"Yes, I was born here, about fifty years ago? I can't remember exactly. My parents threw me into a dumpster, and a dockworker found me and took me in."
"I was pretty lucky, wasn't I? My father was capable enough to feed me. Though he was later beaten to death, at least I managed to grow up..."
In the hospital ward, a slightly overweight mafia boss leaned against the wall, smoking a cigar as he reminisced. "You look pretty young, so you probably didn't live through that era. It was truly momentous. I used that word right, didn't I?"
"Yes, as you all know, I'm new here—not just newly arrived at the hospital, but newly handed a gun and a whip as well," Bruce said rather cryptically. The others laughed. "Then you're already pretty seasoned. Plenty of newcomers kill their own boss, then proceed to offend everyone here."
"I know very well that more friends mean more roads." Bruce lit a cigar as well, squinting as he took a puff. "Actually, I've been worrying about where to go from here."
"What's there to worry about? Aren't things good enough now?" said a younger mafia boss on the other side. "They're much better than they were ten years ago. I missed the good times. I took two bullets fighting over the docks back then, and they still ache..."
"Your luck was already pretty good," the fat boss said. "When I first came to Gotham, nobody bothered explaining the rules to you. The whole city was a complete mess, unbearable to look at."
"Oh, right." He turned to Bruce and asked, "Kid, did you rise to the top by taking out one of your elders? Or did you steal it from someone else?"
"I didn't have any elders." Bruce shrugged. "I just