A/N: Thanks for the previous reviews! They're really making my mind spin about where I want to take this story. Here's the next chapter. I've got no beta on this right now so please message me with any mistakes you find so I can correct them right away. Also please leave a review - I love feedback and it helps keep me focused. And as always I love reader input so if there is a direction you want to go, let me know so I can see if it will work with what I've got planned. Thanks! *HUGS*
Chapter 3
Dick awoke slowly from what he thought was the worst nightmare to plague him in years. His mind was extremely sluggish and there was a ping of discomfort edging its way from his left shoulder up his arm. He deduced the pain to be from an injury sustained earlier this week which had flared up from the awkward position he slept in — the limb stretched up over his head.
He felt a weird sense of spatial orientation, as though he was upright rather than horizontal — perhaps some disorientation from the fever — and noted that both arms, instead of resting on his pillow, were stretched above his head.
Dick opened his eyes, still foggy from sleep, to a black room. Even if the lights were off, he still should have been able to see something. He blinked a few more times and became alarmed as his lashes brushed against some kind of fabric. His body jerked from the panic of being blindfolded, and he heard the clink of chains from above and below. The events of the night before flooded back in a blur, but one name stood out clearly: Slade.
Dick fell still and held his breath, listening. He was not the only one who noticed the metal rattling and heavy footfalls approached the room. Dick cautiously pulled on each limb, quickly checking the effectiveness of the restraints — he wasn't going anywhere.
"Good evening, Robin." Slade announced his presence in a satisfied voice.
Dick wanted to counter the statement — to remind his adversary that he was no longer Robin and not a child for Slade to claim anymore — but the gag was still tightly in place, and Dick became painfully aware of how dry his throat was.
"Mmph."
"As much as I love your defiant comebacks, I'm not in the mood for it now." Slade commented sternly.
Dick could feel the mercenary's hands check each binding to be sure they were all secure — the wrists, the elbows, and the one around his upper biceps that pulled his shoulders back in a taut, uncomfortable position and forced his head to lean forward.
At this point, the mercenary chose to remove the blindfold and the slip of cloth dropped to the ground. Dick blinked and squinted his eyes against the sudden assault of light from the lamp pointed at him. Even having just woken up, Dick knew he felt more fatigued and dizzy than he should and realized that Slade must have drugged him with a pretty potent sedative.
Unknown to the young hero, Slade had administered an additional shot of the sedative only a few minutes prior to his awakening and rather than wearing off, the effects were just beginning to take hold. This particular drug attacked the muscular system and had little effect over the cognitive process, keeping the victim fully aware with all senses but unable to move — locked in an induced form of paralysis.
Slade had been pleased to find his captive awake and was looking forward to completing his obligations so the real fun could begin.
Despite having drugged the boy, Slade had used an excessive amount of restraints. These were mostly for show to reinforce his clients' feeling of confidence in the assassin's ability to control a situation, but a part of Slade also fully acknowledged Grayson's annoying habit to overcome impossible odds. He would take no chances this time.
As Slade removed the blindfold, he looked into Grayson's eyes to assess how succumbed the boy was to the sedative — slightly dialated and glossy. Satisfied, Slade bent down to check the straps binding the hero's legs around mid-thigh, just below the knees, and at the angles. Even if the thick leather was to snap, Slade had also attached manacles above the ankles and wrists which held the boy suspended by chains in the center of the room. The cruel restraints allowed no slack and he knew Grayson's muscles had to be burning from the strain — that is if the boy could even feel them at this point.
"I'm actually glad you're awake for this, kid. I really didn't want to put off the completion of this contract for another night, and it's more believable if you're conscious." Slade stated and strode over to an aged workbench on the far side of the room.
Contract? Dick arched an eyebrow. He found himself hopeful that this was just a ransom situation — meaning a larger window of opportunity for escape or rescue. If it was a bounty, he would have already been dead, and if it was personal, Slade would have gone underground to avoid any possible contact with the superhero community.
Still, he watched Slade's actions warily.
When the mercenary turned around, there was a digital camera in his hand and Dick furrowed his brows at what would soon follow.
Slade took in the visual queue for the boy's confusion and he chuckled beneath the orange and blue mask.
"Organizing the events of the past week hasn't been easy… or cheap. This whole endeavor began with a contract on, believe it or not, Dick Grayson. A business competitor of Wayne's has quite the distaste for his lack of cooperation — something concerning a company merger of specialized departments — and you get to be the pawn that ensures the success of his deal. The payment for you will be surprisingly hefty; and I knew there would be few assassins who could successfully complete the contract. I also anticipate a number of other wonderful benefits for myself to arise from this scenario… such as us completing another round for your apprenticeship."
Dick dropped his chin to his chest — so this would be personal.
"And just think… big Daddy Bat will be so focused on you false captors, he won't even think to look for me. Now, for the completion of the initial contract, all I need is photographic evidence for the clients to send to Wayne. So kiddo… smile big for daddy."
Slade lifted the camera and each shutter click served to further infuriate Dick. All he could do was hang there, too drugged to even struggle, with his unspoken questions while the mercenary took shots of all angles. He even got a close up of the glossy blue eyes just to send a personal message to Wayne — he had lost his son, permanently.
Hoping that Slade's monologue meant he was feeling conversational, Dick attempted to speak through the gag.
"Mmmph, mph ummm."
"Gag stays on until we're done with the photographic portion, perhaps longer depending on my tolerance for your irritating quips. Besides I pride myself on the quality of my work, so the scene needs to look authentic."
Dick swore but the sound was only an audible grunt. He really didn't believe it was possible to feel more vulnerable, but each click from the camera only served to worsen his embarrassment. Still clad only in his boxers and a thin tank top and knowing the evidence was to be used against his family, it was maddening. He couldn't be sure if it was the cold of the damp stone room or the drugs invading his blood stream, but Dick was shivering more intensely as each minute passed.
Eventually, the camera sounds stopped and Slade returned the wicked device to its proper place on the workbench. Dick caught a glimpse of the camera card between the mercenary's fingers as he exited the room.
Dammit. Dick took his time surveying the room, hoping he might find something that would help him escape his predicament. He squinted toward the floodlight that was set in his direction and caught a glimpse of the video camera positioned next to it — clearly, this particular torment was not over yet. A little further past the light, leaning against the wall, was a full body mirror and for the first time, Dick could see how awful he looked.
His injuries over the past week were evident from the gray shaded areas on his arms and legs. He could also see each new injury from his capture and transport to this current location, including the cuts from his computer monitor's glass shards.
Slade stepped back into the room, an armful of black cloth in his hand, and observed Grayson peering into the mirror.
"Hot, isn't it? Imagine how many more marks you'll have by tomorrow." The mercenary teased mercilessly, and Dick pulled his brows together in a threatening scowl, quickly turning his eyes away from the reflection.
"Don't feel guilty about looking kid," Slade commented as he dropped the material to the floor and clamped his large hand under Dick's chin, forcefully bringing the hazy blue orbs to look at his own. "That mirror is there to show your complete lack of control and utter helplessness — to aid in breaking your spirit, so I can rebuild you into much stronger force."