Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Note:

Okay, so this is the deal. I've been snowed in for two days and need a break from graduate work. So I came up with this really silly idea for a fic and decided to poke a little fun at a few of my favorite Justice League characters. That should be enough of a warning for you.

CONQUERING BOREDOM THE SUPERHERO WAY

Chapter 1: Batman

Gotham

The Dark Knight was bored out of his genius skull. Sure, Gotham was a city that never slept and something was always going on, assholes to scare with his infamous Bat glare, thugs to beat the shit out of, and all around crazies and losers to haul to Blackgate Penitentiary or Arkham Asylum.

The same ole, same ole in the life of Gotham's masked protector. So one wouldn't think that night life in Gotham would bring on the doldrums, but they would be utterly, unforgivingly wrong, because Batman was living, breathing, mind-numbing proof that the superhero gig could be an absolute bore.

Watching the street below his perch from one of many buildings he traversed during the course of his nightly patrol, Batman swore. Perhaps, over the past months, he'd done his job too well, because not a questionable soul was on the street doing unsavory things that would give him a legitimate excuse to try out the new five-attack combination he'd been working on. Simulated and wooden dummies weren't enough of a challenge. Batman needed live, human dummies to practice his superior martial skills against.

A twinge of guilt washed over Batman. He'd donned the mask to protect the good people of Gotham, to make the urban city a better place to have and raise a family. And that wouldn't happen if the likes of Joker and Clayface were on the loose, or if gangs were allowed to flourish, adding to the ills of neighborhoods with their violence and drugs. So the fact that on a Saturday, of all nights, Gotham was quiet, Batman should've been happy, proud even.

Shouldn't he?

He should and he was. But that didn't also mean Batman wasn't one bored to tears Justice Leaguer itching to put this night to rest with a good, old fashioned bout of fisticuffs. Like an addict, the Dark Knight craved his nightly fix.

He shrugged, the shadows on the rooftop hiding him and his non-hero secret. No one had to know what Batman did on nights like tonight when the lowlifes were too scared, tired, or hung-over to come out and play a game of Catch Me If You Can with the Bat.

Dropping his hand to his utility belt, Batman pushed a single button.

Then smiled, wide and wicked and so uncharacteristic of him. And what Batman fanboy said he didn't have a sense of humor? Oh, the masked crusader definitely had a sense of humor. Perhaps one that only a hunter like him could appreciate, but it was most assuredly there, under layers of armor, nonchalance, and playboy charms.

More importantly, his brand of humor, no matter how dry, questionable, or even legal, had its uses in the grand scheme of things. Very grand scheme of things. But I'm rich. I'm Bat-fucking-man, so I can do what in the hell I want in my damn city.

So he waited, having calculated how long he'd have to cool his boots before tonight's boredom would come to a fist-pounding and blood-spurting end.

The countdown he began was pointless but it killed the time it took for Batman to propel himself from the roof, down to the alley below, and into his waiting Batmobile. The car, sleek, long, and made to last, Alfred had once questioned whether it was meant to compensate for something Bruce Wayne lacked. He'd speed dialed Selina, posed the question to her, and then had given Alfred the phone. Enough said, old man.

Batman revved his engines and sped from the alley, intentionally clipping a van illegally parked in a handicapped spot.

Thirteen minutes later, Batman approached Gotham Bay. In the center of the small island lay Blackgate Penitentiary.

That smile of his shimmered like a wraith in the January night just as the Bat signal flashed in the darkened sky above the prison.

Alarms from the island blared, long and loud, while spotlights glared, scanning the water below the imposing edifice and the surrounding boulders that lunged violently from the rushing rapids.

His Gotham PD communicator beeped.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Hand to his ear, Batman spoke, voice low and gravelly.

"Batman."

"Commissioner Gordon. We have an emergency out at Blackgate. I can't explain it, but Bane's escaped his cell. He's on the loose and the guards are no match for him. How long before you can get out there?"

Bruce looked across the water before hitting a button on his belt and lifting into the air when wings launched from his armor.

"Tell the guards I'll be there as soon as I can."

Batman disconnected.

As he drew closer to the island, his infrared lenses scouring the land below, Batman spotted his prey.

The smile returned.

And boredom was no longer a factor this night.

Dropping from the sky as quiet and nimble as a panther, Batman caught Bane unaware. The big bastard didn't even have time to blink before Batman executed his five-attack combo. It wouldn't be enough to take him out. Bane never lost that easily. If he did, what would be the fun in that?

Staggering to his feet, Bane snarled at Batman then rushed him, all long arms and muscled body.

Batman sidestepped the steroid freak.

Oh, yeah, he'd kicked boredom's ass and was about to make Bane his bitch.

Game on.

THE END