[ EU ] After an apocalyptic event and aftermath , humanity is a shadow of its former self . Scavengers come across something incredible when they 're searching a manor on the outskirts of what used to be Gotham City .

Charles whistled loudly. `` Holy shit,'' he hissed. `` Vic, you seeing this?'' 
 
 A pause. Then a voice floated out of the hallway to his right: `` Yeah.'' Another pause. `` This guy was comfortable, whoever he was.'' 
 
 Charles passed his flashlight over a series of oil paintings that hung on the walls. A series of proud men, staring, stone-faced, out of their frames. Old money, then. Charles read the gold plaques beneath each painting. `` Kenneth Wayne. Patrick Wayne. Thomas Wayne... you ever heard of these guys?'' 
 
 `` Nah,'' Vic called back. `` Hey there's a kitchen down here. I'm going to see if there's any food. I'll be on the radio.'' 
 
 `` Wayne...'' Charles whispered. `` I swear I know that name from somewhere.'' 
 
 The sound of Charles's boots on the marble floors echoed through the silent mansion. The place really was massive. Vic was right, whoever used to live here was rich. Beyond rich. The mansion looked large from the outside, a stern gargoyle crouching on the hill overlooking what remained of Gotham City. But once inside, the place was simply cavernous. Every sound echoed eerily, lasting a few seconds too long. Each room and hallway seemed to have been designed by Michelangelo for the use of giants. Compared to the burnt out hovels that Charles and Vic had been sleeping in over the past few months, the place was heaven. 
 
 But that did n't stop the hairs on the back of Charles's neck from standing up. 
 
 The radio on his belt crackled. `` How does it look in there, guys?'' Maggie was getting anxious, standing guard outside. 
 
 `` You two really need to see this.'' Vic's voice. `` There's enough food in here to keep us fed for a year.'' 
 
 Charles held the radio to his lips. `` I do n't know, guys. Something about this just feels... weird.'' 
 
 The radio squealed as Vic laughed. `` What is it, Chuck? Scared of the money ghosts?'' 
 
 Charles reached the end of the hall. The area was largely unadorned, a round wooden table with a jade vase the only decoration in the small atrium. On the far wall hung another oil painting, this one larger than the others. The man on the canvas was younger than the others, too, with jet black hair and piercing black eyes. Charles's eyes drifted to the plaque beneath the frame. 
 
 *Bruce Wayne. * 
 
 `` Hey Charles, you there?'' Maggie again. 
 
 His heart thudded in his ears, sweat beading on his neck. He swallowed and raised his shaking hands to his mouth and spoke into the radio, voice stuttering. `` T-the vase.'' 
 
 `` Pardon?'' 
 
 He had realized what bothered him about the house, what had been nagging at him at the back of his mind since he and Vic entered the mansion. Everything in the mansion -- the paintings, the floors, the vase -- was *clean. * `` This vase,'' Charles stammered. `` It's clean. There's no dust on it. Someone's been cleaning it.'' 
 
 Vic's voice crackled over the radio, sounding as panicked as Charles felt. `` Shit. We're getting out of here. Maggie, keep your eyes peeled. We're on our way out.'' 
 
 Silence. 
 
 `` Maggie?'' 
 
 The black of the mansion yawned, hungry and empty. 
 
 `` Oh hell,'' Vic stammered. `` Oh fresh, fresh hell. Charles, run. They must have gotten Ma-GAHHHH!'' Vic's voice trailed off into a strangled scream. Then, he too, fell silent. 
 
 Charles ran. His heaving breath was like a roaring wind, his heartbeat a drum. He pumped his legs, racing back to the entrance to the mansion. The doors were in sight now, his path away from whatever was in that house. 
 
 As if from nowhere, a black-clad arm shot out from the darkness and into Charles's path, taking him full in the chest. His legs disappeared from under him and he fell flat onto his back. There was a soft *swoosh* and a silhouette appeared above him. The form was massive and dark, the foreboding mansion somehow made human. The form bent down closer to him, a black cape flowing over the silhouette's broad shoulders. Two long, pointed horns -- no, they were ears -- protruded from the *thing's* head. In the light of the moonlight that poured in through the open doors, Charles could see that his attacker wore some sort of black cowl. He stared up at the man, two black hawk's eyes looking back at him. 
 
 `` W-what do you want?'' Charles stammered. 
 
 The man in the cowl -- was he supposed to be some sort of bat? -- raised a gloved fist. He spoke, his voice a throaty growl. `` I want you to get out of my house.'' 
 
 Moonlight gleamed off the man's gauntlet and Charles's world turned to black.
