“You burned the monastery,” Bruce said, his voice a distorted growl through the modulator.
“I never said thank you,” Gordon said. Batman Begins Batman
“You will take a life,” Ra’s al Ghul commanded, his eyes burning with the fire of righteous annihilation. “A murderer’s life to save a thousand innocents. That is the weight of the League.” “You burned the monastery,” Bruce said, his voice
The earth was cold and smelled of wet stone and something older—roots, perhaps, or the bones of things that had fallen before him. Eight-year-old Bruce Wayne pressed his small palms against the crumbling wall of the drainage pipe. Above, through the circular grille of the old well, the sky was a diminishing coin of bruised purple. The screams of his parents—no, the memory of those screams—had faded to a thin, buzzing static in his ears. “A murderer’s life to save a thousand innocents
“You crossed the world to understand the criminal mind,” Henri Ducard said, his voice a low, patient rasp against the wind-scoured rocks of the frozen tundra. “But you forgot the first principle. To conquer fear, you must become fear.”
“I won’t kill you,” Bruce said. “But I don’t have to save you.”