The world tends to take, more than it gives Master Bruce...

Alone. That was the only word to describe how Bruce felt. Yes, this was a feeling he had felt before, but not like this. Never before had he ever experienced loneliness of this magnitude. It felt... cold, and dark. As if he was on a hike through the himalayas. There was a constant ringing in his ear, as a chilling feeling coursed through hir small, frail body. The stench of the air was putrid, and revolting, along with the mixed aroma of wet soil, and cigar smoke. Indeed, the scent left a bad taste in his mouth, almost metallic and burnt. He looked down at the broken figures before him, their faces showing no emotion of any sort, well, at least none he had ever seen. After all, he was still a boy.

And then the sound... the dreadful sound continued to play in his head over and over... Bang!! Bang!! and it continued to play on repeat, every second of every minute, as he stared into the eyes of the figures... figures who he loved and adored... and who did the same unto him. Now here they laid... broken...

The more he stared, the more he could feel a sensation of no other rise from the pit of his stomach, as if a fiery haze was swallowing him whole, slowly encompassing his entire being and he couldn't escape it. Was he going mad? Was this traumatic experience slowly twisting the poor boy? No... it didn't seem so. This experience wasn't altering him even in the slightest, and yet he still felt.. wrong.

Yes... this was wrong.

The event that had taken place not moments ago was not done out of the well being of mankind, and he had always been taught to value and cherish other people. This man had done the opposite. He wasn't mad, that dreadful man was. Indeed, Bruce was different kind of mad at the moment... the fire in his eyes told him just that. Now, the reality of the situation had dawned on him.

His parents were dead. Gone. Vamoose.

Now he could only sit there amongst their emotionless stares. No, wait, these stares weren't emotionless. They were filled with a certain chilling darkness that he had felt not moments ago. Fear.

Seeing his parents like this was slowly melting his own fear away, and replacing it with the fire. This fire, was something he knew. He remembered it from the day he had been pushed around by a couple of mean school-boys. This was anger. Pure rage. He screamed out into the night not of fear... he screamed out of rage, a newfound darkness. Tears began to shed, and it wasn't long before a police car pulled up. She looked over at it as two men stepped out from it. The one on the left was Detective James Gordon, a kind-hearted, honest police officer who hadn't been on Gotham's force for quite long. The other, was Detective Harvey Bullock, who was once a loyal and carefree officer, but since then has been slowly altered by Gotham's underworld. And although they had their differences, the two made a great team.

Once he saw the sight before him, Gordon gasped. "Harvey, call for backup!" Harvey nodded and took out a radio as he led the boy to the car.

"This is Officer Bullock, I gotta couple of corpses down on Park Row that need cleaning up, we found a kid with them-"

"My god... these are the Wayne folks!! Thomas and Martha!" Gordon shouted to his partner, interrupting him.

"Uh... correction, high class corpses... over." Harvey said with a sigh as he put the radio away. "Stay here kid." He said to Bruce before running back to his partner. "Jim, go watch the damn kid while I take care of this." He barked, receiving a quick nod in return.

Gordon soon returned to the boy and put an arm on his shoulder. "Uh, hey there buddy... you alright?" He asked, receiving a shake of the head in return. "Ugh, why did I ask that?!" Jim muttered as he facepalmed. She then looked back at the sad, shivering child. "Look. I swear to you on God's name that I'm gonna find the bastard who did this, and throw the book at him. But I need you to be strong... do you have any other family at home?"

Bruce sat silent for a few seconds before speaking up. "All I had were my parents... save for our butler Alfred... I guess he counts."

Gordon smiled. "Sure, we'll make sure to contact him when we get back to the station."

Meanwhile, Harvey was still examining the bodies as he smoked a cigar. "Man, these guys got fucked up..." He muttered as he looked at the wounds, which looked almost unnatural, as if it wasn't a gun that did this. Clearly though, it was, considering he could obviously see the bullets trapped in the open wounds. With a heavy heart, once the backup arrived, Gordon and Harvey fled the scene with the young Wayne child, taking him far away from his parents, but bringing him ever closer to his despair.

...

About an hour after arriving at the station, Alfred arrived as well. He looked over to see Bruce bundled in his father's coat. Alfred cocked a brow, curious of why he had the master's coat, and how he was nowhere to be found.

Gordon quickly pulled him aside and broke the news to him. With a painful sigh, he walked over and knelt at the boy's side and spoke softly to him. "Master Bruce... this is a travesty that will take time to wash over.. and i can't say I know how you feel. All I can say is that I am truly and terribly sorry for your loss... they were as much of family to me almost as much as they were to you... I'm so sorr-"

"It's my fault..." Bruce interjected. "I offered we take the back door because it was a quicker walk and we did... it was my fault..."

"Do not say that Master Bruce. You did nothing wrong." He said as he hugged the child, receiving a hug from him as well. "It was only the fault of the man who did this..." He said as he picked him up into the air, taking him to the limo and setting him in the back. Alfred hoped that he had at least felt a little better from his actions, yet, as they drove, only one word could describe how Bruce was feeling.

Alone.