Hey readers! Sorry to make you wait, but I had all of my electronics taken away for over a week. So anyways, welcome to Chapter 4 of Break Point. Get ready for draaaama.

In all of those old movies where the damsel, whose makeup happens to be immaculate, is tied to a bed or a tree or whatever, the bull that the movie producers feed the viewers is that some big hunk'll break into the kidnapper's lair and take everyone out with one swing of his muscly arm, and rescue the beauty.

I've been tied to the railing of the staircase for three hours, my makeup is so thin that you can see my freckles, which I try too hard to conceal, and the only "hunk" I've seen is the guy who reopened my stitches, which kinda ruined his appeal. Not that I'm some damsel.

It's been pretty quiet since the butler, Alfred I assume, stitched me up for the second time. I think maybe either they forgot about me, or they're just waiting for me to make a move so they can tackle me again. I've concluded that people actually live in this house, because a kid who looked a little younger than me ran by about an hour earlier, but he doesn't know I spotted him.

Something clicks on the front door; someone's coming in. I tense up in anticipation. Is it the "Bruce" guy that the hunk was talking about? Bruce is a tough name. He's probably got an eyepatch and drives an SUV. He opens the door, but his back is to me because he's latching it. He's buff. Like, amazingly, professional boxer buff. He's clad in a charcoal black suit and wing tipped shoes, both of which match his messy hair. He turns and I get the full view of his face. He's somewhat pale, but ruggedly handsome.

"Alfred, I-" He stops as he spots me, and I scowl and clench my fists, the ropes tightening around my raw wrists, "Alfred!" He calls angrily. The butler scurries into the room. They speak in hushed tones, and I can't make out any comprehensible words. They both seem distressed. The man dismisses Alfred, exasperated. He lets out a little huff of air and makes his way to the bottom of the stairs and rests his hands on the railing. He looks at me in silence for a moment. I feel embarrassed, or something related to that. Like I'm some animal in a zoo.

"What?!" I yell, infuriated. He raises an eyebrow. Is he amused? God, what an ego. Apparently I'm of no concern to him; he pulls out the latest iPhone, sleek and black, and places a call as he leaves the room. I grit my teeth. I will not be ignored. I shake my arms violently, rattling the railing, and let out a grunt of pain. My wrists are gonna rub straight to the bone before the ropes snap. My legs are still free, so I kick at the railing and something crashes upstairs. At least I'm making progress.

"Let me out!" I scream, to no one in particular. My throat and tongue are dry and my stomach whines for food. I feel like a prison inmate. Or an Arkham patient. I hear a click from where the butler left to, wherever that is, but it's the hunk who appears. Apparently my stomach groaned loud enough for him to hear, because he's carrying a sandwich and a glass of water. He climbs the stairway until he's two steps below me, and clears his throat.

"I can untie one of your hands if you promise to behave." He bargains. I stare at him in disgust.

"I'm a vegetarian." I spit. He tilts his head.

"Vegetarians still need to hydrate." He states. After a minute of a stare match, he sighs and approaches. I pull back about as far I can, which is only about six inches, "C'mon, you lost a lot of blood."

"Where am I!? Where's the guy who saved me!?" I burst. He says nothing and undoes one of the knots. At least I'm partially free. He hands me the cool glass, which I'm craving so desperately. So my choice is to either quench my thirst or escape; easy decision. I kick one of his shins and he stumbles backwards a few steps, surprised. While he's distracted, I slam the glass on the railing and use one of the shards to work away at the rough rope. In a matter of seconds I'm free, but it's not over yet. He regains his composure and is ready on the defense. Hearing the sound of commotion, the fancy guy races into view.

Okay, this is hopeless. I realize, but I know this is my only chance of escape. I drop the shard, which sliced my hand a little, and I throw myself over the railing. It's not as high as I had expected, but it's not as low as I had hoped. My ankle twists and I swear I can hear a crack. There's no way I'll make it now. In a last pitiful attempt, I drag myself nearer the door, but I'm intercepted by Mr. Fancy. He throws me over his shoulder, and I flail my legs helplessly. He turns to his partner.

"Grab some actual cuffs this time, and go start the Rover." He orders with a tinge of accusation embedded in his words, and I'm left hanging over his shoulder like a little kid. I mean, honestly, the only more embarrassing position could've been bridal style. His partner obeys wordlessly, or at least to my knowledge. I'm not exactly in an attentive situation. I hear a latch click and we're both out the door; me pounding my fists on his back and him taking it with a begrudging patience. He's walking towards the car and before he clicks the lock, Hunk walks up with a birthday gift of handcuffs. Yippee. Restricted once again, I admit defeat and cease my frantic motions. Mr. Fancy sets me on the immaculately clean leather seats and slams the door, narrowly missing my foot. I'm lying on my side with my face squished up against the back of the seat, and the two men take their places, with Mr. Fancy driving and Hunk riding shotgun. I can't kick anything or else I'm certain my ankle will snap, and if I so much as move my fingers my palm will gush blood. Not really my idea of a typical Thursday afternoon, but hey, at least I'm still outta the house. I guess Mom was right, the worst things do happen when you're out of your home. The three of us sit in silence for the majority of the trip, until my kidnappers begin to argue about directions. At first they speak too quietly for me to distinguish anything of interest, but as men who refuse to ask for help, their voices raise.

"It's Crawford. It's Crawford." One insisted.

"If we take Crawford, we'll just go on the freeway. It's Cinema." The other argued.

"There's Crawford! Turn left, turn left!" One screams. Suddenly we're careening left and I slide down the seats, my ankle hitting the door. I hold back a scream, and what comes out is like a squeal, barely audible. For kidnappers, these guys are pretty comical. Five minutes pass, with every part of my body throbbing, and our journey comes to a close. The car is shut down and they approach me on both sides. It's this time that the hunk heaves me over his shoulder, and I realize where they've brought me; but how did they know?

Home.

Eh? Whaddya think? Hope you can figure out who all of these unnamed characters are. Anyway, read and review! Much appreciated!

~ChattyCat

P.S. I do not own Young Justice, but I own this story and any original characters that may appear. (And I own Campoa Bay, for good measure.)