Wind whipped and the icy rain pelted angrily. The roads were almost completely deserted as wiser Gothamites huddled together against the rages of Mother Nature. The Safety Department had in no uncertain terms declared road traffic banned except for under the dire most situations. Bruce couldn't imagine any situation more dire than this one.
The jeep kept its tenuous hold on the pavement even as he pushed it above what would be considered safe speeds. In less than half an hour he was a half block from the building in question. He pulled into a dead-end alley and shut the car off, pulling a pair of heavy gloves from one of the jacket's pockets. Outside he began walking. Twenty, forty, sixty feet, then he was at the edge of the warehouse. A fire escape led to the upper floors. He reached up and hooked the bottom rung of the ladder and pulled it down, with a noisy clatter, pausing to see if he'd attracted any attention, but the storm seemed to provide more than sufficient cover.
Slowly, one hand followed by one foot in careful succession, he climbed to the first landing. The icy coating of the metal threatened to send him back to the bottom at any time if he made so much as a single false step.
A darkened window awaited him at the top, which he pried opened easily and slipped in behind piles of unused furniture draped in white sheets. Peering around he could see the light from an open door. As he eased around towards the door the sound of footsteps could be heard drawing near. He waited with his back to the wall as the steps came in closer. A man in dark clothing and a long gun passed the open doorway without so much as a glance in. When he was three steps beyond, Bruce darted out. Two quick jabs to the kidneys and a final blow to the neck finished the job quickly and noiselessly. Bruce dragged the body back into the storage room and covered it in a sheet, then went back out the door to see he was on a landing overlooking the much larger first floor.
Deep in the shadows of the landing, Bruce hunched down to observe, but for a moment his mind wandered.
Who are you?
She had been so afraid when she'd asked him that, and so much more insightful than she ever gave herself credit for.
Who are you?
He wouldn't change anything about quarter century he spent in the pursuit of justice, though he had to admit a certain contentment had stolen over him these last few years. Was it a trade-off? One or the other? Could he still be what he needed to be?
Who are you?
This is who I am. I will love, honor, and cherish you, but I will not sit idly by while my child's life rests in the hands of these people, he thought. This is who I am. I just hope you never have to find out.
Below him great metal machines dominated the floor. When alive they would fill the entire building with a cacophonous noise that would force workers to use protection if they wanted to hear a word at day's end, but now they were silent and docile, looming stoically and casting shadows for the handful of lights that burned around the room. The main overhead lights were extinguished.
From his vantage through a pair of binoculars, Bruce had a perfect view of the main office, where the foreman would watch out on his workers during the day through a large glass window. The light in the office blazed brightly, and a man sat behind the desk in a shirt and tie, well-coifed blonde hair, and a woman sitting on the desk beside him. Her back was to the window, so all Bruce could discern was her suit and brown hair. As he watched the pair, though, she slipped off the desk and stretched, moving around the desk so her front became visible. While they would never be mistaken for twins, he could actually see the resemblance to Mardi. He wondered if they had attempted to locate a woman with similar features, or had an accomplice undergo cosmetic surgery for the occasion. She reached up and adjusted the glasses that lay on her nose. He shook his head in confusion, but didn't dwell on it.
He trained his binoculars around the room, looking for a likely place to keep a small child. The shadows hid more than the light illuminated. Crates stacked randomly about, various doors, none guarded. He supposed he'd just have to try each one if he had to.
Movement in the office reclaimed his attention and he saw a third person had joined the pair. This new man held a tray in his hands out for inspection to the first, who nodded and waved him away. Bruce saw the tray held a plate with a hot dog on it, a small container of what was probably pudding, and a carton of milk: a child's meal. He tracked the man as he left the office and walked over to a bank of thick metal doors with horizontal levers instead of knobs. Refrigeration units, no way in or out accept for the door. On a keypad next to the first door, the man entered a four-digit code that Bruce memorized easily. He pulled open the door and walked in, leaving it slightly ajar. Time ticked away at a miserably slow pace as Bruce waited for the man to exit. Terrifying thoughts plagued him knowing a stranger was alone with his daughter, but he kept his place in the shadows. Just because he hadn't seen any more gunmen didn't mean they didn't exist. Finally he came out and resealed the door, and Bruce let out a sigh of relief.
Once the man had gone back into the office, Bruce dropped down from his hiding place, landing on a crate and using adjacent piles as steps until he hit the bottom, then he moved about between the machines and boxes until he came to the bank of doors. He entered the code into the keypad and the light on top blinked from red to green with a pleasant beep. He pulled on the handle and it opened easily. The temperature was cool, but not dangerously frigid. Air circulated through a register at the top of the room that was essentially a long steel box.
A cot had been set up at the back and he saw her small body curled up under a blanket snoring softly. A lamp sitting on a box used as a makeshift table provided light. Next to the lamp was the tray. Only a few bites had been taken out of the hot dog and the pudding remained untouched, but the milk had been completely drunk. He went over to her and shook her lightly, calling out her name. She moaned a bit and then settled back into her sleep. Bruce frowned as he shook her even harder, eliciting no more response than before. His frowned deepened as he picked up the milk carton, sniffing it lightly. The acridness of the drug was barely noticeable, but detectable nonetheless. He didn't allow himself the luxury of anger as he scooped her limp form into his arms, making sure her doll didn't fall out of her grasp.
Outside the unit he stopped and listened. Satisfied no one had been alerted to his presence yet, he began his way back through the maze. Sharp footsteps caused him to stop halfway to the exit. He backtracked until he found a stand of crates that provided a small sheltered nook. He placed Isabella down on the ground, maneuvering a box to provide camouflage, and then went to meet the source of the steps. He honed in as they were coming around a piece of equipment, lashing out and grabbing her, placing a hand over her mouth to keep her from crying out. The woman's eyes were wide with shock as he held her close.
"I don't want to hurt you," he growled into her ear, "but if you yell I will. Do you understand?" She nodded eagerly. He removed his hand from her mouth and allowed her to turn around. "Where are you going?"
"H-home," she replied fearfully.
Bruce motioned with his head towards the office. "Who is he?"
"Who?"
"The man in the suit? Your boss?"
"Oh. I think his name is Reginald."
"You think?"
"We're not really close," she said with contempt.
"How are you involved in this?"
"This?"
"Don't play dumb with me. I don't have the patience for it." He took one step forward, looming over her.
"Well, uh, I was hired to pretend to be some rich man's wife."
"And kidnap his daughter," he finished for her.
She looked down at the ground in shame. "He said they wouldn't hurt her. As long as they pay the money, which they have plenty of. No one gets hurt."
"Except for the worry and terror you've caused her parents."
"I-I-I…Listen I've got a kid of my own, I would never want to cause no one to worry about their baby, but the money was so good." She sniffled and wiped her hand under her nose, then pushed her glasses up higher. "We needed to eat."
"There is legitimate work."
"Not that pays this good."
"He's already paid you?"
"No," she sighed dejectedly. "Not till after the ransom's been delivered."
"There isn't going to be any ransom." She looked up with fear and understanding.
"You're a cop?"
He shook his head. "But there are enough cops surrounding this place, no one is going to get away. You have two choices, you can help me and give yourself up, or you can wait around for the police to arrest you and you can suffer the same fate as the rest of them."
Her voice quavered with tears threatening, "But if I give myself up they'll still put me in jail."
"No, they won't." He motioned for her to follow him. He moved the crate and pulled his daughter out from the hiding spot. The woman gasped. "You're going to take her outside. You're only to give her to Commissioner Barbara Gordon. You're only to speak to Commissioner Barbara Gordon."
She eyed him suspiciously. "I don't understand."
"You had a change of heart. You want to throw yourself at the mercy of the law, and you will be willing to testify against Reginald and the rest of his people. The judge will be very lenient with you. And I assure you Mr. Wayne will be very generous with his reward for your courageous act."
She considered his words a moment longer and then reached out for the sleeping bundle. She looked down at her lovingly. "She really is beautiful." To Bruce she said, "I just want to see my baby again."
"You will. Remember what I said."
She nodded and he started to walk her towards the front, but she hesitated. "What do I tell them about you?"
"You don't."
"But…?"
"Go." He pushed her until she began to walk on her own, and then he melted back into the shadows.
Reginald Baskerville looked up as the office door opened. "Sully?" he called.
"Sully is taking a little nap," the deep voice like the rumble of thunder during a summer storm spoke as a man dressed head to toe in black walked through.
Reginald looked startled, but only for a split second. He returned to his usual state of calm indifference. "And who might you be?" he asked in a voice smoothed and refined by the most exclusive schools across Europe.
"A friend of the Waynes. They're not happy right now, and neither am I." The dark hulk moved closer to the desk.
"Well," Reginald said placing his hand surreptitiously on the gun holstered to the underside of the desk. "I'm not sure what that has to do with me."
The hulk raised a foot and kicked the desk - a very large and heavy piece of wood-crafted furniture, across the room - barely missing Reginald's knee and taking the gun far out of his reach. Then he reached down and grabbed Reginald by the lapels and lifted him into the air. "You took her." The three words were spoken with such a measure of loathing that Reginald felt his belly quiver.
"Well old chap, didn't have much of a choice. I'd gambled everything away," he found himself confessing in the hopes that the big guy would put him down without any undue roughness. "This cannery here is all that's left of Daddy's generous inheritance. Nothing personal you see." He smiled.
They were so close he could feel the hulk's breath through his dark mask, and Reginald was completely grateful for the covering, envisioning some bestial visage hidden underneath. "How did you find out about her?"
"Who, the Wayne kid? Yeah, they keep her pretty secret, don't they," Reginald chuckled. Apparently she'd been registered at the school under a false name, no doubt for her own protection. "Well as luck would have it, I was doing a favor for my sister one day by picking up my niece at her school. We were walking along to my car when I spot Bruce Wayne and a little girl walking from another direction. So I ask Tasha, my niece, and she says Isabella's daddy comes every day to pick her up. Go figure." He smiled and shook his head in bemusement. "Then with a little digging, I found out her mother works all the time and rarely shows up at the school, the perfect plan came together."
Then the hulk just let go. Reginald fell to the floor painfully. Without another word the large man turned and walked out. Reginald sat like that for a moment longer, and then leapt to his feet, prepared to make a hasty getaway. Unfortunately at that time about fifty cops stormed the warehouse and he had no place to run.