Redoing My Life (Modern Family)

The premiere of The Batman was two weeks ago. To my immense relief, it went well—great, even. As always, it was an invite-only event attended by actors, the director, Stardust executives, press, and other key figures.

I did what I always do at these events: walked the red carpet with Margot, answered some press questions, mingled with executives, and, of course, watched the movie with everyone.

The early word-of-mouth from critics and industry insiders was overwhelmingly in our favor, and small leaks on the internet were further boosting the film's momentum. The marketing and box office analysts at Stardust—who had initially projected a cautious $60 million opening weekend—revised their predictions upward. Riding the wave of good buzz, they now estimated The Batman could gross anywhere between $90 million and $100 million in its opening weekend—a massive win for both DC Studios and my plans for the larger DC Universe.

Now, as I sat in my living room, I turned my attention to the TV, where a rerun of my favorite late-night show, Conan, was playing.

I was the guest.

On the TV, I said, "I actually love coming to your show, Conan," leaning back in my seat.

Conan quipped, "Of course you do! I'm the best."

The audience laughed, and I grinned.

Sitting beside me was Andy Richter, who suddenly interjected, "So, Daniel, I have a question."

I turned to him, curious. "Sure, Andy, ask away."

Andy adjusted himself in his seat, looking thoughtful. "You know how there are a lot of Batman villains, right? I'm not a stranger to them."

Conan immediately deadpanned, "Nerd."

The audience laughed, and Andy rolled his eyes.

Unfazed, he continued, "So let's say a new criminal shows up in Gotham, and his whole thing is that he commits robberies using a bat."

Conan made a confused face. "Where are you going with this, Andy?"

Even I was starting to look at him strangely.

Andy, completely serious, said, "Since he's new, he calls himself Batman as well—because, you know, he uses a bat."

The audience laughed.

Conan looked even more baffled.

"So the real Batman catches him," Andy continued, "and asks, 'What's your name, villain?' And this guy says, 'I'm Batman.' And then Batman has to be like, 'Well… no.'"

The audience roared with laughter.

Conan turned to me with mock sympathy, then back to Andy. "I swear to God, Andy, this joke better have a good punchline."

Andy, grinning, shrugged. "That was the punchline."

More laughter.

Conan, shaking his head theatrically, looked at me. "Daniel, I apologize. Please come back next time."

Andy, making things even worse, leaned forward. "You know what would be even funnier? If there were two of them—two Batmen—and they just kept going, 'No, I'm Batman!' 'No, I'm Batman!'"

Conan smacked his own forehead. "Andy, please stop."

I switched off the TV, shaking my head with an amused sigh.

I had gone on Conan two days ago for a final appearance before the worldwide release of The Batman today. Technically, the UK and some other countries had already gotten the movie a week ago, but in the U.S., today was the big day.

Margot and I were planning to go to a theater to experience the audience reaction firsthand—to watch it with hardcore fans and ordinary moviegoers, not the press or industry execs like at the premiere.

Seeing that Margot was still getting dressed, I picked up my phone and started browsing YouTube, mainly looking for any videos related to The Batman—breakdowns, early fan reactions, speculation videos—anything people were saying about the movie before they saw it.

One particular video title caught my eye: "They Changed the Name?!"

The thumbnail had "Batman Begins" crossed out and replaced with "The Batman."

I rolled my eyes, already knowing what the video was going to be about.

That whole fiasco had been a mess.

The marketing team had been insistent on changing the movie's name. Originally, Nolan and I had planned for it to be called Batman Begins—the title we'd used throughout production. But the marketing executives fought us hard, arguing that it needed to be changed.

Eventually, despite Nolan's reluctance and my personal dislike of unnecessary changes, they won. The movie was now simply The Batman.

Honestly, I had stopped caring about it weeks ago. The Batman was fine as well.

I scrolled past the video and clicked on another one—a deep-dive breakdown of all the trailers and a fan speculation video about the movie's plot.

The voiceover from the host, James, began, accompanied by footage from the trailers. "Alright, so The Batman is shaping up to be something very different from what we've seen before. It's definitely not like the Schumacher-era nonsense…"

The video continued, showing various shots of Gotham, and the host praised how it looked. I smiled at that—I had a lot of input in shaping Gotham for the movie, especially during post-production, so it made me proud to see people appreciating it.

"It looks like the movie is set sometime in the late '90s or even early 2000s," James said, pointing out some of the older tech in different shots. "I'm pretty sure this movie isn't set in the 2010s."

He was indeed right. The Batman was set in 2002—several years before the events of Superman and Wonder Woman. Superman was definitely taking place in the 2010s, and Wonder Woman just before that.

James then moved on to the Batmobile.

"The Batmobile looks weird but still kinda cool," he said. "We already saw it in the on-set leaks a year ago—one even crashed." He chuckled. "Apparently, Daniel Adler owns one of these."

I smirked. I did, in fact, have one of the Tumblers from the movie, but it was just sitting in storage. I couldn't exactly take it for a joyride through Los Angeles. Maybe, once the DCU hit its peak, I'd consider auctioning it off for charity or something.

The video continued, showing a scene where a kid looks up and sees Batman standing on a rooftop.

"Is this Dick Grayson or just some random kid?" James speculated. "It could be him… who knows?"

"Ready to go?" Margot's voice pulled my attention away from the video.

I looked up at her, raising an eyebrow. "I'm the one waiting for you."

Margot was dressed casually—jeans, a light jacket, and sneakers—so I was a bit confused about what took her so long to get ready.

"Then come on, let's go," she said, grabbing her purse. "We're gonna be late."

I shrugged, pocketed my phone, and followed her out of the apartment.

=====

The movie theater exuded an electric atmosphere as we walked toward it after parking the car. The streets around it were lively, filled with regular moviegoers and excited comic fans. Some were fully dressed as Batman—complete costume and all—while others kept it simple, just wearing capes over their regular clothes.

Margot and I made our way to the ticket booth, keeping a low profile. I had on a hoodie, and she wore a baseball cap pulled low. We were still careful not to draw too much attention.

We bought our tickets and walked inside. I was looking around when Margot suddenly nudged me and pointed at a guy wearing a T-shirt with a very familiar image on it.

It was Sad Adler.

The meme of me sitting on a park bench, looking lost in thought—or, as the internet called it, "depressed as hell"—had somehow found its way onto a T-shirt. The guy wearing it looked completely unaware that the actual subject of the meme was just a few feet away.

Before I could react, I felt Margot's arms wrap around me from behind, her chin resting on my shoulder. "Remind me again—why were you so sad?"

I sighed, shaking my head. "I wasn't sad. I was just… going through some stuff."

She squeezed me slightly, still grinning. "Mmm-hmm. Sure."

I smirked. "That'll be me if this movie doesn't do well."

Margot rolled her eyes and leaned in closer, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek. "You know that's never going to happen. So stop being so doom and gloom about it."

I let out a breath. "Mags, my expectations for this movie's box office are very high."

She folded her arms, raising an eyebrow. "What do you want? Like, 200 million this weekend?"

I looked at her, completely serious.

Margot's eyes widened. "Okay, yeah, that's not happening. But I'm sure it'll make half of that."

We walked to the concession stand and ordered popcorn and drinks. As we waited, I added, "That's what the marketing guys are saying too."

Margot shook her head, laughing. "You're impossible."

We grabbed our snacks and made our way inside the theater.

====

Inside, the theater was already filling up. We chose seats near the back to stay as low-key as possible.

All around us, I could hear conversations.

"This movie's supposed to be a big deal. I heard it's getting really good reviews."

"Yeah, it's Batman. Everyone loves Batman."

"I used to watch the cartoon all the time. I hope this is good."

And then there were the hardcore fans—easy to spot by their animated discussions and deep-cut theories:

"Okay, but who do you think is the secret villain?"

"Dude, there has to be an end-credits scene. Marvel does it—why wouldn't DC?"

"I heard Adler put a ton of Easter eggs in this movie. Like, deep comic lore stuff."

The lights dimmed, and the theater hushed as the movie finally began.

The DC Studios and Stardust Pictures logos appeared on the screen, accompanied by the slow, ominous rise of the Batman score. A few murmurs could be heard throughout the audience—excitement, anticipation, and maybe even some nerves from those who had been waiting years for a good Batman film.

The opening scene faded in: Wayne Manor. The camera panned over the sprawling estate, settling on a young Bruce Wayne playing in the garden with a young Rachel Dawes. Their laughter echoed as Bruce, full of childish confidence, ran toward the edge of an old stone well.

A misstep. A crumbling ledge.

Bruce's foot slipped, and in an instant, he plummeted into the darkness below.

The camera followed his fall, the silence stretching for just a moment before the deafening sound of fluttering wings filled the space. A massive swarm of bats erupted from the shadows, enveloping Bruce, their frantic movement swallowing him whole.

I heard someone a few seats down mutter, "So… is one of the bats gonna bite him?"

I chuckled quietly.

On-screen, Bruce curled into himself, terrified, as the bats swarmed around him. Then, a beam of light cut through the darkness, and a familiar voice called out.

"Bruce!"

His father, Thomas Wayne, appeared at the edge of the well, lowering himself and reaching for his son. With a trembling hand, Bruce grasped his father's, and Thomas pulled him into a reassuring embrace.

"You're alright, son. I've got you."

The movie continued—Bruce's childhood trauma unfolding on screen: The death of his parents in Crime Alley. The trial of Joe Chill. Bruce's departure from Gotham, his journey around the world, trying to understand the nature of crime and fear.

As the movie reached the scene where Bruce was thrown into a foreign prison, I leaned over to Margot. "This is my scene," I whispered.

Margot tightened her grip on my arm, watching intently.

On-screen, Bruce, played by Jensen Ackles, was shoved into the crowded prison yard, his clothes ragged and his face bruised. Around him, prisoners circled like vultures, eyes filled with malice.

Then, from the crowd, one prisoner stepped forward.

Me.

Long, unkempt hair. Dirty, tattered clothes. A wild look in my eyes.

Without warning, I swung at Bruce—a rough and uncoordinated punch. Bruce dodged, but the sudden movement caused others to lunge at him. A chaotic fight broke out, fists flying, bodies crashing into one another.

Despite being outnumbered, Bruce fought with raw, unrefined skill, taking down one opponent after another—until a guard stormed in and dragged him away, tossing him into solitary confinement.

Margot frowned, glancing at me. "Where is it? Where are you?"

I smirked. "You just saw me."

Margot's eyebrows furrowed as she turned back to the screen. "Wait… you mean that guy?"

I nodded proudly. "Yep. First guy to throw a punch."

Margot let out a small laugh, shaking her head. "No one is going to know it's you."

I grinned. "Well, that's half the point."

Margot tilted her head. "So… all your cameos are gonna be like this?"

"Yep," I confirmed.

She hummed in thought, then smirked. "Alright. No more hints next time. I want to find you myself—let's make a game out of it."

Amused, I reached for her hand and kissed it. "Whatever you say."

The movie continued.

When Liam Neeson appeared on screen, introducing himself as Henri Ducard, a huge cheer erupted from the audience. His commanding presence immediately captivated the theater, and I smirked to myself.

The film transitioned into Bruce's training arc, where Ducard mentored him in the ways of the League of Shadows. The montage of brutal training sequences—swordplay, psychological manipulation, and combat—was met with hushed excitement. The visuals were striking, and the fight choreography was leagues ahead of what Nolan originally did in my past life.

The training reached a dramatic conclusion when Ducard revealed the League's plan for Gotham. They intended to destroy it. He then presented Bruce with the final test: executing a criminal to prove his commitment.

Bruce refused.

After a moment of high tension, chaos ensued.

The battle between Bruce and the League of Shadows ignited—fast and unrelenting. Every movement from Jensen's Bruce was calculated, efficient, and devastating. It looked great; I had been there when it was filmed and later edited, and it turned out exactly as I wanted.

The audience cheered as Bruce fought his way through his former allies, ultimately setting the temple ablaze.

The intense sequence ended with Bruce saving Ducard from certain death, dragging him from the wreckage before making his own escape.

Then it was back to Gotham.

As the camera panned across the city's skyline, a wave of applause rippled through the theater. The dark, towering architecture of Gotham was a sight to behold—foreboding and gothic. Unlike the sterile modernity I felt it had in the Dark Knight trilogy from my old world, this Gotham felt much like the one from the comics: a place of decay, crime, and shadowed grandeur.

Bruce's journey continued as he returned home and began his transformation into Batman.

Lucius Fox was introduced, earning another round of murmurs and appreciation from the crowd. Bruce's trial-and-error process in crafting his gear was shown meticulously—each scene revealing how his suit, weapons, and persona evolved with every outing. The gradual buildup to his first real night as The Batman had the audience hooked.

Then came the moment everyone had been waiting for.

Bruce, now fully suited, stood atop a Gotham high-rise, his final suit completed. A massive shot showed him in silhouette, cape billowing in the wind, with the docks illuminated below.

The theater erupted in applause.

I heard someone whisper near me, "This is already the greatest Batman movie ever."

I smirked. Damn right it is.

Next came the docks scene—Bruce's first full-fledged mission as Batman.

Falcone's men were unloading shipments in the dead of night. A single thug turned, scanning the darkness, suddenly uneasy. A distant clatter made them jump, then another. The audience held their breath as the tension grew, the criminals slowly realizing that something—someone—was hunting them.

One by one, Batman picked them off:

Aquick grab into the shadows.

A sudden, terrifying pull from above.

A goon's scream cut short.

Each takedown was carried out with the precision of a horror movie monster, and the audience loved it.

Then came the final thug—desperate, panting, spinning in all directions.

"Where are you?!" he shouted, fear breaking his voice.

A shadow loomed over him.

Batman descended, slamming him against a crate.

"Here!" he said before taking him out.

Then, when Falcone asked who he was, Batman gave his iconic line:

"I'm Vengeance."

The theater exploded with cheers as Jensen's deep Batman voice echoed through the theater.

There was a small time skip as Batman became more established in Gotham. Criminals whispered his name in fear, and the legend of the Dark Knight began to spread.

His investigation into the city's underbelly led him to something more sinister—Jonathan Crane, who had connections to the League. As he investigated Crane through his mob connections, he came across a tragic murder.

A gruesome crime that left only one survivor—a young boy.

In the theater, I heard a hushed voice from a few rows in front of me:

"That has to be Dick Grayson."

I smirked. The same boy had appeared earlier in the film during the docks scene, watching Batman from a rooftop.

The scene on-screen was dimly lit, with flashing police lights illuminating the crime scene. The boy stood in the middle of it all—silent, lost, and shaken. Batman stepped forward, his towering figure casting a long shadow. He knelt beside the boy, his voice low but calm.

"What's your name?"

The boy looked up, his eyes filled with pain but also a hint of defiance.

"Richard. Richard Grayson."

A massive cheer erupted in the theater.

I heard a guy in the row in front of me say, "Kidnap that orphan."

A ripple of laughter spread through the audience.

Despite the humor from the viewers, the scene itself was somber, weighted with emotion. Bruce Wayne saw himself in the boy—another child robbed of his family, standing in the same cold, uncaring city. The moment was reminiscent of the opening scene where young Bruce and Gordon spoke after his parents' murder.

The movie continued, following the core story beats of Batman Begins: Bruce discovered the true horror of the Fear Toxin being developed by Crane. Rachel Dawes was infected by Scarecrow, nearly driven mad by the hallucinations. Bruce, despite being dosed himself, managed to overpower the villain and saved Rachel.

Then came Bruce's birthday party—the moment when everything truly unraveled. Gotham's elites filled Wayne Manor, oblivious to the storm approaching. Bruce played the part of the billionaire playboy, engaging in small talk and exchanging pleasantries.

Then, chaos.

The manor was attacked.

And the mastermind revealed himself: Henri Ducard. But this time he revealed his true identity.

He was the real Ra's al Ghul.

"Did you really think I'd let Gotham slip through my fingers?" he asked, stepping closer.

Bruce clenched his jaw. "I stopped you before. I'll stop you again."

Ra's smirked, shaking his head. "Oh, Bruce. You were always meant for greater things. It is a shame... you would have been a worthy successor." He paused, his gaze sharp. "A worthy husband to my daughter as well."

Some fans gasped at the mention of Talia.

The movie finally arrived at its third act.

Bruce raced against time, his Batmobile roaring through Gotham's chaotic streets as he made his way toward the monorail—where Ra's al Ghul was enacting his final plan. He gave Gordon the Batmobile and went after Ra's on the monorail.

The audience was silent. Not just quiet—dead silent. You know a movie is good when even the most hardcore fans, the ones who had been whooping and cheering all night, are too engrossed to make a sound.

All eyes were glued to the screen as Bruce leapt onto the monorail, defeating the league members, and faced Ra's al Ghul for the final confrontation.

Fists clashed. A brutal fight ensued between student and master. The train sped toward its destination. Time was running out.

Ra's overpowered Bruce, pinning him against the steel walls of the train car. "You lack the will to do what is necessary."

Bruce grimaced, forcing Ra's back with a desperate kick. "No, I just refuse to become you."

Outside, Gordon launched the Batmobile's missiles at the monorail's foundation. The tracks collapsed ahead.

Ra's saw it. He knew there was no escape.

Beaten and bruised, Bruce had his chance to kill him—Ra's even urged him to do it. The audience held their breath.

But Bruce… lowered his fist. "I won't kill you," he said.

Ra's smirked.

And then—he let himself fall.

The audience gasped as Ra's al Ghul plunged into the darkness below, disappearing into the wreckage as the monorail derailed and exploded in a fiery explosion. Bruce barely escaped, launching himself out just before the train crashed into the streets below.

The city was saved.

A massive cheer erupted from the audience as the scene ended. I let out a breath, finally relieved. They loved it. They loved every bit of it.

The movie transitioned to its quiet ending scene.

Bruce stood in the middle of Wayne Manor's ruins, staring at the wreckage of his childhood home. Rachel—played by Rachel McAdams—stood beside him.

"Batman is what Gotham needs right now," she said.

Bruce looked at her, his expression unreadable.

"But Bruce Wayne is the man I loved."

She stepped closer, placing a hand on his chest.

"And I don't know if he still exists."

Bruce didn't say anything.

Rachel gave him one last look before walking away, leaving Bruce standing alone in the ruins of his past.

Then Alfred and Bruce had a short conversation. Alfred asked, "Master Wayne, are you certain about the Grayson boy?"

Bruce turned to him and smiled. "Yes."

Cut to black.

Credits roll.

The theater erupted into applause—thunderous applause.

====

The credits rolled, and thunderous applause filled the theater.

"Director: Christopher Nolan." Another round of applause.

"Screenplay: Christopher Nolan and Daniel Adler." The applause grew louder.

"Fuck yeah, Adler!" someone in the crowd yelled.

I couldn't help but chuckle under my breath. Margot nudged me. "Okay, let's go," she said, starting to stand up.

I gently tugged her back down. "There's still the end-credits scene."

"Oh, right. That," Margot said, settling back into her seat.

By now, most of the casual moviegoers had left the theater. What remained were the dedicated fans, the ones who knew better than to leave before the credits finished. The room was quiet as the first set of credits ended and the end-credits scene began.

On the screen, rain poured over Gotham City, casting the familiar dark skyline into a blurry, stormy haze. The Bat-Signal illuminated the clouds above. As the rain began to slow, the camera panned to show Batman standing on a rooftop, his cape billowing in the wind, looking down at the city he had sworn to protect. Commissioner Gordon joined him.

"You sure know how to make an entrance," Gordon said.

Batman didn't respond, his eyes fixed on the city below.

Gordon sighed, pulling a file from his coat. "Ever since you started fighting crime dressed like that, it seems we're getting more criminals dressing up too."

The camera zoomed in as Gordon removed something from the folder and handed it to Batman.

A playing card.

The Joker card.

The theater erupted. Cheers, whistles, and shouts echoed across the room.

Batman examined the card, his expression hard and unreadable. Gordon continued, "There's a new gang in the city. The leader… and the gang… it seems they like to dress like a clown."

Another round of deafening cheers.

Batman tucked the card away. "I'll look into it."

He turned, stepping back into the shadows, and in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

Gordon looked around, confused. "How does he do that?"

The screen cut to black.