Bruce Wayne was a very rich man. But in no way was he the 'selfish' or 'greedy' type. His charitable and benevolent personality made him highly sought after by women, even some men, and envied by all. Both charming and charismatic, Bruce Wayne could change any horrible situation into a reason for hope. All of Gotham city admired him for it. And as of recently, Bruce had just bought up an old orphanage on the outskirts of Gotham, with his boys in mind, and had desired to fix it up to create a better world for the children of Gotham. Though as Bruce's sleek, black car pulled up to the shambly old building, the tall dark haired male knew immediately that something was off.

The building was worn with age. Screws had come loose or fallen, leaving the wood paneling missing or falling off. Parts of the roof were stooped like it may cave in any minute. Some windows were cracked and taped up where there were holes so the rain couldn't get in. The smell of dirt and rotting wood filled the air, giving off harsh vibes to anyone who came near.

"She's quite the fixer upper…" Bruce commented to himself.

As he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his suit pants, Bruce headed up the broken cobblestone path to the building. He had to jostle the door quite hard to get it open and when he finally did get it open, dust flew into the air, making the young billionaire cough and his eyes water. Definitely not what he was used to. Glancing around the inside of the building, Bruce found the inside was rather nicer than the outside.

The wooden floors were covered in a thick layer of dust and broken or heavily used furniture littered the rooms. The walls were painted a soothing, but now faded green color. The rooms were quite spacious, though that may have been due to lack of anything in the rooms. While there weren't any carpets or mattresses on the beds, Bruce found that with a few preparations, this place could easily become the home to many children. He imagined it: warm paint on the walls, shelves stacked with coloring books and toys, beds covered in thick blankets and fluffy pillows, posters and children's artwork covered every inch of the wall. If he worked hard enough, maybe a few kids could really call this place home.

CLANK!

Bruce glanced back into the darkness of the hallway where he had come from after walking into one of the many rooms to inspect the damage. He had come alone to access the property, having told the realtor that it wasn't necessary that he join him. There shouldn't be anyone else here. Narrowing his gaze, Bruce followed his ears as to where he had thought the sound had come from. He had seen most of the upstairs portion of the building, but he was told there was a basement that could be accessed from the west wing. Perhaps some type of animal had snuck in through one of the broken windows. Bruce turned the corner into the west wing and easily found the rusted metal door that must have lead down to the basement. All the other rooms had wooden doors so it made the most sense. The door squeaked open with an ear piercing screech, making Bruce wince in discomfort. Heavy cement steps lead downwards in an uncomfortable decline into darkness. There must have only been one or two windows since the warm sunlight from outside barely reached this room. It was almost too dim to make out anything in the room. But thanks to Bruce's late night patrols, his eyes adjusted pretty well to the darkness.

Alongside the broken washing machines and other scattered machine parts, the floor was littered with dirt. The cement floor was cracked in some areas and little puddles of water dripped down from the lead pipes on the ceiling. But what caught Bruce's eye was the line of large metal boxes stacked against the far corner of the room. They were hidden by the broken shelves that sat in the middle of the room and Bruce nearly would have missed them if it weren't for the gleam one gave off when the sun hit the corner of it. Upon closer inspection, Bruce realized that these weren't just any normal metal boxes. They were cages. They were abnormally large, too. What possible use could an orphanage have for such large cages? It wasn't like they just had one either… there were several.

"That's not good…" Bruce muttered to himself as he bypassed the shelves to get a closer look at the cages.

Bruce glanced in one of the cages, bending down to fiddle with the lock. It had some sort of padlock on it. When harboring animals, one doesn't usually use a padlock, do they? Bruce grimaced as his mind wandered to dark places as to what possible use these cages could have been for. One by one, he peered into each of the cages. But as he approached the last one, something was different. A light blue blanket hung from under the bars. it must have been the most recently used. But when Bruce went to investigate, he was astonished to find that the cage was still in use. Despite his wishing that his thoughts were wrong, his darkest fear had come true. Inside the cage, was a small child.

A young girl, aged seven or eight. She had long ebony-colored hair and her skin was as pale as freshly fallen snow. The simple, large white T-shirt she was wearing as a dress was in tatters. They way she lay across the cold metal floor of the cage, unmoving and barely breathing made her seem almost unreal. Her baby blue eyes were glossed over and dilated unnaturally. Her features were so delicate and fragile, she reminded Bruce of an old fashioned porcelain doll. But one factor made Bruce sure that she was no doll. The young girl lay in a pool of her own blood. The crimson liquid pooled out from a jagged gash that lead from her stomach up to the middle of her chest. It was amazing that someone so small could have so much blood.

"Hang on, I'm going to get you out!" Bruce said, suddenly snapping into hero mode.

With no reaction from the girl, Bruce feared that it may be too late to save her. Bruce stood up, cursing that the padlock had rusted shut and there was no way to crack it. Looking around the dusty room for something useful, Bruce spotted an old wrench lying hidden under one of the broken shelves. Moving quickly, Bruce grabbed the instrument and returned back to the cage. He held the heavy tool over his head, and he brought it down with all of his might. A few quick bashes later, the lock fell off the hook with a heavy clank. Carefully, as if not to cause the girl any more discomfort, Bruce slipped his arms under the girl and picked her up bridal style.

"I'm going to take you to hospital, hold on until then." Bruce whispered, hoping this girl would make it until then.

And as if they key word had broken the spell over her, the girl snapped back to life. Fear dilated her eyes and she looked at Bruce like he had just assigned her to a fate worse than bleeding out in that cage. She gripped his suit jacket in her small hands, shoulders trembling.

"N-No! No hos… hospitals." She managed to choke out before falling limp in Bruce's arms once more.

Bruce's eyes widened briefly before they settled in a determined gaze. Alright, no hospitals. A decision not all that favorable was made and Bruce cursed himself for having to choose it over anything else. But what else was he to do? Bruce rushed the girl to his sleek, black car. Laying her down in the back seat, Bruce hurried off the property. His car sped through red lights and made sharp turns, clumsy driving coming from Bruce constantly looking through the rear view mirror to check on the child in his backseat.

"Alfred!" Bruce shouted, bursting through the front doors of Wayne manor.

Almost immediately, Alfred appeared from the west corridor holding a wooden spoon and he wore apron around his waist. He must have been in the middle of cooking tonight's dinner.

"Oh, my word! Master Bruce, I thought you were just going to visit the orphanage." Alfred said, clearly astonished at the sight before him.

"I know, I know. But right now I need your help. I can't bring her to the hospital." Bruce said, panic evident in his voice.

"Alright, Master Bruce. We'll just have to bring her to the batcave infirmary. Let's get a move on then, please." Alfred said,ushering Bruce along the corridor quickly.

Once inside the infirmary, the small girl was placed upon the cushioned examining table. Alfred slips on a pair of blue surgical gloves and Bruce was made to anxiously paced back and forth off to the side, having thought that he might get in the way if he hovered too close. Alfred pulls out a surgical sponge and a suture kit. The suture needle was something Bruce was more than familiar with, having seen Alfred use it on his boys and on himself approximately a thousand times before. Though at this moment, the object seemed so foreign and frightening. Bruce cringed as the needle slipped through the girl's milky white skin, the thread tugging it along until the wound was slowly closed with each stitch. At one point, the girl had a seizure, and in order to prevent further harm to her body, Bruce was forced to hold her down so Alfred could finish quickly and work on other matters. After an hour of trying to stitch the wound closed, the gash still oozing blood like a geyser, Alfred had to tell Bruce to leave because it was clearly too much for him to handle. The billionaire had always been sensitive to those in pain, which Alfred knew all too well.

It was just after midnight when Alfred had managed to get the situation under control. He emerged from the infirmary with a towel in hand, trying to clean the blood from his hands. Even his tailored suit was stained with the crimson liquid. His face was creased in worry, though the look in his eyes showed that he was somehow relieved. And with a few words, Alfred was able to put Bruce's worries to ease.

"I've managed to stitch up the wound and stop the bleeding, Master Bruce." Alfred says.

Bruce sighs in relief and slumps down onto the couch in the hallway. He runs a hand through his slicked back hair and he let's out noise that informs Alfred just how distressed he was about the whole situation.

"There's something of interest that might be of concern to you…" Alfred started, trailing off lightly as if to draw in Bruce's attention further.

"And that is?"

"That girl… she seems to be missing the majority of her organs."

"Missing? As in… they were removed?" Bruce's expression immediately darkened.

"That I can't say. But it must have been along time ago because her remaining organs have adapted to function just fine without what she's missing. Currently she has a heart, lungs, stomach, kidneys, and only the large intestines." Alfred counted off what he remembered.

"You've got to be kidding." Bruce said, exhaling roughly.

"I'm afraid not, Master Bruce."

"But she's stable?"

"Yes."

"Then we'll just leave it at that." Bruce stood and moves to fix himself.

All this time he had not bothered to fix his appearance. His clothes were covered in dust, his shirt buttons had come undone partially and there was a rip in the sleeve of his blazer. Not to mention little strands of hair had fallen out of place. Since society holds appearance to such high standards, Bruce, who was a key member of Gotham's upper class society, was always sure to keep himself well groomed. But at this time, his mind was too consumed with the adrenaline with the situation the girl brought.

"I will retire to my room. Please keep an eye on that girl in the meantime. I want surveillance on her 24/7 and set up security measures." Bruce says as he glances one more time at the infirmary door.

"As you wish, Master Bruce."

Bruce gave only a curt nod to Alfred as a way of dismissing him and saying goodnight. Bruce felt a lingering reluctance to leave the injured girl alone and unconscious in the infirmary, but there was not much more comfort he could provide for her at this time. Exhaustion finally claimed his body and Bruce had no choice but to go to bed.

It was late the next day when Bruce was working in his study, that he was interrupted. The infamous Dick Grayson seemed to always know what was going around Bruce and that expression of confidence written across his face let Bruce deduct that he had already learned all about last night.

"I heard you picked up another stray, Bruce." Dick said, as he walked up to Bruce's sturdy wooden desk.

"And who did you hear this from?" Bruce asked, not looking up from his work.

"Well, no one really. I just so happened to need gauze from the infirmary and then I just so happened to find an unconscious child lying on the examining table."

Oh. Well, it's not like Bruce was hiding her.

"I found her on my trip to the orphanage." Bruce stated, so casual that you would think that this occurs on a regular basis.

"And you somehow thought it would be better to bring her here rather than a hospital?"

"Her injuries were meant for her not to survive. Whoever did that to her, would likely to be unhappy if they found out she was still alive. At the hospital, there would surely be gossip about such wounds. She would easily be discovered." Bruce explained, finally looking up into Dick's icy blue eyes.

"Alright, Bruce. You win this round. But don't come crying to me when she discovers our secret. Or ends up being crazy. It's likely after all that trauma." Dick said, sitting on the edge of Bruce's large wooden desk.

"I've thought of that, Dick." Bruce said, dismissively.

"Fine, fine." Dick said, as he rolled his eyes. "But are you going to tell the others?"

"It's no secret."

Dick glanced over his shoulder at Bruce, cocking an eyebrow in his direction.

"Well, alright. I'm sure they'll be over the moon." Dicks said with a dry laugh.

Bruce furrows his brows at the young man and Dick holds up his hands in defense. Dick stands from his spot on the desk and makes a show of turning his back to Bruce before he starts to exit.

"Just don't get too attached." Dick warned before finally leaving.