One of the worst experiences one can go through is being drugged and not knowing where you're waking up. I was still drowsy from whatever I had been given and my memories were skewed. I was trying desperately to remember what I had been doing before being shoved into this tiny box. I was uncomfortable. My limbs were cramping, and there were voices outside.
Gotham is a wonderful town. I'd recently moved there to start my internship at Wayne Enterprises. It wasn't a wonderful job, more paperwork than I'd have liked, but it was better than nothing, having just finished college. It was much different of a life than I was used to. No more college parties, no more cute guys asking for my number. I was lonely if I really sat down and thought about it. But I was finally thrown headfirst into the adult world and there wasn't much I could do about it.
I had met Bruce Wayne once or twice. He was a quiet, calculating man and I found him to be rather reserved and distant. I had not spoken to him face to face, but I had met his eyes across the crowd. I did not like him. He made me uncomfortable. His eyes were too strong. They seemed to know what you were thinking.
Before I had ended up stranded in this god forsaken box, I had gotten off of work and was heading home to my small apartment on the not-so-wonderful side of Gotham. I couldn't afford much on my small pay.
It was a tiny apartment on the third floor of a brick building, my only window facing the alley. It was dank, reeked and was anything but comfortable, but I had tried my best to spruce up my surroundings as much as I could. I had painted the walls a light blue and added a rug here and some decorations there, but the effect couldn't really make the depressing surroundings much better. My cat, fiery colored Cheyenne, was the only company I had. She was an asshole most of the time, but she usually cuddled with me at night and that was all I really needed.
When I had made it back to my apartment, sighing as I set my keys on my dingy counter, I shuffled over to my bed and threw myself onto it.
"I should clean that counter." I muffled my words in my pillow. Cheyenne crawled onto my back and curled into a ball. "Oh, wait." I rolled my eyes. "I already cleaned that counter. Five times. It's just permanently dirty." My sarcasm was wasted on the cat.
It was only about five 'o'clock when I had gotten home, but I fell asleep right there, not even bothering to get up and change my clothes. That was the last thing I remembered.
But now I was stuck in a box somewhere. I had struggled for a while, but there wasn't enough room for me to move around much and I ended up hurting myself more than actually helping the situation. There were three small holes just above my face that I could see a dim amount of light through. I had no idea how long I had been here, but I eventually remained still and tried my best to listen. There were two voices. But I had no idea who they belonged to.
"What do you mean you got the wrong girl?" This voice was a man, and he hissed through his teeth angrily.
"Well, puddin'..." This was a woman and she seemed to be pleading with the man. "I didn't know. She looks like him. And she only recently moved here. I thought for sure it was his cousin."
"Well, obviously, you were wrong." Something slammed onto a metal surface and the metallic sound reverberated around the room. "Go. Fix it. NOW!" He suddenly bellowed.
The woman whimpered and shuffled from the room. I could hear the door close heavily behind her.
I was breathing heavily by this point. I listened intently as footsteps slowly began to near my box. Suddenly, there was a weight on top of it and I realized that the man had sat upon it.
"She really is quite useless sometimes." He whispered. "And her devotion disgusts me."
I didn't respond, so he continued to speak to himself.
"All I want is Batman. All I want is for him to give himself up. And the whole situation with Dent before was tiresome. Wayne knows something. I know he does. We figured," He chuckled momentarily. "That you were his blood. If we took you, surely he would come around to finally negotiate with me. But that whore…" He growled. "Can never do anything right."
By this time, I had worked up the courage to squeak out a timid sentence.
"I...I don't think I'm who you think I am." I mumbled from inside the box. "Please," I pleaded. "Just let me go."
The man punched the top of the box and I scrunched down farther inside. He stood and walked a few feet away.
"Well if you want to be free, you'll just have to think outside the box!" He cackled and strolled out a door, the cold metallic clang as it closed was the last noise I heard for some time.