of early twentieth century incandescent electric bulbs cast a cone shaped light down on the multicolored pebbled driveway.
Within the manor, a dual carpeted staircase winds downstairs from the dimly lit second floor. Some of the lighting, lamps, sconces, and candelabras seemed to have been frozen in time, though neither a cobweb nor speck of dust would be found anywhere.
The grand ballroom lay just to the right of the staircase, beyond that, the dining hall, kitchen, and breakfast nook, led towards the West Wing of the nearly century old gothic style mansion. The opposing staircase was bordered by the library, executive study hall, conservatory, greenhouse, and Olympic sized indoor swimming pool. At the far end of the pool, stood the French style double doors, that invited anyone into the East Wing.
Most of the mansion was now dimly lit or bathed in complete darkness, a ghost of a bygone era. Though the candelabras beckoned warmly, only a chilled wind swayed the flames, the shadows they cast dancing along the walls. The fireplace was ablaze, as sixteen year old Bruce Wayne seated himself in a luxurious black leather armchair.
The fireplace mantle itself had been relatively unchanged since its inception in the early part of the twentieth century. The pictures that stood upon it had been moved and updated occasionally, based on Bruce’s whims. Today, the haunted teenager stared stoically up at a large professionally painted portrait of his late mother and father, Thomas and Martha Wayne.
Dr. Leslie Tompkins had called Bruce a half dozen times already today, and he’d ignored her calls. Alfred Pennyworth, the Wayne family’s loyal butler turned legal guardian walked into the study and scowled as he stopped before the teenage billionaire. “Master Bruce!” Alfred began angrily. “Dr. Tompkins is at the front door. I expect that you’ll speak politely and frankly with her!” Bruce turned away briefly before sighing. “Fine, Alfred! I’ll see her!” He snapped.
“You surely will!” Alfred retorted as Bruce folded his arms defiantly. By now, Dr. Tompkins had grown tired of waiting for Bruce’s response and strolled quickly through the Great Hall, past the twin staircases of stately Wayne Manor. Confidently, she stepped into the large study, witnessing a heated discussion between Bruce and Alfred. “Master Bruce! Please try and understand that Dr. Tompkins, Jim Gordon, and I have your best interests at heart!”
The elder gentleman was through pleading, as Bruce sighed again. He turned to face the thirty- something Dr. Tompkins, a certified psychiatrist, and forensics advisor for the Gotham City Police Department. She also happened to be Police Chief James Gordon’s girlfriend. He had recommended that Dr. Tompkins take over young Bruce Wayne’s case.
The family friend wanted to help Bruce, who had been orphaned at a young age, and had watched his parents be murdered right before his eyes. The orphan had become more belligerent and self-involved as he’d entered his teenage years. Dr. Tompkins had been studying Bruce for the last three years, and had been offering the troubled teen advice. Sometimes Bruce would listen, sometimes not, based on what particular mood he’d been in.
Dr. Tompkins, a certified social worker, had been entrusted by Alfred to help the defiant Bruce as much as possible. “Dr. Tompkins, thank you for coming. Please have a seat.” The Wayne manservant offered. Leslie sat on a leather sofa opposite Bruce, so that she could maintain eye contact. “I’ll get us some tea.” Alfred said politely, as he made an attempt to leave.
“Actually, Alfred, I’d rather you stayed with us for today’s session.” Dr. Tompkins stated with an authoritative edge to her voice. This change in routine made Bruce’s steel blue eyes grow wide. Leslie held a large paper portfolio in her hand. It was Bruce’s entire case file. Alfred hesitantly sat across from them on a leather and ebony wood rocking chair.
The psychiatrist flipped a four page, neatly typed file onto the coffee table between them. Bruce quickly leafed through the pages as he accepted it. Alfred shifted in his seat uneasily. Had Dr. Tompkins finished analyzing Bruce, or did she want to work with a new client? He wondered silently. “This is a summary of your profile, Bruce.” Leslie said in a professional tone.
“I don’t understand, Dr. Tompkins, are you leaving Bruce and I for a different case, or a new position?” Alfred asked warily. “That depends on young Bruce, here.” She responded icily. “This summary contains my analysis and recommendations for Bruce.” Leslie explained. Bruce read through the file rapidly. His reading and comprehension skills were superior to most kids his age.
“Basically, my analysis of Bruce up to this point is complete.” Leslie continued. “In short, he borders on genius, as evidenced by his grade point average in middle school and high school, which never varied much, and bounced between 3.75 and 4.0. His comprehension skills are far above average, placing him on equal footing with a college senior, or post grad freshman. Bruce’s aptitude signals that he would excel in mathematics, science proficiency, and analytical skills. Bruce also has a high level of sociology and psychology comprehension.”
“However, Bruce, can you tell us where you scored poorly on this range of completed tests?” Leslie baited. “My extracurricular activities, attendance, and conduct grades have pulled some of my GPA down.” Bruce answered as if he were a detached teacher instead of a high school student. “Correct, Bruce.” Dr. Tompkins verified. “Why do you think that is?”
“I don’t find school challenging enough.” Bruce replied arrogantly. “I agree with Dr. Tompkins’ analysis.” He turned towards Alfred. “Oh you do, do you?” The elder statesman’s eyes narrowed. “You also noted my recommendations, Bruce?” Leslie asked. “I did.” He replied, showing very little emotion. Leslie noted that Bruce seemed detached from the discussion.
“I recommended that you join clubs, sports, or social media groups. Why? Because you also need socialization skills for life like dating, for instance.” Dr. Tompkins wouldn’t relent as she spoke, and made direct eye contact with Bruce. “I don’t really have time to date.” He defended stubbornly. Leslie watched his face, but he was, as usual, impossible to read.
“You don’t really have time to date?” Leslie questioned. “I understand that you’d be cautious, Bruce, but to be honest, if it were any other student that I was counseling, I’d have a big problem. Do you know why?” She wanted him to come to the realization himself. “Because, my profile as you’d described it, would also fit that of a criminal.” Bruce stated bluntly.
“Exactly.” Leslie confirmed. “More specifically, it could be the profile of a psychopath, sociopath, lone wolf, or terrorist.” She let the statement hang in the air for effect. “Now see here, Dr. Tompkins, isn’t that a bit over the top? How is this helpful?” Alfred defended angrily.
“Alfred, Dr. Tompkins’s analysis is essentially correct. “ Bruce stated calmly. “I can guarantee that I won’t turn into a psychopath, sociopath, or terrorist, though.” Leslie allowed a smirk to cross her thin face. “That’s reassuring, Bruce.” She needled him. “See that you don’t! As far as dating goes, you’re sixteen years old. You should form more mature relationships.”
Dr. Tompkins was like a cute pit bull to Bruce, though he stood firm on his answer. “I seriously don’t have time to date.” He doubled down. “What are you so busy doing, Bruce?” Leslie argued lightly. “I have…uh…hobbies.” Bruce lamely responded. “Oh? What sort of hobbies?” She continued to push. The young Wayne Industries heir glanced at Alfred pleadingly.
“You’re on your own, Master Bruce.” Alfred glared at him, folding his arms across his chest. “Would you like to see my hobbies, Dr. Tompkins?” Bruce teased. “Yes, I certainly would.” Leslie said cheerfully. “Very well, would you follow me please?” he got up and helped her to her feet.
I watched the first season of Gotham, and unfortunately, I didn’t really like it. It seemed too dark, too mean spirited, and I was pretty disappointed. It seemed that they started with Bruce Wayne being too young. I get the idea that Gotham is a very nasty place, full of creeps and perverts, but couldn’t that have been covered within the first two or three episodes?
I do like the casting of Bat Jim Gordon, Dr. Tompkins, Alfred, Bruce, and Catwoman. You’ll see that I liked those characters throughout the following story. I’m no expert, but I found all of the histories of Gotham’s villains to be disturbing. Why did they dwell on them for so many episodes?
Fish Mooney was one of the worst characters that I have ever seen. Barbara Kean was also an unnecessary and over the top pervert, in my opinion. So I created this fanfic with my take on how the great character of Batman could be created. It seems more suited to CW than Fox though. I want to run this story like Smallville. Batman Begins was also a fairly good origin story.
Please feel free to respond with any suggestions for this ongoing story.
In Darkest Knight – Gotham rewritten
Opening Shot:
Camera pans down from a gray and black winged gargoyle perched atop the corner of a large twenty story gothic style skyscraper. It’s nighttime, relatively cool and damp, with no moonlight visible. The camera continues its trajectory towards the bottom of the building.
The camera angle stops on a young girl, no more than twelve or thirteen years old. She’s dressed in ragged black and gray clothing. As she sits alone on the third floor landing of the building’s fire escape, she pets a black kitten.
The girl is chewing absently on an old, but not yet spoiled, apple. She gives a small juicy chunk to the animal who voraciously devours it. The kitten meows appreciatively, but amid its purring, the cat’s ears perk up and it turns towards the lighted end of the alleyway.
“Do you hear something, girl?” The child asks the now fully alert young cat. The kitten arches its back and hisses, turning towards the unlit side of the alley. At this time of night, the area is in full shadow. Despite being located in the heart of the bustling downtown area, the local darkness is nearly impenetrable. The young girl is now fully alert.
She silently reaches into the partially torn pocket of her sweatshirt, retrieving a slingshot and a fairly good-sized rock. She readies her weapon, and assumes a crouching position.
Three figures emerge at the dimly lit entrance to the alley. The theatre district was usually crowded, yet the night was far too silent. Two adults and one child carelessly enter the alley and begin walking towards the darker side. They pass right beneath the young girl.
She quickly shields herself from their sight, ducking into the shadowy doorway of the apartment behind her. Predictably, the cat scampers away, running down the stairs of the fire escape. It leapt acrobatically onto the large metal door of a garbage scow. Though the animal landed cleanly and silently, two startled rats bolted out into the midst of the alley.
The rodents, frightened by the arrival of their arch enemy, clumsily brushed against an old rusted beer can. It clanked noisily, having fallen from atop the garbage bin onto the grimy concrete. It rolled to a stop at the alley’s center. The cat darted in the opposite direction.
By now the three pedestrians had made their way halfway through the filthy alley. They could see the dimly lit alley exit, just beyond the suffocating darkness. They were unaware that two sets of eyes had been focused on them. The young girl forced her breathing into near silence.
Warily, the three citizens passed into the building’s shadow. “Thomas? Must we go this way?” A frightened female voice broke the deafening silence. “I don’t think we should.” She hesitated briefly as she held the child’s hand tightly. The child peered into the shadows. Had he seen something? The man held his son’s other hand in his.
“I know honey. You know how the media is. They’re all over the theater entrance.” A deep male voice responded. “I found that it’s always best to avoid them.” He continued. “Still, we shouldn’t…” Her protests went unheard. “You’re not scared, are you, buddy?” Thomas asked his twelve year old son. “No, Poppa.” He replied nervously.
“Really, Bruce, we don’t have to walk this way.” The woman pleaded. “It’s okay Momma.” Young Bruce tried to sound brave. Suddenly, out of the shadows, near a building’s rear exit doorframe, a thief emerges and points a large silver gun barrel at Bruce’s head and clicks the trigger.
“You shoulda listened to the lady, dude.” The gunman spoke in a low, deep, gravelly voice. “Gimme your wallet, purse, gold watch, and pearl necklace, right now, or the kid gets it.” The robber threatened. “Eek! Honey! Do as he says!” Bruce’s mother, Martha cried.
“Okay! Okay! Take it easy!” Thomas Wayne pleaded as his hands rose. “Let me get my wallet!” The middle-aged billionaire business tycoon said as he reached across his body and picked the wallet out of his suit jacket pocket. Mr. Wayne tossed the wallet on the ground in front of the hoodlum, hoping that the hood was dumb enough to reach down for it.
Thomas’s plan was to either take a bullet himself to save his wife and son, or attack the thug and disarm him. That plan failed. “I ain’t that stupid!” The gunman menaced. “Lady, toss the pearl necklace over here, nice and easy. Dude, don’t move a muscle!” The assailant ordered.
He waived the glistening gun randomly between Bruce and Martha. “Who gets it first?” the goon growled. Mrs. Wayne removed the necklace, letting go of Bruce’s hand. She edged towards the criminal ever so slightly to hand him the necklace. Thomas Wayne moved barely a fraction of an inch, but it was enough to unnerve the crook.
The mugger freaked out, firing a few shots at the middle-aged couple. Mr. and Mrs. Wayne were killed instantly. The pearl necklace broke as Martha Wayne’s bloodied hand hit the ground. Pearls scattered in every direction. Thomas fell beside his wife and Bruce, and now lay in a puddle of blood. Young Bruce stood silently between them.
The girl that had been hiding along the fire escape landing stifled a scream. She vaulted down onto the next level of the fire escape, and had only one more group of stairs between her and the alley way to jump from. The murderer pointed the gun squarely at Bruce’s head.
“Sorry kid! I can’t have no witnesses.” The thug’s voice rumbled. He clicked the gun’s chamber into place. Bruce uttered a terrifying scream, and simultaneously, the young girl leapt across the remaining distance to the ground, landing with a thud in the darkness. She’d accidentally kicked the beer cans to the side as she fled. The fire escape ladder clanked noisily against the brick wall.
The murderer had had enough. He picked up Mr. Wayne’s wallet, and grabbed a handful of the fallen pearls. “See ya around, kid!” The crook taunted and grinned evilly as he ran off into the darkness. Blood pooled at the alley’s center, as Bruce fell to his knees between his parents’ bodies, wailing and hyperventilating, as sirens were heard in the distance.
Flash Forward Four Years
Scene opens at Stately Wayne Manor. Camera pans from above the enormous “Y” shaped mansion and its surrounding grounds. There is a waterfall at the far south end of the fenced in property. A ten foot high decorative stone and steel beam wall encircles the acreage. A massive double iron gate delineates the property from the darkened access road.
At the center of the broad black gate is a capital letter “W”. Beside the gate is a sophisticated electronic access panel complete with monitor and sound. Oddly enough, a common looking brick and cast iron mailbox has been riveted to the wall. The lettering upon it says only “Wayne.” A simple decorative set of early twentieth century incandescent electric bulbs cast a cone shaped light down on the multicolored pebbled driveway.
Within the manor, a dual carpeted staircase winds downstairs from the dimly lit second floor. Some of the lighting, lamps, sconces, and candelabras seemed to have been frozen in time, though neither a cobweb nor speck of dust would be found anywhere.
The grand ballroom lay just to the right of the staircase, beyond that, the dining hall, kitchen, and breakfast nook, led towards the West Wing of the nearly century old gothic style mansion. The opposing staircase was bordered by the library, executive study hall, conservatory, greenhouse, and Olympic sized indoor swimming pool. At the far end of the pool, stood the French style double doors, that invited anyone into the East Wing.
Most of the mansion was now dimly lit or bathed in complete darkness, a ghost of a bygone era. Though the candelabras beckoned warmly, only a chilled wind swayed the flames, the shadows they cast dancing along the walls. The fireplace was ablaze, as sixteen year old Bruce Wayne seated himself in a luxurious black leather armchair.
The fireplace mantle itself had been relatively unchanged since its inception in the early part of the twentieth century. The pictures that stood upon it had been moved and updated occasionally, based on Bruce’s whims. Today, the haunted teenager stared stoically up at a large professionally painted portrait of his late mother and father, Thomas and Martha Wayne.
Dr. Leslie Tompkins had called Bruce a half dozen times already today, and he’d ignored her calls. Alfred Pennyworth, the Wayne family’s loyal butler turned legal guardian walked into the study and scowled as he stopped before the teenage billionaire. “Master Bruce!” Alfred began angrily. “Dr. Tompkins is at the front door. I expect that you’ll speak politely and frankly with her!” Bruce turned away briefly before sighing. “Fine, Alfred! I’ll see her!” He snapped.
“You surely will!” Alfred retorted as Bruce folded his arms defiantly. By now, Dr. Tompkins had grown tired of waiting for Bruce’s response and strolled quickly through the Great Hall, past the twin staircases of stately Wayne Manor. Confidently, she stepped into the large study, witnessing a heated discussion between Bruce and Alfred. “Master Bruce! Please try and understand that Dr. Tompkins, Jim Gordon, and I have your best interests at heart!”
The elder gentleman was through pleading, as Bruce sighed again. He turned to face the thirty- something Dr. Tompkins, a certified psychiatrist, and forensics advisor for the Gotham City Police Department. She also happened to be Police Chief James Gordon’s girlfriend. He had recommended that Dr. Tompkins take over young Bruce Wayne’s case.
The family friend wanted to help Bruce, who had been orphaned at a young age, and had watched his parents be murdered right before his eyes. The orphan had become more belligerent and self-involved as he’d entered his teenage years. Dr. Tompkins had been studying Bruce for the last three years, and had been offering the troubled teen advice. Sometimes Bruce would listen, sometimes not, based on what particular mood he’d been in.
Dr. Tompkins, a certified social worker, had been entrusted by Alfred to help the defiant Bruce as much as possible. “Dr. Tompkins, thank you for coming. Please have a seat.” The Wayne manservant offered. Leslie sat on a leather sofa opposite Bruce, so that she could maintain eye contact. “I’ll get us some tea.” Alfred said politely, as he made an attempt to leave.
“Actually, Alfred, I’d rather you stayed with us for today’s session.” Dr. Tompkins stated with an authoritative edge to her voice. This change in routine made Bruce’s steel blue eyes grow wide. Leslie held a large paper portfolio in her hand. It was Bruce’s entire case file. Alfred hesitantly sat across from them on a leather and ebony wood rocking chair.
The psychiatrist flipped a four page, neatly typed file onto the coffee table between them. Bruce quickly leafed through the pages as he accepted it. Alfred shifted in his seat uneasily. Had Dr. Tompkins finished analyzing Bruce, or did she want to work with a new client? He wondered silently. “This is a summary of your profile, Bruce.” Leslie said in a professional tone.
“I don’t understand, Dr. Tompkins, are you leaving Bruce and I for a different case, or a new position?” Alfred asked warily. “That depends on young Bruce, here.” She responded icily. “This summary contains my analysis and recommendations for Bruce.” Leslie explained. Bruce read through the file rapidly. His reading and comprehension skills were superior to most kids his age.
“Basically, my analysis of Bruce up to this point is complete.” Leslie continued. “In short, he borders on genius, as evidenced by his grade point average in middle school and high school, which never varied much, and bounced between 3.75 and 4.0. His comprehension skills are far above average, placing him on equal footing with a college senior, or post grad freshman. Bruce’s aptitude signals that he would excel in mathematics, science proficiency, and analytical skills. Bruce also has a high level of sociology and psychology comprehension.”
“However, Bruce, can you tell us where you scored poorly on this range of completed tests?” Leslie baited. “My extracurricular activities, attendance, and conduct grades have pulled some of my GPA down.” Bruce answered as if he were a detached teacher instead of a high school student. “Correct, Bruce.” Dr. Tompkins verified. “Why do you think that is?”
“I don’t find school challenging enough.” Bruce replied arrogantly. “I agree with Dr. Tompkins’ analysis.” He turned towards Alfred. “Oh you do, do you?” The elder statesman’s eyes narrowed. “You also noted my recommendations, Bruce?” Leslie asked. “I did.” He replied, showing very little emotion. Leslie noted that Bruce seemed detached from the discussion.
“I recommended that you join clubs, sports, or social media groups. Why? Because you also need socialization skills for life like dating, for instance.” Dr. Tompkins wouldn’t relent as she spoke, and made direct eye contact with Bruce. “I don’t really have time to date.” He defended stubbornly. Leslie watched his face, but he was, as usual, impossible to read.
“You don’t really have time to date?” Leslie questioned. “I understand that you’d be cautious, Bruce, but to be honest, if it were any other student that I was counseling, I’d have a big problem. Do you know why?” She wanted him to come to the realization himself. “Because, my profile as you’d described it, would also fit that of a criminal.” Bruce stated bluntly.
“Exactly.” Leslie confirmed. “More specifically, it could be the profile of a psychopath, sociopath, lone wolf, or terrorist.” She let the statement hang in the air for effect. “Now see here, Dr. Tompkins, isn’t that a bit over the top? How is this helpful?” Alfred defended angrily.
“Alfred, Dr. Tompkins’s analysis is essentially correct. “ Bruce stated calmly. “I can guarantee that I won’t turn into a psychopath, sociopath, or terrorist, though.” Leslie allowed a smirk to cross her thin face. “That’s reassuring, Bruce.” She needled him. “See that you don’t! As far as dating goes, you’re sixteen years old. You should form more mature relationships.”
Dr. Tompkins was like a cute pit bull to Bruce, though he stood firm on his answer. “I seriously don’t have time to date.” He doubled down. “What are you so busy doing, Bruce?” Leslie argued lightly. “I have…uh…hobbies.” Bruce lamely responded. “Oh? What sort of hobbies?” She continued to push. The young Wayne Industries heir glanced at Alfred pleadingly.
“You’re on your own, Master Bruce.” Alfred glared at him, folding his arms across his chest. “Would you like to see my hobbies, Dr. Tompkins?” Bruce teased. “Yes, I certainly would.” Leslie said cheerfully. “Very well, would you follow me please?” he got up and helped her to her feet.
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