On May 27th 1994, Thomas and Martha Wayne welcomed their first child Bruce.

He was named for the old Scottish King “Robert of Bruce” as his parents could afford to be well taught. Bruce was raised in a manor, isolated from the outside world. Here he was taught everything from simple to advanced mathematics to the intricacies of philosophy. He was fascinated by the idea of elevating one’s self to a level beyond the norm. He knew the world was out there, but he didn’t understand why the people would want to be similar to one another.

Bruce’s only friend was one of the few people he’d ever spent more than an hour with, his butler Alfred Pennyworth. His parents would often bring home business partners, but the boy’s social experiences with them were limited to the few times they were invited to stay for dinner. Alfred was a handsome yet burly man in his early to mid twenties at that time. It was easy to see that he had seen things that he wished never to share with another, especially not with a child such as Bruce whom he was meant to shelter from the atrocities of the world. Unfortunately, that plan was not to last. 

One evening, a heavy knock came slamming on the door of their secluded manor that was located in the woods just beyond the reach of the monstrous Gotham City. Alfred opened the door and from behind him, Bruce saw the often so poised and proper posture of his Butler sink. He recognized the uniforms of the men from his lessons. They were the Gotham City Police Department. Bruce was 10. In the year that followed, Bruce took charge. He was named the sole proprietor of his parent’s possessions. He had no known living relatives and therefor the hefty load was left to a child. Mourning his parents deaths, but also seeing this is an opportunity, the boy opened the front door of the manor for the first time in his life. Alfred answered to him, and so he simple waltzed to the car and waited patiently. 

“Where to, young master?”

“Anywhere. Wherever kids go.”

Bruce buckles into the car, staring out the window in awe at the world. It was something he never knew yet felt so invested in. It was the thing he always dreamed of seeing, it was where his parents died. They drove on. Down the curvy road that only connected Wayne Manor to the city, they were quickly surrounded by motion. Cars passed by in a hurry, and people littered the sidewalks at every moment. Eventually the car stopped, parked in front of a stone building standing all on its own.

“Brooklyn Elementary? What is this, Alfred?” Bruce asked.

“This is where the children are.” Alfred responded, not looking at Bruce, but rather at the building. “Go and see, young master.”

“You’re not coming with me?”

“No. If this is the world you choose to enter, then this is how it is. These children do not have butlers that open their doors for them.” Alfred turned his head and watched Bruce’s reaction in the mirror.

Bruce sat frustrated for a moment, trying to think of a proper response for his servant’s lack of respect, but instead after the brief pause released a sigh and opened the door. He walked up to the entryway of the building and yanked open the heavy doors. He was greeted by a dirty tile floor which stretched far in both directions then wrapped around and out of his sight. Standing on his tippy toes, Bruce peaked through the door window of the first room he saw. Inside he spotted an elderly woman with a pen scratching at some papers over a desk, backed by some filing cabinets.

“Young lady!” He heard someone yell from down the hall to his right. He quickly dropped down to his normal height and spun on his feet to look at the woman who was now inches from his face.

“Oh! Out of class sneaking around and in the wrong uniform! A little troublemaker, aren’t you!?” She scolded him, grabbing him by his shirt.

Out of class? Wrong uniform? 

“I’ll have you-“ Bruce began to say, frustratingly trying to tug his skirt back to proper level. 

“Come with me now!” She pulled him by his shirt down the hall to a small room where dropped him on a bench. He waited quietly, hoping Alfred would come in after him and defend him.

“Put these on.” She threw some cargo pants and a larger shirt with the school’s crest on it onto his lap. “Then come back so we can fix that hair. So out of code.”

Bruce began to cry. He’d never been treated like this before. His long raven hair reached down to his shoulders and he loved it; he didn’t want to lose it. Something felt so wrong about this look that was being forced upon him. Left only in his underwear, took off his clothes in front of the woman and looked down at his small body in shame. He tried to argue again, but the woman didn’t budge. She barely let him get a word out. Bruce sat in shame in his new clothes. The woman put scissors to his hair and snipped. He broke a little more with every cut until it was hard to stay awake anymore. 

“I hope you’ve learned your lesson. Now get to class.” The woman shoo’d him off and walked into the room he had peaked into. Bruce ran out the front door. Alfred stood waiting for him by the car with a frown on his face and Bruce collapsed into his stomach. 

“I don’t want to be a part of this world, Alfred.” The boy cried.

“No, I don’t think you were made properly for it…”

In the days following, Alfred explained why the woman treated him so badly. He explained that Bruce was a boy and in society, there are rules that a boy must follow. 

“Then I don’t want to be a boy.” Bruce told him.

“There are things that can be done for you, master Bruce, I mean.. lady Brittney? Procedures, treatments, that can help you find your happiness I hope.”

The sorrow from the child’s face started to disappear. 

“I want that.” She said. “But I’m not sure about this name you’ve given me.”

“Would you still prefer Bruce?” He asked

“No.. or feels wrong now. Like something changed and I’m not the same person I was minutes ago.”

“Something snapped in Brooklyn?”

“Something snapped in Brooklyn…” her face lit up.

Bruce, now using the name Brooklyn commanded Alfred to go out and buy clothes that he believed would suit her. She’s always loved wearing skirts with long socks that went up to her knees. During his absence, Brooklyn raided her mother’s old room and started trying to make it look like she had seen it on her mother or the women in the magazines her mother had read. It came out nowhere near similar. When Alfred got home, he found a young bouncing clown in a skirt. He chuckled and knelt down to her height.

“Lady Brooklyn, allow me to assist you. I worked at a salon in my teenage years, I remember a few things.”

He washed her face and presented her the clothes he had picked up: an assortment of simple tank tops, soft t-shirts, skirts, dresses, and leggings. Alongside it was a small bra.

“10 years old, I think you’re old enough to dress yourself. Away with all of this uniform garbage, express yourself. Once you are done, I will help you out with your mother’s makeup.”

Alfred looked back at her as he left the room. He had never seen such a shine in the eye of the child in their entire lifetime. 

A few minutes later, Alfred re-entered the room to find her in a black dress with a single white stripe across the waist. He gave her a strong smokey eye like she had seen on magazine covers of musicians like Avril Lavigne. She looked in the mirror for the first time and frowned. 

“My hair is still gone…” she looked to Alfred.

“That doesn’t mean anything. You are still you and if being a girl makes you happy then no matter how long your hair is, that is what you are.”

She smiled back at him. She found comfort in her hair being short while it lasted, but found more happiness with its length. She quickly met with a doctor and was given a combination of hormone blockers to keep her from starting male puberty and estrogen to push her into a woman’s development cycle. By age 12 she was confidently going out into the world and entered public schooling in hopes of becoming socially active and accepted. She never told anyone she had been born a boy or about the family she had come from. She bought a home in the city for her and Alfred and told friends who would come over that Alfred was her grandfather. She lived as a happy normal teenage girl. 

When she was 15, Brooklyn was walking home from school when suddenly, the soft pattering of footsteps could be heard behind her, quickly getting louder and closer. She spun around quickly to find a much older man directly in front of her. He put one hand up to her mouth and the other arm wrapped around her waist as he pulled her against him.

“Shhhh…” he whispered. She obeyed, terrified. He pushed her into the alleyway and against a cold brick wall and pressed his lips to hers. She was powerless. He slid his hand onto her waist and lifted her band shirt over her head, exposing her bra-cupped breasts. Which he quickly unclasped as well. He then proceeded to move his hand down to her skinny jeans unbuttoning them and lowering them to her waist, leaving her only in her shoes and panties. Never moving his other arm from holding her firmly against the wall, he reached his hand into her panties. The man’s eyes darted immediately lining up with hers.

“What the fuck? What the fuck is this?” He started screaming. He angrily pulled her panties down and exposed her adolescent male genitalia. She hasn’t been able to legally get the operation done. 

“Are you some sort of twink bitch? Some sort of girly boy?!” He screamed, pressing his forehead to hers. Impact. Brooklyn felt a sudden pain in her stomach as his first punch landed. He let go of her and she leaned over, falling on the ground gasping for air. Another impact, this time slightly higher as the front of his shoe penetrated her ribs with a crack. A few kicks later and she was left with pain racking her whole body as she laid on the ground nearly lifeless and passed out. The last thing she saw was a bat hanging from under the bridge where she was thrown and abandoned to die.