Chương 67: Chapter 66: The Man Of Tomorrow (11/15/1984 | 05:42 PM)

DATE: Thursday, November 15, 1984 LOCATION: Burbank, California | Warner Bros. Studios | Stage 16 LOCAL TIME: 05: 42 PM Stage 16 at Warner Bros. was heavy with atomized rain and backlit fog. Ridley Scott's Gotham was a sweeping, oily dystopia, a mechanical nightmare that clashed violently with the bright, primary colors of the suit Christopher Reeve wore. Reeve stood in the artificial downpour, looking like an impossibly bright beacon trapped in the dark.

Above him, on an elevated platform behind a pane of reinforced sugar-glass, stood the boy playing Robin. The kid had just come off a punishing ten-hour shift on the Shadow of the Bat stage, yet he stood there in the shadows with a terrifying, absolute stillness. The script called for the aftermath of a brutal confrontation with Kirk Langstrom's Man-Bat. Scott wanted the visceral reality of a weaponized child contrasted against the mythical presence of the Man of Steel.

"Action!" Scott shouted. The boy didn't hesitate. He sprinted at the glass and launched his body forward, crossing his arms over his face. CRASH. The sugar-glass shattered into a thousand glittering diamonds under the massive Klieg lights. The boy hit the wet asphalt hard. There was no crash pad. Instead, he executed a flawless judo roll to displace the kinetic energy, skidding across the pavement and coming to a halt directly at Reeve's bright red boots.

Reeve watched the kid cough, portraying the wind being knocked out of him, before slowly pushing himself up onto one knee. The script called for Reeve to offer a hand and deliver a stoic line about the dangers of Gotham. But as he reached down, the actor's professionalism cracked. He saw the very real bruise forming on the boy's jaw. He saw the cold, mechanical efficiency of the fall. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Reeve knelt in a puddle, the dirty Gotham water soaking into the blue fabric of his suit. He gently put his massive hands on the boy's shoulders, ignoring the camera entirely.

"Jesus, are you okay?" Reeve whispered, his voice breaking character, filled with unscripted human concern.

"That was a hell of a hit. You don't have to hit the ground that hard, son. We can cheat the camera angle."

"Keep rolling," Ridley Scott's voice murmured over the stage speakers. He saw the magic happening. The boy looked up at Reeve. There was no childlike vulnerability in his eyes. No reassuring smile to comfort the worried adult. Instead, there was a dead-eyed, chilling pragmatism.

"I know how to fall, Mr. Reeve," the boy said, his voice entirely steady. He reached up and grabbed Reeve's wrist, removing the massive hand from his shoulder with firm, deliberate pressure.

"The camera sees the cheat. It sees the hesitation. If Superman is going to believe that Matches Malone trained a child to fight monsters, then Superman has to see the monster in the child." Reeve stared at him, the blood running cold in his veins. He wasn't looking at an eight-year-old anymore. He was looking at a soldier who had calmly accepted his casualty rate. Slowly, Reeve nodded. The instinctual concern in his eyes shifted into a profound, mournful respect.

He stood up, towering over the boy, and slipped flawlessly back into the character of Clark Kent—a god looking down at a broken world. He extended his hand again.

"You shouldn't be in this fight, son," Reeve delivered the line, his voice resonating with heavy, tragic authority. The boy took his hand and let himself be pulled to his feet.

"Neither should you," he replied, perfectly on cue.

"Cut! Print that!" Scott yelled, stepping out from behind the monitor, clapping his hands.

"That is the take. The tension was unbelievable. Chris, the way you looked at him... pure heartbreak. Beautiful." Reeve didn't celebrate. He looked down at his hand, then back at the boy as the makeup team rushed in to touch up the fake blood. He didn't know what was happening inside that kid's head. He just knew that something was fundamentally, terrifyingly different about the boy in the Robin suit.