Broken(DC)

POV: Bruce Wayne

I can't believe it all led to this. I just wanted to see my friend again, but that simple act brought him misfortune. Maybe I'm not directly responsible for the tragedy that occurred, but I was the one who invited him, and it was in my building that he suffered.

At first, when he didn't return, I thought he'd died in the fire. The initial blaze started on the floor where we'd lost each other, and then others followed.

With every passing minute, my hope faded, even though Alice firmly believed he was alive and would come back. And then, out of nowhere, he did.

I stood off to the side, watching the fire being extinguished in the skyscraper. A man ran out of the building, looking half-crazed, and it was only by his general features that I recognized him as my friend. The police immediately opened fire, but Alice rushed to meet her brother, shielding him with her own body despite the danger to herself. Alfred joined in to save Brian, too.

But I remained rooted to the spot, unsure of what to do or how to act. The answer should have been obvious I should have done everything in my power to help Brian. But I did nothing, just like back then, in that alley.

All I could do was watch in terror as the criminal took my parents from me.

And now, the situation was repeating itself. Someone dear to me was in trouble, and I was of no help. All I could do was stand there and watch what would happen next. Anger at my own helplessness made me clench my fists so tightly that my nails bit into my palms. I didn't want to stay powerless anymore. I needed to grow stronger. Let me be the one to suffer, not anyone else.

"Master Bruce, are you all right?" Alfred's voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

We were in the courtroom, sitting alongside Brian's relatives. The trial for the mass murder with exceptional cruelty was underway, and Brian's fate was being decided.

It wasn't fair! He wasn't to blame evidence had already been presented that he wasn't in control of himself and had been completely under the influence of Viper. He shouldn't be held responsible for the harm he caused. And yet, no matter how much I tried to deny it, he had killed more than a dozen people. That thought weighed heavily on me.

"I'm fine, Alfred," I lied. I was anything but fine.

"Don't worry, sir. I'm sure the jury will see that Brian isn't at fault," Alfred tried to reassure me.

"I hope so," I replied, bowing my head in sorrow.

The trial had been going on for over an hour. Countless pieces of evidence had been presented both incriminating and exculpatory. The lawyer defending my friend had been hired by me and was considered the best in his field. He had gathered materials that could mitigate the consequences or even prove Brian's innocence.

At the moment, our lawyer, Cameron Browns, was delivering his latest argument.

"I assure you, he is no villain. How could someone so young be capable of such malice? He can only be called a hero. Thanks to surveillance footage and witness testimony, we know that Brian Forman stopped a terrorist who, in an act of vengeance, could have poisoned an innocent child with drugs," Cameron declared passionately.

"And how do we know his actions didn't lead to even worse consequences? Are we simply going to turn a blind eye to all his crimes? Look around this courtroom: here sit the families of firefighters and police officers who have lost their breadwinners," said Christopher Black, a prominent lawyer hired to ensure the harshest punishment for Brian. I even knew who had paid him.

In the gallery, I spotted Earl McKenzie. At first, I didn't understand why he was here, but once the hearing began, everything became clear. Learning that Brian was my friend, he must have seen this as an opportunity to hurt me. I wouldn't tolerate him for long. As soon as the chance presented itself, I'd find someone better to deal with him.

"I have heard your arguments," the judge said. "I believe Brian Forman was trying to prevent a terrorist attack but was, for reasons unknown, poisoned with the drug Viper. We all know what that drug is capable of doing to anyone. Considering his young age and the circumstances, I am inclined to find him not guilty."

The judge raised his hand, preparing to strike the gavel and announce the verdict. But suddenly, the doors burst open.

A man in a police uniform entered the courtroom and walked directly to the judge. They exchanged a few quiet words. As the judge's face darkened, I realized something was wrong.

"There are new developments in this case," the judge announced. "I have been informed that additional materials have been discovered and are being brought for review."

A disk was inserted into the television in the corner of the room.

"We've recovered surveillance footage, which may shed new light on the situation," said the officer who brought the disk.

The footage showed Brian, in a fit of rage, attacking firefighters. It was hard for me to believe what I was seeing. It was painful to witness what he had become under the drug's influence.

"These recordings demonstrate that the child was not in control of his actions and was incapable of restraining his violent impulses," Cameron Browns said, trying to soften the impact.

"Order, please," the judge interjected. "The evidence is still being presented."

The police officer continued, "We've also gathered evidence from the scene, which has allowed us to reconstruct a potential chain of events. The incident on the twenty-sixth floor triggered the explosions, and the defendant was directly involved. Blood traces, eyewitness testimony, and fragments of surveillance footage clearly tie him to the event. During the confrontation, he managed to survive and escape. His last known location was an emergency exit, partially collapsed due to the explosions. There is substantial evidence that he was pinned beneath debris.

"A large amount of blood was found in one location, as well as a chunk of concrete that was displaced due to the effects of the drug Viper. The blood beneath it confirms this. This indicates that taking the drug was a conscious decision he made to survive."

The officer concluded his report and began distributing copies of the evidence to the attorneys and jury members.

"Given the need to review the new materials, I am calling a thirty-minute recess," the judge announced.

As the new information unfolded, it became clear that this was a bad sign. The verdict that had seemed poised to acquit Brian was now likely to take a turn for the worse.

Cameron Browns approached us with a grave expression.

"I'm afraid I have bad news," the lawyer said grimly, bringing the weight of his words with him. "The case has taken a troubling turn. If the jury and judge conclude that he bears responsibility for the subsequent crimes, the sentence will be severe."

"Please, do everything in your power," Alfred requested, his voice steady but urgent.

"Of course," the lawyer replied before walking over to Brian's family.

I lowered my head in sorrow. Was there truly nothing more I could do? No! There were still possibilities. The influence of my family name on this city remained strong, and I would undoubtedly find a way to help him, if it came to that.

"Alfred," I called.

"Yes, Master Bruce?" he responded, concern evident in his tone.

"If the verdict is severe, will we be able to change it? To free Brian?"

Alfred sighed deeply, his expression heavy with thought.

"Master Bruce," he began carefully, "I would like to tell you to do whatever it takes to help your friend, even if it means breaking the law. But if your true goal is to make Gotham a better place, you cannot compromise its laws even when they seem harsh toward those you care for. Right now, all we can do is hope for a fair decision. I'm sorry, Master Bruce," he said, his voice laden with regret.

A battle raged within my mind. One part of me screamed that I should do everything in my power to help Brian, no matter the cost. The other warned me against breaking the law, insisting that even one act of defiance would make me no better than the criminals I sought to rid Gotham of.

"Don't worry too much," Alfred reassured me gently. "I'm sure we'll find a way to help him through legal means."

Knock, knock.

The sound of the gavel brought an abrupt end to our conversation.

"Recess is over. The trial will now continue," the judge announced.

What followed unfolded rapidly. Our lawyer fought with everything he had, but the prosecution's arguments proved more persuasive. By the time the jury had deliberated and reached a conclusion, I already knew we were losing this fight.

"This case has been challenging," the judge began, opening a folder, "but no matter how difficult the decision, we have come to a conclusion. Brian Forman, born in 1989, is sentenced to life confinement in a psychiatric institution. Conditional release may be considered in the event of recovery or other extenuating circumstances. Case No. 36-5 is hereby concluded," she declared before striking the gavel.

I sat there, utterly stunned, unable to process what had just happened. I barely noticed as Alfred helped me to my feet and guided me toward the exit. He opened the car door for me and ensured I was seated.

The city streets blurred into streaks of color through the rain-streaked windows, the sudden downpour amplifying the haze.

I remained in that fog of disbelief until we arrived home. I finally snapped out of it when Alfred handed me a cup of tea.

"I'm sure everything will work out, Master Bruce," he said softly before leaving the room, the door closing gently behind him.

I was left alone with my thoughts.

End POV.

POV: Charles McNider (Doctor Mid-Nite)

I've made countless mistakes in the past, many of which carried severe consequences. In my youth, I believed I could fix anything, that no problem was insurmountable if I simply tried hard enough. That hubris only led to more issues. Over time, I gained wisdom, a different perspective, and a deeper understanding of my limitations. Yet, here I am, realizing I've made another grave error.

Through the reinforced glass, I watched a child bound to a hospital bed with steel restraints. This child was supposed to be my ward, someone I had a duty to protect and mentor. My fear of dragging him into battles hidden from ordinary eyes has only resulted in his current state. Hoping that things would resolve themselves in a city like Gotham was a fatal miscalculation.

The court's verdict sent him to Arkham Asylum. I couldn't fathom how they could justify placing a child here, among adult psychopaths. The worst part was that the treatment methods employed by Hugo Strange, Arkham's director, resembled torture far more than any genuine effort to heal the mind.

Strange had just administered another dose of his so-called "treatment," and I could only watch as Brian writhed and screamed in agony. I had tried to intervene, to stop this barbarity, but the law had tied my hands. My repeated requests to be assigned as his physician were denied. All I could do was observe his so-called recovery process.

Strange finished the procedure, collecting his tools with the demeanor of a craftsman completing a project. But to me, he was no craftsman—he was a sadist masquerading as a doctor. Once his tools were cleaned and put away, he stepped out to speak with me.

Despite his relatively young age, Hugo Strange was entirely bald, and his face bore the early wrinkles of someone much older. His thick eyebrows and beard were streaked with gray, and his round glasses reflected the sterile glow of the overhead lights, showing my own tense reflection. He wore a neatly pressed suit beneath his white coat, a uniform of professionalism that only made his cruelty more repugnant.

[image]

"Mr. McNider, what a surprise," Strange said, smiling broadly, his voice dripping with feigned politeness. "I assure you, your presence is unnecessary. The treatment is proceeding as planned."

"I'll keep observing, regardless," I replied, working to keep my anger in check. "And does the treatment really have to cause him so much pain?"

"You're a surgeon, are you not? Well, I'm the expert in psychiatric medicine here. I know best how to treat these cases," he said, his condescension thick as he adjusted his glasses and stared me down.

"I believe you're unfit for this position," I shot back, keeping my voice firm. "And I intend to file a formal complaint for your abusive treatment of patients."

"By all means, file away," he responded smoothly, his smug expression unwavering. "I'm confident Gotham's authorities will see things my way."

"Mark my words, Strange," I said, my voice low and resolute, "I'll do whatever it takes to see you removed from Arkham's leadership."

Strange's smile only widened, as if he found my threat amusing.

For now, I couldn't stop him. But that didn't mean I wouldn't try. I would find a way no matter the cost. Brian's life, his very humanity, depended on it.

"Hmph, threaten all you like, Mr. McNider, but I think our patient could use a stronger dosage. The current regimen seems to be losing its efficacy," Strange said with a cruel smile, scribbling a note in his leather-bound notebook. "Goodbye for now."

I didn't respond, clenching my fists to keep my anger from boiling over into something irreparable. He smirked, clearly relishing my frustration, and walked out of the room.

This isn't over. It can't be. Brian doesn't belong here. He needs real help, not this charade of treatment.

"I promise you, Brian, I'll get you out of here," I whispered, knowing full well he couldn't hear me from behind the thick, reinforced glass. "Just hold on a little longer."

As I prepared to leave, I heard a noise behind me—a sharp sound of movement. For a brief moment, I thought Strange had returned.

"That's enough for today. I won't let you perform any more of your vile procedures," I said, turning with an edge of anger in my voice.

A familiar voice responded, calm and good-natured. "Relax, Charles. I might be a doctor, but needles aren't exactly my specialty."

I turned to face the man. "Kent. Good to see you. But I doubt you're here just to catch up." My tone was subdued. Despite the relief of seeing an ally, the circumstances dampened any joy.

"You're right. I'm here because of him," Kent said, stepping toward the glass and gazing at Brian. The boy, subdued by a fading sedative, barely reacted. His expression was blank, yet his eyes carried an eerie awareness that unsettled us both.

"Does he really pose a threat?" I asked, my gaze fixed on Brian as well. The boy seemed to sense us watching, turning his head ever so slightly and meeting my eyes with an unnervingly hollow stare.

"Not now, perhaps. But in the future? Almost certainly," Kent replied, his voice heavy with regret as he turned back to me.

"So why are you here?" I pressed, still confused by his sudden arrival.

"As much as I hate to admit it, the threats we face are growing. Our current strength may not be enough. Nabu has seen what could come to pass. He won't risk it," Kent said, his voice carrying the weight of years of duty.

"You once told me he might be the one to help us overcome those threats," I protested, my confusion and frustration boiling over. "How can you say this now?"

Kent let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping under an invisible burden. He raised a hand and snapped his fingers.

A golden light filled the room, and a shapeless mist began to swirl around us. The fog twisted and turned, forming figures, objects, and faint outlines of a different world. The scene solidified into three silhouettes, standing in stark contrast to the dim hospital room.

Two of them stood near the boy, their faces shrouded in shadow, their forms radiating an ominous presence. They stared down at Brian, who remained restrained, his blank gaze unwavering.

The third figure stood farther back, watching with a quiet intensity that sent a chill down my spine.

"What… is this?" I asked, my voice barely audible as the surreal scene unfolded before me.

"This is what Nabu sees, Charles. The possible future," Kent said solemnly, his voice tinged with sorrow. "This child holds incredible power that could save us or destroy everything. That decision may no longer be his to make."

"You, fearing to involve Brian in the war unknown to ordinary mortals, worsened his situation. He lacked the skills for battles prescribed by fate, and the last one proved fatal," Kent said as the mist shifted to show a scene: a dying man on the ground begging for help. Brian, shaking his head, refused and walked away.

"There was a choice to show mercy, to end his enemy's suffering, or to avoid the decision altogether. He chose to escape responsibility, and it led to these consequences," Kent continued as the vision shifted again. It showed Brian pinned under rubble, consuming the serum that transformed him into the creature he had become.

I turned to see the result of this fate. There he lay, restrained, stripped of reason, and barely a shadow of the boy I once knew.

"So... it's my fault?" I asked, sorrow and regret choking my voice. Everything could have been different if not for my fear.

"In part, yes," Kent said with a heavy tone. "But fate can be influenced in many ways. Had you trained him, he might have become better or worse."

"The future has become a great enigma. With each passing day, I see his path less and less clearly. Numerous events are altering his thread of destiny, and it's impossible to discern what is pivotal and what is inconsequential. But one thing is certain: most of his actions will be steeped in darkness."

"Most?" I asked, seizing on that glimmer of hope. "Does that mean he will still do good?"

"Yes, though..." Kent hesitated. Suddenly, a helmet materialized in his hands. His expression twisted in resistance as he fought an internal struggle.

"Charles, help me! Don't let me put on this helmet!" Kent cried, his voice filled with desperation.

I lunged at him, grabbing the helmet, struggling to wrench it away. I knew all too well what would happen if Nabu took control of Kent and compelled him to wear the Helm of Fate.

The helmet began to glow with an intense golden light. A sudden flash blasted me backward, slamming me into the wall. Dazed, I opened my eyes to a grim reality it was too late.

Kent's hands had placed the helmet on his head. His eyes glowed with a brilliant yellow, and his body became clad in ethereal armor.

"Charles McNider, this child is already tainted with evil. In the future, that evil will only grow stronger. He must be eradicated now," Nabu declared in a voice that echoed with unearthly authority.

"What are you planning to do?" I asked, my voice trembling with fear for Brian.

"What must be done," Nabu responded, raising his hand. A spell began to form, glowing magical runes materializing around him. The golden symbols radiated a powerful light, and Brian's restrained body began to glow in response.

"Stop this!" I shouted, stepping between Nabu and Brian.

"Do not interfere," Nabu commanded. The spell's energy intensified, and the light surrounding Brian grew brighter, his body beginning to react violently.

"I won't let you!" I yelled, charging at Nabu. But as I leaped toward him, mystical bonds ensnared me, pinning me in place. I struggled with all my might, but the binds were unbreakable.

"Brian Forman, you are condemned to exile," Nabu pronounced, his voice reverberating through the chamber.

Brian's body began to shimmer and transform, his skin taking on a scaly texture as the spell enveloped him completely.

He thrashed against his restraints, his inhuman growls echoing in the room, but it was futile. The magic surged, and his body began to dissolve, piece by piece, into a vortex that formed above him.

As his head was the last part to disappear, our eyes met one final time. In those fleeting moments, I saw not madness, but confusion a silent plea for understanding. And then, he was gone.