I do not own the characters of Bruce Wayne or Amanda Waller.

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

Bruce heard steps in the dirt approaching him and stop. A voice spoke in heavily accented English less than a foot from his chin. "So, the great and famous 'Bruce Wayne' thought he could sneak up on my camp and gets caught by my smallest soldiers!"

Laughter came from all directions. Bruce felt a fist connect with his abdomen. He doubled over. A hand landed on his shoulder and pushed him to his knees. Bruce let himself fall in the dirt. A foot connected with his gut and then his ribs. Seconds later those feet retreated, and he heard the same voice over his head. "Check him!"

Bruce went limp. His heart sped up as his pockets were turned inside out and shoes and socks torn away. That might cause problems. He'd been expecting it, though. His shirt was also pulled up. A voice spat, "What, no rich man's belt? What are you trying to be like 'us,' rich man!"

A hand collided with the back of his head. He winced and remained silent. He had been trying to keep his pants from becoming too loose whatever was still to come, and twine had many uses, and was far more versatile, than a belt that only doubled as a status symbol.

The shoes gave evidence he'd made the correct choice. They were expensive, but also versatile, water-proof, tough, not too heavy, and they were not returned. He'd expected as much, but it still complicated things. Something thudded to the ground with a clink. Bruce heard one of the boys who'd escorted him into camp say, "Here is his back-pack, sir."

"Bring it and him in."

Bruce was dragged to his feet by his elbow and thrust into a cool, wide shadow. He smelled the staleness of the air compared to outside. Walls muffled the sounds of the men entering behind him whose scents already filled the place unlike his. He was shoved from behind again. A few steps later he almost ran into a wall. He then turned and sat down. His wrists remained bound and behind him. Their bindings had been checked outside for tightness, but had otherwise remained untampered with.

He crossed his legs, so his bare feet were in front of him. A more jovial voice than that which had barked orders outside, but was still recognizable as the leader's spoke again, "How quiet and cooperative you are, Mr. Wayne."

Laughter came from others. He also heard shuffling in the hut, settling against its walls in a circle. He cautiously stuck one foot out. The touch of sunlight and a breeze informed him none sat directly before the door. A hand slapped his foot. "You do not get to stretch out your legs here, Mr. Wayne. You are my prisoner! I hold your life in my hands!"

Bruce drew his foot back in. Then he drew his legs under himself until he was squatting. Laughter echoed around him. "Do you have to relieve yourself Mr. Wayne. If you do please tell us. I will have a guard escort you out, when one has time."

He gave a jerky nod. The laughter around him intensified. "Such a good and obedient prisoner. Let us see what you have brought me."

Bruce heard a zipper undone and the cloth of his backpack rustle. Oohs and ahhs sounded followed by shouts of glee, barks of laughter, and claps of hands slapped together. They found his extra water in a steel canister, extra set of clothing, and then at the bottom of his pack an aluminum can. The logo emblazoned on it was that of a beverage popular in almost every corner of the world. Bruce sucked in a breath. Then he heard the tab pulled back.

. . .

Years later, Bruce stepped out of the dark sedan. He stared at Amanda Waller who stared back at him. "Did you bring him with you?"

"In the trunk."

"Unconscious?"

"He should be."

"What did you use?"

"General anesthesia most recently."

Waller turned her face toward a tall, muscled man standing beside her and nodded to him. The man walked to the back of the sedan, undid its latch, and lifted the door. After a moment, he raised his gaze to meet Amanda Waller's and nodded at her. She then strolled that direction herself and stood beside him before looking down. The light that came on automatically to illuminate the truck when its lid was opened also revealed the contours of her smile. "Handsome, isn't he?"

"Most would think so."

"I recognize him from my footage collection of the world's most-wanted assassin, such as it is."

She then raised her gaze and hand toward the woman standing stiffly where she'd left her. That woman turned and motioned toward the open door of the plane. Two figures exited with a gurney between them. They walked it to the back of his vehicle. The slumped form in it was removed and strapped onto the gurney. They left on the oxygen mask and tank of air put on him in the cave. One "medic" held the tank up while the other wheeled their patient toward the plane. Another came out of it to assist them further in the boarding of the man from his trunk.

Bruce watched all this, eyes slightly narrowed and jaw tight. Amanda addressed him after shutting his trunk. "I suppose you want to know the location of 'my' part of the deal?"

Bruce wouldn't even look at her as he replied. "You suppose right."

"They're waiting in the hanger for you, alone, though there are a few guards stationed outside. Still, you can consider your interactions and words with them private unless 'you' have bugged the building."

Bruce didn't believe she'd left the building un-bugged herself for a moment, but he nodded and began walking toward the hanger.

. . .

For some time, Bruce had been slicing away at his bonds. Within the shoulder pad of the gun-harness one of his "captors" had bound his hands with a small razor had rested. One of its sides was sharp the other not. His fingertips had dug it out and, holding it by its dull side, slid it sharp back and forth against his bonds since before the unpacking of his pack had begun. He wished he'd gotten a little farther along in the task before they opened the can.

He heard a hiss and fizz unlike the one they'd been expecting. Then startled cries filled the air along with a noxious scent. He felt a stinging sensation enter his own nostrils and sweep over his face. He thrust the razor back and forth a few more times. Then he tensed and pulled his wrists apart before breaking into a sprint.

The sunlight didn't feel as harsh or warm as he entered it. He barely brushed the doorway with his right shoulder as he left the hut behind. A few steps later, he turned back toward it.

A chorus of coughs sounded from inside the hut. He listened to one after another come closer to the door. Haltering steps and then a roar of rage mingled with the whistle of a fist flying at him. There was an accompanying whoosh of air.

He snatched the wrist attached to the fist before it connected with his face and twisted. At the sound of the accompanying scream he turned, still holding on to the arm for balance and jammed his heel against a leg-bone. He didn't have time to wait for the sound of body hitting earth before he caught the next wrist and repeated the process.

Soon there were the sounds of approaching feet behind him as well as coming from the hut. One attempted to head butt him. He stepped out of the way and brought his knee up into the man's chest before slamming his fist into the same man's side. Then he had to turn to deal with another wrist behind yet another fist. Still, he stepped onto the man in the dirt again to grab yet another attacker.

Finally, he no longer heard and felt bodies hurtling toward him. Soon after that, the sun grew hot and air less stinging. He removed his blindfold.

Men lay in the dirt around him groaning, eyes red and watering, skin slightly puffy. Most had an arm and leg twisted at an odd angle. The sound of a gun clicking made Bruce turn. Then he raised an arm and his voice. "No!"

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God Bless

ScribeofHeroes