I'm Sorry

(I didn't publish yesterday sooooooo... bonus chap

My Scedule is so fcked up rn lol)

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A pretty little girl stands at the end of a dilapidated hallway, but in this setting, she seems anything but innocent. Her style, reminiscent of a Lolita dress with frills and lace, is starkly out of place in the broken-down, eerie building. The corridor itself is shrouded in shadows, the cracked walls and broken light fixtures lending a desolate atmosphere that feels as if it's been touched by the underworld. A faint, cold light filters through the dirty windows, casting long, distorted shadows that warp the scene, making her presence even more unsettling.

Batman's expression remains stoic. He has faced far more terrifying things in the dark alleys of Gotham, and this scene does little to rattle him. Behind the scenes, Charlie Cooper, the player controlling Batman, keeps his hands steady on the controls, ready for whatever comes next. He watches as the little girl continues to linger at the end of the hallway, her head slightly tilted, her eyes hidden beneath the wild tangles of her dark hair. Charlie directs Batman forward, each step precise and deliberate, the dark figure of the caped crusader advancing through the broken remnants of the building.

But then, unexpectedly, the girl begins to move.

She drifts backward, retreating down the hallway, but without the usual motion of walking. Her legs remain perfectly still beneath the hem of her dress, yet her entire body glides away from Batman like a ghost moving on invisible wheels. Her posture is unnaturally rigid, her arms hanging limply by her sides, making the scene even more unnerving. The shadows seem to pulse and shift around her, as if the very fabric of reality is bending to her presence.

Charlie frowns at the screen, his mind racing with possibilities. "Is she even human?" he wonders aloud, adjusting his grip on the mouse. For a moment, he entertains the idea that she might be an actual ghost, but he dismisses it quickly. After all, ghosts or not, there's no shortage of heroes in his lineup who can handle the supernatural. Moon Knight, with his divine blessings from the moon god Kongsuna, is particularly skilled in dealing with spirits and specters. He's able to perceive and interact with the spiritual realm, a skill that has saved lives—and occasionally, helped spirits find peace through a more physical resolution.

Still, this world hasn't shown any signs of true ghosts so far. Even the most bizarre phenomena usually trace back to some form of infection. Charlie reminds himself that this is likely no different, but the strangeness of the scene keeps him on edge. The girl's movements, the distortion of the hallway, and the chilling atmosphere make it feel as though reality itself has warped.

As Batman approaches, the girl drifts to a halt beside a door, her head still bowed slightly. A door beside her creaks open slowly, the sound dragging out unnaturally, echoing down the corridor like the groan of something ancient and forgotten. Without turning, the girl slips inside, disappearing into the darkness beyond. The door shuts behind her with a finality that sends a shiver through the scene.

Room 567. The same room that had vanished earlier.

In detective mode, Batman's visor scans the space beyond the door, but it doesn't register any signs of life. Not a single heat signature or breath of air stirs from within. Batman's gloved hand wraps around the doorknob, turning it silently. Behind the screen, Charlie holds his breath, anticipating the moment the door swings open. His mind races through potential threats—he prepares himself for the sudden appearance of a spectral face, or a shadowy figure leaping out at Batman. His hands hover over the controls, ready to counter or evade at a moment's notice.

The tension builds, and even the upbeat, incongruous tunes of the Teletubbies in the background can't lighten the atmosphere. Charlie's gaming setup is prepared to handle any threat, with the Allen system ready to activate at a moment's notice, capable of countering nearly any type of attack.

But when the door opens, no attack comes.

Instead, Batman steps into a scene that shouldn't exist. Beyond the door is no longer a dusty room in an abandoned building, but a dimly lit alleyway, bathed in the sickly glow of a flickering streetlight. The air feels colder here, the ground beneath Batman's boots slick with rain that wasn't there a moment ago. At the far end of the alley, a small family stands huddled together—a man, a woman, and their young son, all three looking wide-eyed and terrified.

And in front of them is a figure holding a gun.

Charlie stares at the screen in disbelief, his mind struggling to reconcile the sudden shift. "What... what is this?"

The scene is painfully familiar—etched into Batman's very soul. Crime Alley. The man, the woman, the child—it's a tableau he's lived and relived countless times. This is the moment that defined him, the memory that haunts him, the death of the Waynes.

But something shifts in the air, and this time, a shadow drops from above, landing between the gunman and the family with a heavy thud. The figure is dressed in the unmistakable black armor and cowl of Batman, his cape spreading wide like wings. This Batman disarms the gunman in a single fluid motion, knocking him to the ground with a flurry of blows. The gun clatters away into the darkness, and the would-be killer's pleas for mercy are cut short as the armored vigilante slams a gauntleted fist into his face, silencing him.

The family stares, wide-eyed, but the father gathers his senses first, pulling his wife and child back toward the safety of the streetlights. They flee, casting one last fearful glance over their shoulders as they disappear into the night.

Charlie leans forward, his mind reeling. "Wait—so they aren't the Waynes?"

He squints at the fleeing figures. They resemble Bruce Wayne's parents, but the subtle differences are there. And if that's another Batman in the alley, then who is he controlling?

"Bruce?"

A voice calls softly from behind Batman. The tone is gentle, almost tentative.

The Batman that Charlie is controlling turns sharply, and suddenly, he's no longer clad in the armor of the Dark Knight. Instead, Bruce Wayne stands there, dressed in a sharp, tailored suit, his expression frozen in shock.

Behind him stand Thomas and Martha Wayne, their hair streaked with gray, far older than they were on the night they died. They appear healthy, alive, and utterly out of place in this darkened alley.

Charlie begins to piece together the situation. This has to be some kind of illusion—a mental trap designed to show Bruce Wayne a reality that could have been.

A reality where his parents never died in Crime Alley, and he never became Batman.

In this vision, the world has conjured a new Batman to fill the void, a replacement to carry out the mission that Bruce would have abandoned. It's a vision of Bruce Wayne free from the burden of the cape and cowl—a vision of a perfect life where he could be with his parents again.

Charlie mutters, "It's a trap, playing on his deepest desires. Why didn't the 'Fireworks' program activate, Friday?"

Friday's voice comes through, calm and clear. "The Fireworks program requires Mr. Wayne to activate it manually. He has not chosen to do so."

It makes sense. The Fireworks program, which disrupts illusions and mind control by overloading the senses, is a double-edged sword. Bruce would never allow it to activate on its own, relying instead on his judgment to pull the trigger when needed.

But the most dangerous illusion is the one the victim doesn't want to escape.

This vision offers Bruce a life he yearns for—a life he would never dare to dream of, now brought into vivid reality. It's a drug, sweet and tempting, offering him everything he's ever wanted.

"The mental attack is stronger than any we've faced," Friday warns. "We could switch to a different hero to counter the illusion."

"No need," Charlie replies, shaking his head. "He can handle this. Because…"

On the screen, Bruce stares at his parents, their expressions warm and inviting, as they reach out to him.

"Bruce?" Martha calls softly, her voice filled with the love of a mother long lost.

"Come on, we should go home. Alfred's waiting with dinner, and you don't want to be late..."

Bruce hesitates, his face a mask of anguish. He clenches his fists, the weight of the choice pressing down on him. But then, he straightens, his expression hardening with renewed resolve.

"Sorry, mother," he whispers, voice thick with emotion. "But I can't... not yet. I have things I need to do."

Confusion flickers across Thomas and Martha's faces.

"But it's good to see you again."

His voice becomes rough, the familiar cold edge returning.

"Fireworks."

With that command, the Fireworks program activates, flooding his senses with intense, blinding colors. The illusion shatters around him, the alleyway breaking apart like fragile glass, revealing a swirling void beneath. The faces of his parents remain frozen in their final expressions of surprise, before they are swept away into the maelstrom.

In an instant, Bruce Wayne is gone, and Batman reemerges, standing tall in the darkness of the broken building.

Charlie regains control, and almost immediately, a flashing warning appears on the screen.

Batman moves instinctively, twisting around to strike at an unseen threat.

A blur shifts away from his punch—the little girl in the black dress. She floats to the side effortlessly, her feet never touching the ground. Her pale face, half-hidden behind her tangled hair, shows a look of astonished surprise.

"Huh? How did you manage that?" she whispers, her voice echoing in the shadowed corridor, the question hanging in the cold air.