I was writing in a game. You start with a word posted by the last user and you write for ten minutes. Most of what I've come up with sucked and wasn't even fanfic related, but I like this one.

Old. Ancient. Useless.

"Argh!" Bruce swept his hand across the table, hurling its contents onto the hard-packed ground.

They used to say Batman's strength was in his mind, not his body, but his mind was still sharp as a tack and yet he could do nothing! Even in a suit that made up for his failing limbs and lost balance, his weak heart still betrayed him. He was stuck in the Cave, unable to do anything without a surrogate. Unable to feel the wind on his face as he flew from rooftop to rooftop. Unable to feel the impact of his powerful fists against the fools with the audacity to commit crimes in HIS CITY. He was impotent. Confined. Broken. None could ever defeat Batman; none but humanity's most powerful and ancient foe:


Time had reduced his great life and towering power to a few piles of old memories.

Bruce's mind drifted to the glory days when his body moved like a gazelle, quick and graceful, surefooted on any surface. Now he could hardly walk two steps without his cane before inevitably falling unceremoniously to the ground. But back then, back in his prime, he could do anything. He could dodge bullets, take down ten and twenty enemies at once. He struck terror in the blackest hearts on Earth. He'd been called a phantom, a demon, a vengeful spirit. Immortal. Undefeatable! He was the envy of cops, young boys and even heroes. All without a single super power that most heroes rely on. And now? He was forgotten. Old. Ancient.

His head bowed in shame, "Useless…"