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Batman
1. Stuck
'Take a breath Bruce', whispers Selina 'Breathe'
Bruces eyes shoot open. He attempts a breath. Water is everywhere.
His mouth instantly fills with dirty water. He spits out what he can. His head throbs harder as he tries to calculate. Arms are wedged. Eyes bulging. He can feel his blood rush faster and faster. A water garbled wailing fills the empty chamber and echoes around and out of the rusted grates of the abandoned sewer system.
Bruce pants and puffs, mind racing. Come on Bruce, slow down. Think. You are on your back, so that's a good thing, you can breathe. For now. He tries to look past his feet into the ominous darkness. Above, there's a din of light. Something. It's hard to tell. Hm. Copper? It's tight, but there's wriggle room.
Bruce shimmies along on his back towards it. He gets close before, budge. His shoulder hits a snag, a big rusty tear in the side of the pipeline. The water rushes faster over his face as he moves up and around. Avoid it and get to the light. The sharp piece juts out, catching and tearing his shirt.
Bruce moves past to see that the light is a grate. Looks kinda rusty, maybe its loose. Taking some very vital deep breaths before lunging down onto his back, his face underwater. Pushing the grate up with the force. The rusty, jagged tear starts to dig into his upper thigh. He stops and takes a breath. Again, he pushes harder up, holding his breath as his thigh starts to spasm and sting.
Fuzzy vision and bleeding leg aside, in a desperate attempt Bruce seems to combine might with muster, multiplied by brain power and push. And push. And Push. The grate warps and tears slowly before it snaps to pieces in his hands. Bruce jolts up out of his almost tomb, this pipeline, gasping for air and looking at his hands. He flops out appropriately fish-like, tearing the rest of his left leg along the way. Thigh to heel.
'Well fuckin' great' Bruce mumbles to himself, 'That's gonna get infected, for sure' Bruce looks around the dimly lit cavernous hall that he was underneath only moments ago. Dank and dusty, puddles all around and definitely vermin. The only other things around were the occasional safety hazard sign or warning light. There's two options, this way, or that way. Bruce decides on that way, down the walkway.
After continuing on in the same direction, for what must've been at least an hour, Bruce comes to rest his leg. As he stops, something behind him stops too. He takes a few more steps, always facing ahead. Nothing. Cautiously Bruce continues as the walkway turns away and up a flight of steel stairs to a largeish office and control centre, some old equipment and computers.
Bruce looks around for something useful but its all outdated and dead. But at least now he knows where he is. There's a huge map on the far wall labelled TREATMENT PLANT, COVENTRY and as he follows the quickest route along the map with his finger, someone slams his head into the wall. Two times. The someone then stuffs a rag into Bruce's open mouth, as he struggles to breathe even more than before. He goes woozy fast and hits the concrete floor hard.
Wrists and ankles tied to a rickety chair Bruce comes to, keeping his head down because that goddamn light is too bright. Eyes on his lap, there's two voices. A deep one and annoying one. The deep one talks very little, and the annoying one only gets more annoying as he continues.