[ID: Bruce Wayne entering Wayne Manor by his cave entrance. He's in his Batman costume and, frankly, looks like shit. He has a fresh, gaping bullet wound in his shoulder, he has blood around his mouth and is dripping from rain (and possibly sweat). His costume is battered and torn, exposing his cut and bloodied legs. He's bracing himself against the doorframe as Alfred cries out, “My word, Master Bruce! What have you done to yourself?!”
He rushes to support Bruce's weight, his arm wrapped around his back as he leads him down the corridor and away from the platter and cup of tea he was going to bring him—which is shattered on the ground because he dropped it in shock. Alfred repeats, “What have you done?” Bruce weakly and insufferably responds, “You... should see... the other guy...” Alfred responds, “Sir, the essence of comedy, is timing.” END ID]
[ID: a multi-panel sequence of Bruce Wayne being exhausted and struggling to take a shower safely. The shower is in a large cube shape with a clear glass door, blue tile, and a drain on the floor. Bruce is facing away from the water with slumped shoulders as he hangs his head and rubs his face wearily. He tips his head back to feel the water on his face before having to stabilize himself on the wall. His back is bloodied and scratched as he struggles to keep his eyes open and heavily blinks. Then suddenly, Bruce collapses onto the floor. He comes to and cradles his bleeding head in a fetal position before forcing himself to be kneeling. From beyond the restroom door, Alfred concernly asks, “Have you fallen asleep in the shower, Master Bruce?” Bruce calls out he's fine. However, Alfred persists, “Have you had an accident in there? Do I need to cleam that room later?” Bruce tiredly pushes his hand through his hair and looks down at the floor drain—where his blood is already being washed away before responding “no”. END ID]
[ID: a flashback of the outside of Wayne Manor at night. A narration box (unrelated to the scene) reads, “Ya think he's got a guardian angel, or somethin'?” Inside the manor, Leslie Thompkins and Alfred Pennyworth are talking in regards of young Bruce Wayne. They sit in a magnificent library at a small table as Bruce sits at his own desk that's across the room and has his face buried in a book. Alfred reassures her, “— Worried about him, Doctor Thompkins? I can assure you there's no need! Master Bruce has the manor to live in — myself to look after him — the best education money can buy—”. Leslie cuts Alfred off before he can continue rambling out more examples. She tells him, “It's what he doesn't have that bothers me, Alfred. Friends — hobbies — the kind of life a normal teenager looks forward to. He spends all his time in the gym, or here reading. I don't think he ever recovered from his parents' death.” We're shown Bruce, now in a close-up and able to see the book he's reading is titled ‘Lip Reading For Beginners’. Bruce peers over the book intensely as Leslie continues to express her rightful concern, “He almost seems obsessed!” END ID]
[ID: A short story titled Enough. It centers around Bruce Wayne being alone at a little cabin out in the middle of some woods on top of a snow-capped mountain. Bruce internally narrates throughout the entire story. The barren cabin is lonesome amongst the pristine, white snow as Bruce enters the cold, muted building. Inside there's several books, oil lamps, a stone fireplace, and candles on basic, open faced wooden furniture – indicating that the house has no electricity. The cabin is one story and has an open floorplan with a single upstairs bedroom, which has only a ladder leading up to the small loft. There's a chest underneath a window and Bruce sits on the old, yellow couch in front of the blazing fireplace.
He thinks to himself, ‘There're rumors that somewhere, in Gotham's most beautiful, snow-topped mountains, a monster is running around. I have a suspicion Man-Bat is behind the strange activity. Mountain climbers losing their camps, ski resorts with missing guests, a strange beast being seen in the dark... Something covered in hair, something remarkably large.’ He takes his parka off and sets down his large duffle bag to slowly unpack it — revealing a thermos and a bow with several large, pointed arrowheads. He pulls out his Batman gear — which includes an insulated suit that's lined with fur, his belt, and a protective face mask that reflects his eyes in the red-tinted visor. He forlornly admits, ‘I can handle large, but what I can't handle… Is how damn lonely it is up here. Alfred says I could use some alone time. Truth is, I'm not such a fan of myself.’
Outside in his costume and cape, Bruce is tracking through the icy woods and the thick, rising snow. He's armed with his bow and arrows as he narrates, ‘To avoid detection by what I assume is probably Man-Bat, I'll try to capture him using only my hunting skills. I admit I'm a little rusty. The arrows I've brought are lethal to some, but they're just enough to incapacitate a beast of his size. It should be enough.. I hope it's enough.’ But the snowstorm rages on, forcing Bruce back inside the cabin since he believes it's not worth the risk of freezing to death if he stays out. He now lays in the upstairs loft's bed. The oil lamps on the wooden bedstand is unlit, causing the bright snow through the window to be the only thing that casts any light in the dark room. It reveals a framed photo of a picturesque landscape hanging over Bruce's head on the wall. In it, there's a peaceful lake and tall, luxuriant green trees.
Bruce solemnly stares up at the ceiling and thinks, ‘I find myself focusing closely on all the sounds of the forest, trying to learn the rhythm.’ The snow whirls on… A branch cracks… The cabin itself creaks and groans — causing Bruce to sit upright with a jolt! He squints out the window in an futile attempt to actually see something out there. He cerebrates, ‘Three nights and only the sounds of falling snow and branches. I've tracked nothing larger than a doe, there's been no news of an attack or sighting, maybe he's left the mountains… or maybe he's just hiding.’ Bruce lays back down, this time with his back to the window. He keeps an eye open — waiting and nearly hoping for any sign of life other than his own in the desolate, icy land.
We're shown Bruce outside again as he fights against the harsh wind to get back inside the cabin after another unsuccessful search for Man-Bat. He rubs his face tiredly while hunched over a small oil lamp as the stovetop coffee brews. He reflects, ‘Six nights alone, darkness lasts longer than the day and again the storm pushes me back indoors. This is beginning to feel useless. I'm really quite over myself. Maybe I'll call Alfred and ask him to—’ But his self-deprecation is cut short by a sudden thump! Then another loud crack! Again and again, coming closer and closer to him!
Bruce sets down the coffee as his mind rapid fires the possibilities of the quickly approaching, potentially dangerous loud noises! ‘Is it the branches in the wind? Or is it something else? Am I paranoid? I can't visualize what I'm hearing. There's no time to think about the cold now, I'm all alone up here. That sounds remarkably large.’ Bruce arms himself with his bow and arrow and hesitates outside the door as his paranoia continues, ‘I hope this is enough. A hunter knows its prey, but I'm realizing I have no idea what's on the other side of this door. Does it understand I'm on the other side? I am alone out here. No time to think.’ He flings the door open!
Geared in only his suit with no gloves or headgear, Bruce aims his bow blindly as he stands outside in the merciless elements. He tensely waits in the dark, thinking to the unseen threat, ‘I don't see you, but can you see me?’ There's another loud thump and crack. With one last hope that it's enough to tranquilize the potential attacker, Bruce fires the weapon.
The sharp arrow proves itself to be lethal as it pierces his unfortunate target. The threat — merely a lonesome, defenseless deer — falls dead in front of the horrified man. Bruce rushes forth and remorsefully buries the animal with the snow. He walks back to the cabin with the repeated, dejected confession: ‘Truth is, I'm not such a fan of myself.’
[ID: Bruce Wayne home at his penthouse apartment. He's wrapped in a red robe and has his hand in the pocket as he internally reflects. He gazes out to the city horizon from his balcony as Alfred approaches him with a tray. He informs Bruce, “I checked with the hospital, sir — and the man from Paris, the man Black Spider shot —is dead!” Bruce remorses, “Killings, Alfred, I should have stopped somehow! This isn't an ordinary case where I'm trying to find a murderer — it's something far worse!” Alfred gently prompts, “May I suggest, sir — that it is your wound talking! Does it pain you very much?” Alfred is speaking in reference to Bruce getting shot in the shoulder, beatened with the end of a shotgun, almost getting hit with a plane, and getting into several fights to track down the above mentioned assassin.
Bruce sits down and brings his hand up to hold his throbbing shoulder. He answers, “Like a leaden knife twisting and twisting, Alfred! Still, I've fought with worse wounds! Slinky's gunshot didn't kill me — and in this business, it's enough to simply survive!” Bruce takes a tea cup and looks at it with a heavy frown. Alfred worriedly slips a pillow behind Bruce's back as he begs, “Enough talk, sir! You need your strength! Please, eat something!” END ID]
