Gordon turned. “What about the escalation? I’ve seen men like you. They start out fighting criminals. Then they become them.”
Henri Ducard. No. Ra’s al Ghul.
Bruce looked at the man—a thief, a killer, yes. But a man. His hands, wrapped around the hilt of the blade, trembled not with fear, but with a different sickness: the memory of his father’s suture kit, the Hippocratic Oath, the scalpel that heals and never cuts for vengeance. Batman Begins Batman
Bruce looked out over the city. The Narrows was still dark, but a single window had flickered on. A light in the abyss.
And then came the final test.
The train hurtled toward Wayne Tower, the central nexus of the microwave emitter. If it reached the terminus, the toxin would vaporize, and the Narrows would become a slaughterhouse.
“I am not the executioner,” Bruce whispered. Gordon turned
He met Rachel Dawes again in the stark light of a courtroom hallway. Her eyes were harder, the idealism of the girl now tempered into the righteous fury of an Assistant District Attorney. “Justice is about more than revenge, Bruce,” she said, and the words stung more than Ducard’s training blows.