Bruce Wayne stood on the top floor of Wayne Tower, looking down over the city.
Sunlight spilled across Gotham's streets, not the leaden gray filtered through clouds as thick as lead plates, but genuine, golden morning light.
The distant bay shimmered, and gulls circled through the clean air. There was no graffiti on the streets, no shattered shop windows, no homeless people curled up beside heating vents.
"Alfred," he said softly, his voice echoing through the empty top-floor office, "give me today's schedule."
"At nine, you and the mayor will attend the groundbreaking ceremony for the New Gotham Library." The butler's gentle, respectful voice came through his earpiece. "At eleven, the final arrangements for the Wayne Foundation's annual charity gala await your review. At two this afternoon, James Gordon, the newly appointed chief of the Gotham Police Department, would like to discuss community policing reforms with you..."
Everything was just as it should be, and everyone fulfilled their role. Arkham Asylum had become a mental health research center, Blackgate Penitentiary had been converted into a vocational school, and the slums of the East End that had once bred violence were now orderly developments of affordable housing.
Last night, he had hesitated for a moment at the entrance to the Batcave, then turned away. He had not put on his suit, merely returned to his bedroom and enjoyed eight hours of dreamless sleep on two-thousand-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets.
People no longer needed Batman.
"Sir?" There was a hint of concern in Alfred's voice. "You seem rather tired. Shall I cancel today's engagements?"
"No," Bruce said. "Continue."
He went down from Wayne Tower and climbed into the silver-gray sports car. Not the Batmobile, just an ordinary, understated Bugatti. Its engine rumbled softly as it carried him through Gotham's streets.
He stopped at