The sun fell slowly towards the horizon as afternoon prepared to pass the mantle to night.

Today is the ten year anniversary of his death, and unfortunately, Wayne Enterprises' company matters keep me stuck in the office until the afternoon, despite the fact that all that is required is my signature on a few documents and other mundane managerial shuffling. It's a dull job, and one that Bruce never took seriously, according to the memos I've leafed through; after all, the company was nothing more than a front for funds for his personal war on crime. I don't care for it much, either, but when he requested that I take over, I saw it was the only logical option, what with the entire mess with Powers being indirectly responsible for the tragic death of my father. Just as he donned the cowl to prevent what happened to him as a child from ever occurring again, I donned a business suit.

I quickly learned that the darkness of humanity pervades everywhere, and that the business world, if anything, is even darker an alleyway than those of the slums that Gotham used to be famous for. The cutthroat competition, the barrages of lawsuits, the under the table negotiations, the trade and company secrets – I'd been used to lying and hiding my double life, but life in a corporate office turned out to involve complex webs of manipulation and deceit that no foray in the superhero world could have prepared me for. To reach objective A at a reasonable time, company B's person C needs to be "persuaded" – read: bribed or coerced – to get in the good graces of supervisor D's girlfriend E, who must be convinced to seduce D to promote favorable underling F who is willing to disclose company secret G to subsidiary company H for compensation J, which then transfers it back to main company K, but only if H's CEO's daughter L is allowed a position in K. The sheer amount of behind the scenes finagling boggled my mind for a while, and for the first few months, I had to rein in the impulse to beat the living crap out of most of the people I worked with.

Sometimes, like now, I think about resignation from the tedium, pulling out the holographic communications module and preparing what to say upon calling up the board. But every time, I gaze out of my office window and see the smiles on the passersby's faces as the walk the streets without the fear that used to dodge behind their every step, the now majestic skyline of Gotham casting the only shadows in sight.

I put the module away.

Gotham has metamorphosed since I took over at Wayne Enterprises, a gossamer-winged moth emerging from its cocoon. Batman was that cocoon, guarding Gotham from a descent into hell, but now, the city is a fragile moth, easily crushed and ever flying blind spirals around the flames. However, it's a moth nonetheless – beautiful, meek, and gentle.

This was obviously not the Gotham that gave birth to Batman. Bruce, in his tenure, faced many, many persistent madmen – insanity born in a world that had lost sense. Just as how authoritarian rule dominates after the downfall of order, the city's rampant vices called for a strong arm to keep it in control.

But that kind of power is difficult to relinquish – perhaps that's why he didn't let go of the cowl until his personal principles were compromised.

And then through some quirk of fate – though even now I wonder if it wasn't planned, too – I took up things where he left off years later. In the years between, however, Gotham had changed. There were fewer psychos, and more mere malcontents. I spent most of my time not dealing with the few mental nutjobs there were, but with people down on their luck who saw nothing else to turn to. Just as Bruce saw glimmers of his mental turmoil reflected their eyes, I saw the frustration that had dogged me and led my life as a troublemaker for years. Most had nothing to lose, and everything to gain by their thievery and assaults, and some – especially the young ones – acted only out of rebellion at a world that refused to give them a hand up from the pit they'd fallen, or worse, were born in. Suffering that perpetuated suffering.

Even so, I remained under Bruce's guidance for years – something that I wonder wasn't a sort of blindfold to what I needed to see. It was at his funeral that I had an epiphany.

An era had ended.

His enemies were gone. The madness of not just his rogue gallery, but the streets he prowled had dwindled in fear of him, replaced by the unhappiness of people who wanted nothing more than a chance at having something worth protecting. These weren't people with no reserve; they were simply people with nothing to lose.

Suddenly, everything fell together. An era rose on the horizon, and Batman had raised his successor to take the helm, to guide and protect the fragile moth from the flames he'd tamed.

I took over the company, and set about the work that would define not Batman, but myself. Fistfights were replaced by clear negotiations; the power and funds of Wayne Enterprises were put not to develop weapons and armor in a war on crime, but to guide business away from corruption and invest in livelihoods. New businesses flourished, new technologies boomed, and most importantly, new chances were given to the residents of Gotham to make for themselves a life not worth risking. Change took place slowly – it continues to this day. But gradually, Gotham emerged from its shadowy chrysalis and fluttered its wings. What lingered of the madness withered – there will always be mental affliction, but there's no more enough of a discontentment from them to draw on. What remains, the legitimate law enforcers can deal with. Batman was born out of purpose in a young Bruce Wayne, a purpose fulfilled so that he could be laid to rest in his son.

I send the reply of the last memo for the day, and head off to the cemetery where Bruce lay buried. Flowers lay at the foot of his gravestone, and I can just imagine Barbara, Dick, and Tim gathered around it, mirroring their first full reunion around his hospital bed. Just like then, I approached later, alone.

Peering around to make sure there was not another living soul about, I bury my memento deep into the ground with a flick of the wrist.

It is the first batarang to leave the Batcave since his death. It will also be the last.

A/N: I dunno if it was just me, but it seemed like BB's stories revolved more around people who were simply down on their luck and needed something to do, and it's well known that if a person with something to lose is not likely to cause trouble. Tried implementing symbolism. Jury's out on whether or not it worked.

If you can't tell, this was slightly inspired by V for Vendetta. I'd also meant to hold off on this until after finishing Passage (it makes one allusion to it, non-significant); this is essentially an epilogue to it. I may rewrite this to make it half-good after I finish Passage... if I ever manage it. I needed to write something more serious after two crackfics.