Oh hi, guys. It hasn't been too long, has it?

*checks calendar*

Bugger.

Thanks to everyone who read, followed, favourited and made love to this story. You're all beautiful human beings.

Special thanks to the people who left reviews, Mozart's Fantasy, UnstableDread, XxXxFading DreamxXxX, AidenSurvival, lollypop1233, OptimusPrimeAddict and IamBatgirl.

AidenSurvival: Y u no update again ::Sadface::

XxXxFading DreamxXxX: Wally is always super relaxed, even in the tensest situations. He's on my zombie apocalypse team because he'd probably just crack jokes all the time.

By the way, if you're unsure about when I'm updating, I usually keep info written on my profile. Enjoy.

Chapter Ten

Wally paced the small cell with surprising agility; his weak limp only obvious to those who looked for it. It was odd, but he liked to think that the time (however long it had been) spent in the cell had given him more strength than any physical training ever could. What was more, it had sharpened his wits.

The redhead had never been one for planning things out, preferring to 'wing it' and hope for the best. This time however had been different. He realized that the only way he could possibly hope to escape now, slept in the fifth draw down of the third metal cabinet he had investigated in his last escape.

He knew he only had one chance. One chance to re-escape, one chance to find the right route again.

He wasn't pacing because he was nervous, no, it was…well, it was nervous pacing. But the confident type of nervous pacing.

He was rambling now.

The speedster looked over at the others. Their doses had been increased again, and they all lay sprawled on the floor, eyes closed. Wally hoped he could do this for them, even if it meant sacrificing himself.

Wally inwardly groaned. That had been a Superman-tier angsty thought.

Captivity was definitely weakening his humor, all right. If he kept this up, he might start thinking like Batman, and that prospect scared him more than any prison cell could.

Mentally running through his plan once again, for good measure, Wally placed both hands on the glass of his cell, attempting to quiet down the spikes of nervousness in his stomach.

He had been practicing his phasing-through-materials skill for the past few days, and was determined to not screw it up this time.

He closed his eyes all too aware of his leg and arm's soreness, which seemed to almost cruelly remind him of how he had failed before.

He concentrated more than he ever had in his life, and when he opened his eyes again, he was on the other side of the glass, unharmed. Had he been somewhere else, he would've whooped, or perhaps done a victory lap.

Instead, he settled for a nice simple air-punch.

Bracing himself, he crept towards the door. In one swift movement, Wally opened it and punched whatever object had been right outside.

The guard fell to the floor with a thunk and Wally, as an afterthought, searched the guy for any weaponry and, finding some, proceeded to hide it behind a few conveniently stacked boxes.

Pleased, he stepped out into the corridor, of which he had been trying his best to remember the layout of for the past few hours. Which way had he gone before? He decided to count on his natural direction, as it had helped him enormously last time.

Marveling at the lack of guards again, he walked quickly down the mossy corridors. He was sure the direction he was heading in was right, and therefore briskly turned the fifth corner of his journey without thinking to check for guards.

Walking away from him were two figures, one of which Wally recognized very well, the other of which was unrecognizable, but decidedly plump.

Had he escaped already? Wally distinctly remembered the man being arrested after the weird attempted kidnapping-thing.

Captain Cold was talking quietly to the other man, as they turned the corner at the other end of the corridor.

Wally blinked, once, twice, and then continued on to his destination, which was thankfully in a different direction.

It was hardly surprising that Cold had been in league with his captors, he had contacted someone before, after all, when trying to abduct Flash. Wally would look into it when he escaped.

Wally turned what could have been the ninth or fifteenth (he'd lost count) corner of the complex, when he was stopped by the grey metal door.

A kind of floating, euphoric feeling swelled up in Wally's chest, the feeling of accomplishment against all odds.

He pushed at the door, hand all too happy to meet the cold steel once again, and stepped into the room that felt more like a friend than anything else.

Just as he'd anticipated, the filing cabinets were still there. His captors didn't seem so intelligent now. Any sane guard would have moved them if he'd known his prisoner had been dicking around with the contents.

Wally pulled at the fifth draw down of the third cabinet, a faint rattling emitting, to his delight.

Wally stared down at the five dead communicators, grin plastering his face. He took one, not caring whose, and switched it on by the small button at the bottom. The red light flickered, making the speedster's heart flicker along with it for a second, but eventually both rectified themselves.

He then turned the thing off, aware of the fact that keeping it on would most likely attract bad attention as opposed to good, and placed the once more dead electronic device in the metal drawer. The feeling in his stomach glowed brighter, and Wally was sure that this time HE had saved the day for once. He couldn't wait to rub this in GL's face.

He left the room.

Walked down the corridor.

Didn't see the host of guards approaching him from behind, and saw nothing else as they pulled cloth down over his face and pulled his arms behind his back.

But even then, the warmth in his stomach didn't flicker as the red light had. Even if these men killed him, or hid him somewhere else, he had saved him friends.

And that, he thought, was good enough for him.

Night had fallen again, and Gotham had awoken as it always did when the last rays of sun faded. Batman crouched on a building edge, over an alley, staring out at his territory.

If you squinted your eyes enough, the lights of the city could almost be mistaken for stars.

But Batman knew too much, had suffered too much in the city to see it for anything other than what it was, a disease. And the Dark Knight, ever the 'doctor', had tried to heal it but had failed again and again.

With the recent developments, even his own city had lost faith in him. At least, the ones who had harbored faith in the beginning had. Those who had hated him from the start just despised him even more.

What, the people said, could this 'hero' do for the city if he couldn't even save his friends? And they were right, Bruce and Batman agreed.

Looking over the city again just reminded him of his failures.

Each bright point of light, which shone from the surrounded city, so unlike stars, was a person he couldn't save. Each streetlamp a crime he hadn't stopped. And all of it mocked him. Even his signal, sitting snugly atop the police HQ roof, a stark reminder of how he had gone wrong.

He brooded on this, something he had perfected over the years. Perhaps the only thing.

And then his comm link beeped an alert.

And then it beeped again, and Superman spoke.

"I've found a signal from one of the other communicators. I don't want to get your hopes up, but I think it's genuine. I think we've got it."

A dark sort of hope rose in Batman's chest despite the Man of Steel's disclaimer.

"Teleport me to the Watchtower."

"Doing it now."

The city faded away to a brightly lit room, and Batman had to squint for a second in order to adjust his eyes.

Superman was tapping away at the monitor keyboard, frantic, as one of the screen zoomed in on a location.

Without a second lost, Batman leant over the other man's shoulder to see where the comm had been traced to.

"Let's go." Batman said without hesitation.

"Wait, don't you think we should be more careful?" Superman asked slowly. "For all we know, this is another attempt to capture us, too."

"Point accepted. Let's go anyway."

"Bruce, I know you've been feeling guilty about this whole situation, but I don't blame it on you. Nobody does. We can't rush into this. We're their last hope."

"I hope you realize, Clark, that every second we stand here talking is a second we're wasting. For all we know, this is their last hope."

Superman opened his mouth as if to reply, but closed it with a slightly audible snap. He paused for a second, and then nodded.

They teleported themselves back down to earth, not far away from where they had traced the comm to, and flew (and in Batman's case, swung) swiftly closer to it.

Maybe, Batman thought whilst jumping from one roof to another, all those lights in Gotham weren't just there to mock him night after night. They were, perhaps, little signals of hope. Those who had been lost, who Batman couldn't save, lighting up the night sky in order to remind him, motivate him. That thought kept him going.

Bruce has been watching The Lion King again.