Gothams Child

The biting Gotham wind whips around Conan Edogawa, tugging at his oversized suit jacket. He ignores the chill, his focus laser-locked on the figure slinking through the neon-drenched alleys below. Gin. The man who forced the APTX 4869 down his throat, the architect of his current predicament, the reason he's trapped in the body of an eigh...

The biting Gotham wind whips around Conan Edogawa, tugging at his oversized suit jacket. He ignores the chill, his focus laser-locked on the figure slinking through the neon-drenched alleys below. Gin. The man who forced the APTX 4869 down his throat, the architect of his current predicament, the reason he's trapped in the body of an eight-year-old. His small hand tightens around the Beretta M9 tucked inside his coat. He's no stranger to firearms, but the weight feels different tonight, heavier with the promise of closure, of retribution. He knows this is reckless. Akai and Jodie would have his hide if they knew he was out here alone, hunting Gin in the labyrinthine underbelly of Gotham. But the intel was too precise, the opportunity too ripe. He couldn't risk letting Gin slip away, potentially vanishing into the sprawling networks of this city. He shadows Gin with practiced ease, the years spent navigating the Tokyo underworld serving him well in Gotham's grim alleyways. The air is thick with the scent of stale garbage and desperation. Rats scurry in the shadows, their eyes gleaming like tiny embers. He wonders if this is what Shinichi Kudo would do, if he was not shrunk. Across the alleyway, perched atop a gargoyle overlooking the unfolding scene, Batman observes the boy. The rain slicks his cowl, mirroring the grim set of his jaw. He'd picked up the anomaly on his thermal scans – a child, armed, moving with a disturbing level of competence. A quick search through Oracle's databases reveals a cascade of articles, news reports from Japan – "Boy Detective Solves Impossible Case," "Youngster Foils Art Thief." The sheer volume is unsettling. He watches the boy, Conan, disappear into the darkness, following Gin. A grim understanding dawns. This isn't childish curiosity; this is a hunt. Below, Conan ducks into a darkened doorway as Gin pauses, lighting a cigarette. The sulfurous flare illuminates his face, the cruel angles, the cold, dead eyes that haunt Conan's nightmares. He raises the gun, his heart hammering against his ribs. He pictures Ran, her face etched with worry, his parents, their lives forever altered. He steels his resolve. But as he’s about to take the shot, a hand clamps down on his shoulder, strong and unyielding. A deep voice rumbles in his ear, laced with warning. "That's enough, kid."

The grip on his shoulder is like a vise, stopping Conan. He knows that voice. It’s Batman. The Dark Knight pivots Conan around, away from Gin and into the scant light filtering in from the street. The Bat-cowl obscures much of Bruce's face, but Conan sees the piercing gaze fixed on him. He recognizes the famous detective. "Who are you, ...

The grip on his shoulder is like a vise, stopping Conan. He knows that voice. It’s Batman. The Dark Knight pivots Conan around, away from Gin and into the scant light filtering in from the street. The Bat-cowl obscures much of Bruce's face, but Conan sees the piercing gaze fixed on him. He recognizes the famous detective. "Who are you, kid? And why are you hunting him?" Batman's voice is low, dangerous. He seems to look through Conan, trying to understand him. Conan struggles to stay calm, he can’t make a scene here. “Let me go. He is dangerous, you don’t understand.” He tries to pull away, but the grip tightens. "I understand enough to know you're a child with a gun, about to make a very bad decision." Batman's gaze flickers toward Gin, who is still oblivious, the cigarette glowing in the dark. "That man is a known player. And you're out of your depth." "I know exactly what I'm doing." Conan says, but the tremor in his voice betrays him. He hates this body, this weakness. He needs to shake off Batman and stop Gin. He doesn’t know when he will have another chance. "No, you don't." Batman’s voice is firm. "You see a target, a villain. I see a broken kid, fueled by something he doesn't understand." Bruce pauses, and Conan sees something flicker in his eyes. “What happened to you, kid?” Conan clenches his jaw. "It's none of your business." He tries to wrench free again, desperation rising. Gin is moving, disappearing into the maze of alleys. His chance is slipping away. "Everything that happens in this city is my business." Batman says, his voice softening. "And right now, you are a danger to yourself, and potentially to others." He notices a strange look on Batman’s face. He seems… concerned. It's a foreign expression on the grim vigilante, but Conan sees it nonetheless. "I don't need your help." Conan retorts, his voice laced with bitterness. "I just need you to let me go." "I can't do that." Batman says. "I’ll stop you from making a mistake that you can´t take back, and get hurt, Conan." He knows Conan's name. He investigated him. "How do you...?" Conan begins, but Batman cuts him off. "I know more than you think." He says, his gaze never leaving Conan's. "And I know you need help." He pauses again, his expression softening slightly. "Come with me. Let's talk."

The invitation hangs in the air, thick with unspoken intentions. Conan stares at Batman, suspicion warring with a sliver of… something else. Hope? No, he can’t afford hope. Not now. "Talk?" Conan scoffs, the sound brittle. "I don't have time to talk. That man," he gestures vaguely in the direction Gin disappeared, "needs to be stopped." ...

The invitation hangs in the air, thick with unspoken intentions. Conan stares at Batman, suspicion warring with a sliver of… something else. Hope? No, he can’t afford hope. Not now. "Talk?" Conan scoffs, the sound brittle. "I don't have time to talk. That man," he gestures vaguely in the direction Gin disappeared, "needs to be stopped." Batman doesn't release his grip. "And you think you're the one to do it? A child?" He shakes his head, a hint of sadness in his voice. "You're not a killer, Conan. You're just lost." The word hits Conan harder than he expects. Lost. Is that what he is? Lost in a sea of grief and vengeance, adrift without a compass? He clenches his fists, anger flickering in his eyes. "I'm not lost." Conan insists, his voice trembling slightly. "I know exactly what I'm doing. I have to do this. For myself, for everyone." Ran's face flashes in his mind. Batman sighs, the sound heavy. "And what about them? What about the people who care about you? Do you think they want you to throw your life away?" Conan flinches. It’s his greatest fear: that his actions will hurt those he loves. But he can’t stop, he just can´t. The faces of his parents and Ran are there, pushing him forward. He must do it. "They don't understand." Conan whispers, his voice barely audible. "They can't understand what he took from me." "Then help them understand." Batman says softly. "Don't shut them out. Don't let the darkness consume you." Bruce's words strike a chord. He knows what it's like to be consumed by darkness, to let it fuel your every action. He can see that same darkness reflected in Conan's eyes, a mirror of his own pain. He knows what it feels like to lose his parents. He loosens his grip slightly, offering Conan a choice. "Come with me. Let me help you find another way. A way that doesn't destroy you in the process." Conan hesitates, torn. Part of him desperately wants to accept Batman's offer, to find a way out of this endless cycle of violence. But the other part, the part fueled by years of rage and grief, refuses to let go. Gin is still out there, a threat to everyone he cares about. How can he walk away? How can he trust Batman? The Dark Knight waits, his gaze steady and unwavering. The decision is Conan's.