The Batcomputer's glow illuminated Bruce Wayne's face as he leaned forward, scanning the files on Adam Zhou.
The deeper he read, the deeper the creases grew across his brow.
"Fights. Theft. Multiple juvenile offenses. Kicked out of three schools. In and out of Gotham's Youth Center more times than I can count..." he muttered. "Grew up without parents. Raised in the system. No structure. No guidance."
He set the thick dossier down, the weight of it slapping against the metal desk.
"Classic Gotham story," Bruce said quietly.
Behind him, Alfred gathered the now-cold dinner and moved with his usual unshaken calm. "Master Thomas once told me: Never judge a man by the lines on his record, but by the choices he makes when no one is watching."
Bruce turned slightly, nodding.
"I'm not condemning him," he said. "If anything, I... understand."
He looked back at the screen. "The system failed him. Same as it fails so many others in this city. If someone—anyone—had stepped in when he was young, maybe he wouldn't have had to claw his way up from the mud."
Alfred said nothing, but his silence was warm. Understanding.
He remembered the boy Bruce once was. The grief. The anger. The hollow mansion echoing with loss. If not for Alfred's quiet strength—his discipline, his love—Bruce Wayne could have become something very different.
"A few decades ago," Alfred said thoughtfully, "Mrs. Martha would invite orphans to spend holidays at the Manor. She said this place should never feel too large for just one soul."
Bruce glanced at the portrait of his parents in the cave's shadowed alcove, the painted smiles dim under flickering fluorescents.
He wasn't ready to go that far again. Not yet.
He tapped the dossier again, flipping to the financial records.
"What does surprise me," Bruce said, his voice now edged with something closer to bemusement, "is that he invested everything he had into the stock market."
"Dreams of a better life," Alfred replied without looking up. He returned with two cups of strong black tea, setting one beside Bruce. "A young man trying to escape the gutter with numbers and luck? It's more common than you'd think."
"But he didn't invest in Gotham," Bruce said. "He invested in LexCorp."
That made Alfred pause.
He slowly looked up. "Lex Luthor's company?"
Bruce nodded, sipping the tea. "Right before it all started crumbling. He must've bought in when the shares were dirt cheap—probably during that Metropolis fundraiser LexCorp hosted here last month. A last-ditch investment."
"And now that Lex is behind bars and the feds are raiding his accounts..." Alfred said grimly.
"He's lost everything."
Brilliant. Dangerous. Obsessed. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ ɴovel(ꜰ)ɪre.nᴇt
His company had once been the crown jewel of America's tech industry, outshining even WayneTech in sectors. But beneath the glossy exterior was corruption so deep even Superman couldn't fly fast enough to keep up with it.
And now Adam—already struggling—had tied his financial lifeline to a collapsing empire.
"Demoted. Relocated to Arkham District. Bankrupt. Hunted by Black Mask," Bruce murmured. "A man trying to walk the line... while Gotham kicks him down again and again."
Alfred nodded solemnly. "The city feeds on desperation, Master Bruce. Always has."
Bruce closed the file slowly, the sound of the folder shutting like the quiet thud of a gavel.
"I'll keep an eye on him," he said at last. "Men like that—those who still try to do good, despite everything—they're worth watching."
"And sometimes," Alfred said with a faint smile, "they're worth saving."
Adam Zhou wasn't feeling very worth saving.
Wearing a hoodie three sizes too big, sunglasses, and a surgical mask, he looked less like a hero and more like a bargain-bin creep trying to dodge the evening patrols.
He slinked into a dingy, blinking-light audio & video supply store—one of the last of its kind. The door creaked shut behind him like a coffin lid.
"Welcome, welcome," the greasy-haired shop owner said from behind a cracked glass counter. "Got new stock in today—Grey Ghost remaster's in, plus a few... uncut editions, if you're into special interests."
God, what was he doing with his life?
"I'm here to sell," he muttered, eyes averted. He slid a plastic bag onto the counter like he was smuggling drugs. "How much can you give me for these?"
The man opened the bag, blinked, and chuckled.
"Well, well," he murmured. "Someone's been raiding Daddy's stash, huh?"
Adam flushed beneath his mask, resisting the urge to bolt.
Inside the bag: a dozen VCDs. Outdated, yellowed jewel cases with faded titles like "Sensual Samurai 3" and "College Coeds 5: Term Begins".
He'd found them buried under a pile of socks and ramen wrappers in his busted apartment. His last chance at making enough to catch a cab. Or maybe just afford dinner.
The man picked one up, slid it into an old player, and watched a few seconds on a dusty CRT monitor. His eyebrows rose.
"...Well now," he said slowly, leaning forward. "Where did you get this one?"
Adam looked up, confused.
The man grinned. "This is an original cut. Rare Japanese edition. They banned this one after the...incident with the actress."
"...Don't ask," the guy said with a smile that belonged on a list somewhere. "You could actually fetch a few bucks with these. Ten, maybe twenty per disc. For collectors, they're like vinyl."
Adam blinked. "Wait... seriously?"
The store owner nodded. "I'll give you two hundred for the lot. Final offer."
That wasn't a lot, but in Gotham?
It was enough for bus fare. Maybe even some groceries. Or a burner phone.
"Deal," he said quickly, reaching for the cash.
As the man counted out the bills, he chuckled again.
"You know, for a guy in disguise selling bootleg porn in the dead of night, you've got real potential."
Adam took the cash, shoved it into his hoodie, and pulled his mask tighter.
"I have no idea what that means," he muttered, and slipped back out into the Gotham night.