Dick awoke sometime later in a dark room. His bare chest was against the door, the cold concrete made him shiver. Dick raised himself up into a sitting position, the world tilted for a moment, but it soon returned to its proper orientation. The teen took in his surroundings —which wasn't much. There was a metal door with a window that could be opened and shut from the outside. At the bottom of the door was a slot for trays of food to be slid through. The walls of the room were padded with old, molding cushions. The air smelled dank and rotted, it made Dick's stomach roll
"Remember your training," Dick muttered to himself, he took a deep breath. Regret filled his nostrils; the smell of the room made his last meal Roma soldier its way up his esophagus. The ebony-haired boy fought to keep the mixture of mashed potatoes, broccoli, sirloin, and stomach acid in its proper place. This was a battle Dick fortunately won. Rather than taking another deep breath to calm himself, Dick closed his eyes and strained his ears to hear anything but himself. Through the sound of his shallow breaths and heartbeat, his ears caught the faintest echo of footsteps. He stayed still and continued listening. The echo grew steadily. Someone was approaching his cell rather quickly. Dick backed into the corner to the right of the door. When it opened, Dick planned to use the shadows to his advantage. He would surprise his captor from behind as soon as they entered the room. The footsteps reverberated off the metal door, they were right outside. Dick moved into a fighting stance, ready to pounce and escape. The latch clicked. The metal hinges creaked, but the door never opened. Instead, the tray-slot at the bottom of the door spilled light into the room. A white plate slid through the opening before it was shut and relatched. Dick's shoulders slumped and he left the corner to investigate the plate. It had a slab of boiled meat and a cup of water on it. Dick's stomach growled with want. His hand reached for the substance but withdrew. What if it was poisoned? That wouldn't make sense, Dick told himself. Nobody would go through the trouble of kidnapping me just to poison me. If they wanted me dead, they would have killed me in the garden. Dick picked up the meat and took a bite. It had a strange flavor, he wasn't really sure what it was. Dick's stomach let out another gurgle, he decided that it didn't matter what it was, he was starving. After finishing the meager meal, Dick examined the plate and cup of water. They were both paper dishes, so he couldn't break them and use them as weapons; no utensils were with his meal either. Whoever was holding him here was no amateur.
There was something about that canister of gas that nagged at the back of his mind, but the events were too muddled to make any real sense of it. Once the chloroform wor off completely, Dick would return to it. Time passed with great distortion. Dick couldn't tell the difference between an hour and a day; nor a day and a week. That night with his brothers felt like weeks ago, yet it could have been just a few days. The only constant was the meal. When Dick's stomach began to rumble and his abdomen clenched with hunger, the plate slid through the door with the same slab of boiled meat and cup of water. He was beginning to wonder if his captor was a mind reader. Dick was beginning to wonder a lot of things lately. Why hadn't he been found yet? The tracker in his arm had been removed, yes, but they had found criminals with much less to go on. Were they trying to find him? Had he done something to make his family abandon him? Dick's thoughts slowly build in their absurdity. He tried to reassure himself that his family loved him, that they were searching for him relentlessly, ut doubts steadily grew. The whispers became shouts of painful what-ifs. This isolation was driving Dick mad. He needed some noise other than his thoughts. The acrobat slammed his fists into the door, the bangs rattled in his skull. He kicked and hit the door, threw himself against it over and over again, relishing in the sound. The noise other than the circus in his head. Exhaustion settled in and bruises began to form. Dick fell to his knees and sobbed.
"Why am I here?!" He screamed into the empty room. The question had been floating around in his mind since he woke up. Why was he here? He hadn't been interrogated or addressed. Nobody had entered the room. Nobody had spoken to him. Nobody. Dick pulled at his midnight locks —which had become oily and knotted.
"I'm going crazy. By the time I get out of here, Bruce'll throw me right into Arkham." The idea of Bruce, his mentor, his father, leaving him to rot in that torture-house made Dick shiver Dick needed somebody to save him; or somebody to kill him.
Jason awoke in a cold sweat. He had another nightmare about finding Dick. Tonight, like most nights, he came upon Dick's location only to find him on the verge of death. Every night was the same thing.
"You. You left me to die. I'll never forgive you." He would sputter weakly, a finger pointed directly at Jason as the dreadful words left his blood-stained lips. Jason took a cold shower and dressed in his Redhood uniform. He stealthily climbed out of his window and slid down the side of the house.
"Jason, go back to sleep." The said teen whipped his head to the right. Tim Drake —Robin at the moment, as he had just returned from patrol—was standing there. Jason snarled at the younger boy.
"You're as loony as the Joker if you think I'm going back to sleep." Jason pushed past Tim.
"I want to find him too, but you can't do that if you're too sleep-deprived to think clearly." Jason kept his back to Tim, letting his words sink in.
"The longer we spend pampering ourselves, the high the chances are that we find Dick dead." Tim sighed at the point made and patted Jason on the shoulder. He looked at the older boy with understanding.
"I'm coming with you." That was all Tim said. That was all that needed to be said. The duo hopped onto Jason's motorcycle —which was parked under a tarp in the garage— and drove away. The streets of Gotham were cold and eerily quiet. Criminals had begun taking to the safety of their hideouts as soon as dusk hit. Word got around that Batman's Golden Boy was missing; from wither experience or stories, criminals knew that Batman punched harder when his family was in danger. They pulled into the alley that Jason had found Dick's tracker in. Tim slipped off the motorized machine and pulled a tablet from his belt. The device scanned the ground around the dumpster.
"It's been almost a week since I found the tracker. I don't know if there'll be anything to find." Redhood grunted with dismay. Tim ignored him and continued his search. The device beeped happily. Jason was by Robin's side immediately, together they viewed the scanner's findings. On the screen, droplets of blood were highlighted blue. Jason's heart sped up. This could be it! This was the first real lead they found, and it could lead them straight to Dick. The duo followed the blood spatter trail until they reached a door. They were behind a club, Jason noted. Robin pulled the door open and entered. Redhood followed ready to get some answers about his brother. From the back door, they walked cautiously down a hallway with multiple rooms. Based on the awkward noises emitting from them, neither boy wanted to take a look inside the rooms.
"This place is so dirty, I need a holy water and bleach shower," Tim grumbled much to Jason's amusement. They opened the door at the end of the hall, revealing a money counting room. Naked men and women counted the cash as armed guards watched them carefully. Tim's face flushed and Jason enjoyed the view for a moment before launching into combat. They easily took down the guards, none of the counters acknowledged their arrival. Redhood kicked open the next door — which led to behind the bar. Redhood grabbed the nearest bartender and held a pistol to the unsuspecting man's head.
"Where's Richard Grayson?" The voice modulator made him sound demonic which was an advantage in an interrogation. The bartender shook his head, his eyes wide with fear.
"I think he's more scared of his boss than of you," Robin deadpanned. Redhood smirked beneath his helmet.
"He won't be for long." Redhood pressed the firearm against the bartender's ear and fired. The shot was drowned out by the blaring techno music, but that didn't stop the bursting of the bartender's eardrum, or the rubber bullet taking some of his ear cartilage and smashing it into someone's martini. The man shook in Hood's hands and the vigilante loved it.
"The next one is going through one of those pretty baby blues you got there." Redhood pointed the barrel of the gun directly at the bartender's left eye.
"That handsome, black-haired kid! Bruce Wayne's ward! I know where he is!" The bartender cried out.
"Where?" Robin chimed in using his serious tone. Redhood lowered the pistol to the bartender's chest, right in front of his heart. The man looked pale.
"The Joker guy had some goons bring him in here, patch up some nasty cut on his arm. They said they were gonna drop him off at an old hangout spot of his. An old HQ or somethin'." Redhood threw the bartender to the ground and left the way he entered with Robin following close behind. Jason was going to find Dick. Nobody could stop him.