I had this on my mind for awhile. This story is sort of a sample of what to expect in my sequel to Gotham's Little Knight. Expect it would be in Bruce's POV. Otherwise this story is pretty much a stand alone. But may be connected in the upcoming sequel. I'm not sure yet.

Prologue

This was it. For the first time the Justice League was too late to save Batman. When they asked the abductors what they wanted for Batman they simply said nothing. No money. No sacrifice. No one's life on the line. Expect Bruce's.

We tried for countless weeks. No trace. No clue. He was simply gone. Every week we received a video, about Bruce's condition. We never saw the abductors. All we know is that Bruce has been taken by The Unknown. Reason? Who knows. This is not the first time they appeared. There is very little information about The Unknown. All we know is every decade someone is chosen to be their victim. What happens to the victims? They never come back. Not a trace. Not a clue.

For the first week Bruce started out strong and stubborn, ignoring whatever pain they put him through and fighting back. Strong determination gleaming in his eyes. But fighting was useless. He was securely chained down by over dozens of thick chains, onto a metal operating table, positioned 90 degrees up. Weeks past, his determination was slowly getting drained away and disintegrated into whatever hell pit he was in. His condition significantly worsened each week. Starting off with a cracked nose, then bruises covering almost every patch of visible skin. It was obvious that every day he was still fighting back, fighting for his life. By now half of his armour was gone and damaged, but amazingly his mask remained. Sometimes Bruce would barely be awake in the videos, trying to focus on not passing out. Sometimes we thought he was dead. But the shallow rise and fall from his chest extinguished those dreaded thoughts.

Why couldn't Bruce escape? He can usual escape most of his situations fairly easily. Sometimes he manages to contact us, just to tell us not to waste any time-saving him. That he could get out of the situation by himself. I was always worried but he somehow manages to show back up at the Watchtower in decent condition, a few hours later. Then he would lightly smile, greet us then head to the Med bay to patch himself up. I imagine him, everyday. Strolling down the Watchtower with a soft smile. But why couldn't he do that now?

One time Bruce almost picked through all the locks on the dozens of chains that stranded him on the metal table. As soon as he picked the last lock setting him free, he painfully fell to the ground. He tried to push himself up, but his worn out body collapsed under the strain. Instead he looked up at the camera and flashed an exhausted smile through the thick gag that was roughly tied around his mouth. His cut bloodied fingers desperately scrambled as he tried to untie the gag. But his fingers kept slipping, refusing to cooperate. Bruce suddenly froze and his eyes widened. Before they could see anything else the feed was cut off.

The next week we were waiting in the meeting room, quietly for the next video. No one liked watching them. No one. But they had too. We were told if they didn't pick up the call that Bruce would be killed. Nightwing, Batgirl and Robin stopped coming to the meetings after the first three videos. The situation hit them hard, possibly more than it did to the others. Instead they asked us to call them if we could find any useful information in the videos. That might give them any clues on Bruce's whereabouts. We never called.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

J'onn quietly typed in the codes to answer the incoming video. As soon as it came on everyone froze, forgetting how to breath.

I felt as if my lungs disintegrated. Batman's mask was cracked in half, lying on the ground beneath him. They did it. Someone finally did. Not the Joker. Or the Riddler. Or even Hugo. Just some unknown psychopath. Someone uncovered who was truly under the mask. But that seemed almost dismissible compared to what lay before us. Bruce eyes were half opened for a while, but it looked like he didn't even notice the camera. His blue eyes were disoriented, weary and pained. Faint dark rings were formed under his eyes from the lack of sleep. But somewhere deep in his striking soft blue eyes was a small flame of determination and hope. A flame that would never be extinguished till Bruce's last heart beat. A few seconds later he closed his eyes, his head slightly rolling to the side. He passed out.

Bruce's young handsome face ( no matter how much he tried to ignore it, he was the second youngest of the founding members, just a few years older than Flash) was almost kept untouched. Almost.

He had a bruised cheekbone and a trail of fresh blood; slowly oozing down the side of his head. His black hair was longer than usual but still somehow the hair style suited him well. Yes, no matter how bad the situation somehow Bruce always had his natural playboy looks. When I attentively studied Bruce for a little longer I saw something that made my blood boil. There was no thick chains restraining Bruce in place. Instead he was welded to the metal table. Whoever sicko had Bruce poured hot liquid metal on him and waited for it to dry. The liquid metal dried on his skin. There was no way he could escape without ripping off huge portions of his flesh. The metal bounds were way too thick anyways. The bounds were on his wrists, ankles and torso. His blistering skin around the bounds were a fiery red and dark purple. There was no doubt he had a third degree burn. When he came back he would have a long intense surgery trying to remove the metal. That was if he ever came back. A few seconds later the feed went black.

I tried my best to stop tears from flowing. But quickly my sorrow and heart ache was replaced with an endless pit of anger. Whoever had Bruce was going to pay dearly. They crossed the line. They went too far. The rest of the founders around me seemed to be thinking the same thing. Fire burning strongly in each of their eyes. Flash approached quickly me grabbing my hand.

"ComeonDiana. Let'sgototheCavetotellthemwhathappened." Flash said quickly, before slowing down. "Then we are going to go find whoever took him, beat the crap out of them and save Bruce."

Although I always went by the code Justice not vengeance. This time I would make an acceptation. I'm sure the others agreed with me.

Quickly I nodded my head. Before any of the other founders could say anything Flash zoomed out of there with me. I just managed to see my best friend Hawkgirl giving me an encouraging look before we dashed down the halls of the new Watchtower, almost knocking trampling Green Arrow. There was no time for crying. No time for wishing the events has been different. Every precious second that passed was killing Bruce. We had to find him before it was too late. Dick and Tim couldn't lose their dad. They were way too young. It was too early. And Barbra... Bruce was like her brother. Alfred knew Bruce since birth. Heck without Bruce that League will never be the same. Even though Clark is considered our leader Bruce always had a plan. Always. Even if he had to sacrifice his own life in the plan. He would do it.

I still remember when J'onn told me Bruce used his ship to detour the kryptonite missile that was aiming for Clark. Searching forever in the endless dark blue sea. When we did find him he was practically dead. I never tell anyone but I have nightmares about that once in a while. Searching the red sea and finding Bruce, completely broken and bloody. And dead.

He is the tech guy who knows how to disable bombs and hack into high security computers with plenty of time to spare. Oh Hera he is too young to die. How old was he? Late twenties or early thirties... Maybe. He still had his whole life ahead of him. No. Has. He still has he whole life ahead of him. I felt my partials disappearing as I teleported with Wally down to the Cave.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Four days later

Just like before. Not a trace. Not a clue. We searched for hours, but nothing. He just vanished. The abductors knew who Bruce truly was, but they were good enough to not say anything about. No news reports, no attacks on Bruce's loved ones. It seemed like this was a very personal matter, with just Bruce.

A week later

My mouth was dry and my eyes moist. My world was twisted and ripped apart. Nothing. Not even Hera could prepare me for this.

This week. There was no video.