"THERE'S SOMEBODY AT THE DOOR, MR WAYNE!"

Bruce Wayne had just made it to his bed, freshly showered after a long and brutal night of fighting criminals on the rainy streets of Gotham.

"Why do I do it to myself?"

But deep down he knew why. He had a score to settle. Ever since witnessing the double murder of his parents outside the Monarch Theatre that night in '81, he would never stop bringing the darkness to the light in all of its many twisted forms.

As he rested his head against his soft pillow, he looked up and saw the black void of the canopy above him and suddenly felt the futility of his vigilante endeavours which would be as nothing in the grand scheme of eternity.

"I could bring a million reprobates to Commissioner Gordon to deal with and they would keep on coming like rats in a sewer. It never stops. Criminals are just as inevitable as life and death."

Then, he saw a fantasia of his most persistent adversaries flash before his eyes - each and every one of them - more villain with a thousand faces than hero - Ra's al Ghul, Carmine Falcone, Scarecrow, Black Mask and Bane to say nothing of the even more extrovert Two-Face, Penguin & The Riddler.

"It's like we're dancing off the edge of a cliff together. All fated to drown eventually in the same ocean of darkness."

Depresssed, he found himself needing a distraction from these grim thoughts.

Calling Vicki Vale on his bedside phone, he needed to hear a feminine voice, a voice that would soften his unremitting gloom.

"You still up?"

He knew it was a stupid question. Vicki was even more nocturnal than he was.

"Yeah, why? What's the matter? Can't sleep?"

"Something like that. You want to come round? I can send Alfred to pick you up."

"No, don't wake poor Alfred. I just got to finish up at the studio before the private view tomorrow. I'll get a taxi over as soon as I can."

"That's great. I'll find a nice bottle from the cellar."

Putting the phone back down, Bruce felt better now that he'd acted on his instincts, choosing not to spent the night alone stewing with his thoughts.

Down in Wayne Manor's extensive wine cellar, Bruce studied all the dusty vintage bottles that had mostly remained untouched since his late father first began collecting them.

Certain years on the bottles' labels seemed especially poignant to him now - like the year his parents married, the year of his birth and, most tragically, the year of their deaths.

"It was a very bad year ..." He mock sang the Sinatra classic whilst looking at the last ever bottle his father acquired before he got brutally slain.

He considered opening that very same Screaming Eagle Cabernet but decided he would save it for one of Wayne Enterprises' charity auctions. It's what his father would have wanted.

Finally settling on a more modest bottle, he headed back upstairs.

Starting up the open fire in the large kitchen, Bruce started to feel more cheerful about things.

"It's amazing what a bottle of wine and a beautiful, intelligent woman can do to recover the soul."

He grabbed two stemless glasses from the cabinet close to the kitchen table and decided to open the bottle of Château Ausone to let it breathe in good time before Miss Vale arrived.

Then the kitchen intercom crackled into life.

It was Alfred.

"What is it Alfred? I was trying not to disturb you."

"There's somebody at the door, Mr Wayne. Do you want me to get it?"

"It's Vicki. Let her in if you don't mind, Alfred. Tell her I'm in the kitchen."

"Yes, Master Wayne."

How strange, he thought. He hadn't even heard the door bell.

Suddenly his stomach tightened as he had one of his bad feelings.

BANG!!!

Running in that brief moment in time where the echo of the gunshot still hung in the air, Bruce returned to the lower hallway where he saw his butler and consigliere Alfred lying dead on the floor, his claret red blood marking a stark contrast with the chess board tiles of Wayne Mansion.

And standing, with smoking gun in hand, was what looked like a taxi driver wearing a flat cap.

Until he looked up to reveal his kabuki, white painted face.

"Hi Bruce! You'll never guess who I just picked up in my taxi."

Bruce was numb to the events unfolding before his eyes, feeling truly check mated by his number one nemesis.

"And don't worry, Bruce. I brought my own glass!"