The concept of "superhero" has permeated American culture for more than a century. Graphic novels depicting heroes like Superman, Green Lantern, and The Flash grab the imagination, tapping into both the reader’s deep seated longing for the ideal and his fantasies of titanic power. The exception to the god-in-tights trope that otherwise defines the genre is The Batman. Unlike his iconic foil, Superman, Batman fights to the best of his ability without powers. Ironically, it’s this that makes him more powerful as a character. Readers of Batman comics, consciously or not, put themselves in the shoes of Batman. If Batman can do all this, the reader thinks, maybe I can conquer my problems too. Batman has become a potent pop-culture icon of self-actualization and ambition in the face of adversity, and the stories depicting him are a direct parable for the conflict against one’s own inner darkness. Batman’s saga begins with a smoking gun and a promise. Up until that fateful night, he was merely the young son of a wealthy family in the crime-ridden Gotham City. He was on his way home from a night at the cinema when mugger violently killed his parents. Young Bruce Wayne, orphan, channeled all the pain and hate he felt on that night into a promise to himself that was as simple as it was naive: to end crime in Gotham. As he sat alone in the rainy alleyway by the corpses of his parents and listened to wail of GCPD police sirens, he took the first steps of his journey of self-actualization that would last him his entire life. And so he grew into something greater. The story of his growth is rare within the superhero genre. Superman was born with extraordinary abilities, and the Green Lantern was given a magic alien ring. The Martian Manhunter is, well, a martian. Batman, on the other hand, studied and trained and traveled the world for his abilities. He learned from the masters of the martial arts, criminology, and detective work. For twelve years he paid sweat and blood for every inch of progress he made towards optimizing his being. The fact that Batman worked so hard to become himself is rare in the genre, and is a breath of fresh air from the zero-to-heroes one reads about in other superhero graphic novels. Frank Miller told the story of how Bruce Wayne became Batman in “Batman: Year One.” He had just returned home to Wayne Manor and didn’t yet know where to begin in the undertaking of his epic quest. “I’m not ready I have the means, the skill -- but not the method,” he mused. “...No. That’s not true. I have hundreds of methods. But something’s missing. Something isn’t right. I have to wait.” Unfortunately, he was unwilling to restrain himself from carrying out what he promised he’d do more than a decade ago for long, and within a week Bruce Wayne, disguised by a fake scar on his face, walks out into the shady streets of Gotham for the first time as a vigilante. In the East End of town, Bruce is propositioned by a prostitute of no more than thirteen years. When he refuses, her hulking, angry pimp provokes him into a fight. Though Bruce would have won handily one-on-one, the fight is prolonged when a band of prostitutes complicate things. The police arrive, handcuff Bruce, and detain him in their squad car. Unwilling to let his one man crusade end before it begins, a lightheaded and bleeding Bruce Wayne breaks the handcuffs and causes the police car to swerve into a nearby building. He drags the police officers to a safe distance before he flees to Wayne Manor. The trope of the Hero’s unfamiliarity with a new situation is common, even ubiquitous, within works of fiction. In Campbell’s Monomyth model of story structure, this phase is called the Belly of the Whale. This is the twilight stage between the protagonist’s decision to undertake his quest and his inevitable emergence as a newer, stronger character. Bruce Wayne’s emergence occurred