I neither own nor created Bruce Wayne, Amanda Waller or Lucius Fox.

This story is for entertainment purposes only, so please read and be entertained.

The mysterious woman had been good with directions. He'd give her that. Apparently, they'd already done recognizance and found the camp. Bruce walked through the fronds in the jungle with the backpack heaved up on his shoulders, knives strapped to his wrists, throwing stars in his belt, and other pointy and helpful things stashed here and there. Currently, his hand only held a water bottle wet with condensation from the steaming air and his sweat. If the bugs hadn't been so abundant, he "might" have thought of just leaving the cap unscrewed as he carefully kept himself hydrated.

The click sounded to his right. His foot stopped mid-air. He raised both hands. One brushed the broad leaf of a Hippocrate andongensis. He glanced in the direction of the sound.

The muzzle of a gun poked out from among the branches of the plant. The weapon wasn't raised as high off the ground as Bruce had hoped it'd be. He'd have to stoop low to grab it out of the rebel's hands.

He looked further back into the foliage. A large, dark eye stared at him. Bruce heard another click to his left. Only his eyes swiveled its direction.

Thin limbs, far closer in circumference to the muzzles of the gun than Bruce's own arms and legs, nonetheless, held a second gun pointed at him. The boy holding it tilted his head back and looked up into Bruce's face. His brows drew together, and mouth fell slightly open. He spoke in uncertain English, "G. I. Joe?"

Bruce took a chance he thought the mysterious woman who'd let him come this far would disapprove of. He pointed to himself. "Bruce Wayne."

A tiny gasp sounded behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. An even smaller boy holding an only slightly smaller gun stood there staring at him. His mouth was even wider open than the second boy's had been. The smallest boy's arms were shaking, though it could have merely been from the weight of his gun. His whisper hinted there might be more to it, though. "Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce's eyes narrowed. He studied the contours of the boy's face. "Luke?"

The boy's gun and jaw fell further still. He spoke again in good English. "You know me?"

Bruce slowly turned toward the boy, hands still in the air, and squatted down closer to the ground and Luke's height. "I've seen pictures of your class. You always smile wide in them."

The boy's face crumpled. He raised his slightly lowered gun again. Pointing it at Bruce's face he ordered in a trembling voice, "Don't move."

Bruce didn't let a trace of fear show in his expression or come out into own his voice. "Your parents and teachers are very worried about you, Luke."

A laugh made him glance up the trail again. A fourth boy stood in a place he'd been walking toward moments before. This one looked a bit older and harder than the other three. He spoke in a language used mostly in the nearest city. The words could be roughly translated as, "Big, rich, white-man has come to take the soft-school boy home. Only our leader wouldn't like that."

Bruce hardened his own features and voice in return. He kept his stare fixed on the new-comer. Or at least the one who had most recently shown himself. "And what would your leader do if I succeeded in taking Luke home?"

"Stupid question. Beat us … starve us … worse …"

Bruce turned back to face the first guard behind the bush keeping the "tough-talker" and Luke in sight at the same time from the corners of his eyes. Luke's head was bowed. His shoulders had slumped further. Bruce tried to keep his voice low, deep, and confident. "And what would all 'you' do if the 'leader' and most or all of his commanders were beaten and bound in the dirt at your feet?"

"Kill them." This talkative one hadn't hesitated a second. Bruce raised his eyebrows slightly. "Then what?" The boy opened his mouth. Bruce interrupted, "After … you'd finished doing what you wanted to do to the bodies."

The boy shut his mouth again. He stared into the trees behind Bruce for a moment before replying. "Go back to the city … See if any of my old friends will go back with me."

Bruce met the gaze of the one behind the bush. "What about you?"

The boy's eyebrows rose, then fell. He swallowed. "They killed my mother and father …" Bruce's jaw clenched and then un-clenched as the boy continued. "And they left my little brother and sister behind instead of taking them like they did me, because they were too small. I want to know if my brother and sister are still alive."

"I can help with that."

The talkative one sneered, "Not without money … or a favor."

Bruce turned back to him with raised brows. "You're right … I do want a favor."

The talkative one's brows rose. Before he could ask anything though, Bruce heard something to his left. He glanced that direction. A fourth boy stood barefoot on soft green moss. He smiled at him and asked, "And what about you? What would you want from me in return if you did me a favor?"

The boy lowered his gun though Bruce noticed they all held them so they could raise and fire in seconds. Then the boy smiled, the first smile he'd seen from any of them. "Make me a world famous soccer player."

"He 'is' good …" Luke supplied softly.

Bruce looked back at him, "And you want to be a doctor; don't you?" Luke blinked and nodded. Bruce smiled warmly. "My father was a doctor."

Luke nodded again. "I know. Dr. Thomas Wayne."

Bruce nodded back and heard a snort behind him. He looked back to the talkative one. "You never told me what you wanted."

The boy raised his brows again. Then they lowered as he seemed to think. "One of the leader's commanders killed my friend for 'speaking to him with disrespect' …" Bruce could well believe it, "I want to show him one-hundred times as much disrespect … and live."

Bruce let a moment of silence lengthen between all of them before taking the chance of slowly lowering his forearms, so they rested on his knees, though his hands still hung in the air. All the time he kept his gaze locked on the angriest of his captors. The boy made no move to react to the changed position of his prisoner's hands, but his chin jutted out, eyes narrowed, and mouth pursed. Bruce tried to put the gravity he felt in his voice. "The best vengeance is living so you honor those you lost, and making sure those still alive, do not live in fear. Don't let those who killed your friend and hurt you, 'make you' turn down an opportunity to help yourself …" Bruce tilted his head toward Luke … "Or others who need you."

For the first time the hard lines on the hardest, most scorn-filled face there … broke a little.

. . .

Alfred tells me he's been training you."

Madge's head spun around. She stared at Doc's sister. "Yeah, so …"

"He says you've improved a great deal under his tutelage." The woman rotated one foot while sipping her tea. Apparently, she didn't suffer from arthritis.

Her gaze never disconnected from Madge's face. "Someone with both talent and the wisdom to learn can go far anywhere. How would you like to take art-classes?"

Madge dropped her cup of tea.

. . .

Mr. Fox recognized the sedan and opened the gate. Bruce drove up only part-way, stopping with his vehicle so it was half inside and half outside of the fencing surrounding the airstrip. He stared at the figures standing on the tarmac barely lit by his headlights. Their sleek little jet was poised to take off behind them.

Bruce kept his gaze on the group even as he spoke to his favorite Wayne Enterprises employee. "How long have they been here?"

Lucius looked back and shrugged his shoulders. "Hours …" The older man turned back to the younger and froze. His employer's dark brows were drawn together. Every muscle of his face looked taunt. Lucius didn't think that look had been on Bruce's face when they discussed the man currently in the car's trunk. "Who are they Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce tightened his grip on the sedan's steering wheel. His voice grew even tighter as he replied. "The one in charge … owes me something. We're going to finalize the details of the collection now."

He pressed on the gas pedal. The sedan flew forward just barely slowing as it pulled up alongside the group. Bruce pressed the brake harder and put the vehicle in park.

. . .

Four boys who were supposed to be on guard duty near the outskirts of the area they ruled from walked straight into the heart of their camp instead. They were headed for the leader's hut. The reason they weren't stopped walked in the center of the square the four boys made strutting forward together with their heads and shoulders flung back. The other soldiers, young and old stared at the tall, muscled, white man in their midst. His hands were bound with a shoulder strap from one of the boy's guns. His eyes were blind-folded with another. The boys simply holding their guns now did not seem to mind.

The group of five stopped just before the door of the leader's hut. Then the boy all knew as their army's "biggest mouth," at least since the last one was killed, shouted for all to hear. "Great leader! We have a surprise for you!"

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God Bless

ScribeofHeroes