Halloween had always been a citywide spectacle in Gotham.
Everyone dressed up as whoever they truly wanted to be, whether a superhero or a supervillain.
Plenty of people on the streets wore masks and black capes to dress as Batman, while others painted their faces chalk-white and added eerie red smiles to look like the Joker.
Every few steps, there were a "Batman" and a "Joker" shoving each other over "who was stronger."
As the car passed a street corner, a man carrying an umbrella, wearing a tailcoat, and sporting an exaggerated fake hooked nose was limping along in imitation of Penguin, while his companions doubled over with laughter.
Ririko sat in Bruce's exceedingly "low-key" BMW SUV, watching the colorful, clamorous streets through the window.
"How does it feel to see other people playing Batman?" Ririko asked Bruce.
He wore a dark gray turtleneck and black trousers that day and was focused on driving.
His gaze flicked over a "Joker" being pinned against a trash can by a "Batman" outside the window. "As long as they don't get anyone killed. Batman doesn't kill, after all," he said mildly.
Ririko laughed, looking at the villains waving toy guns outside.
"Maybe they'd actually rather play Bruce Wayne. One check, and anyone you don't like has to get out of Gotham."
"I've never done that," he said, giving Ririko a meaningful smile. "That would make everyone want to be a bad guy."
The Wayne orphanage stood in the old quarter of Gotham's East End, a Victorian brick building with a bronze plaque hanging above its front entrance: "Wayne Children's Home."
Jack-o'-Lanterns and orange ribbons already hung from the wrought-iron fence. A few colorful crayon drawings had been posted beside them, showing Batman and Robin holding hands on a rooftop.
Bruce parked outside