A/N: Yes, I know I've skipped the whole issue of transporting Bruce from the police station to the jail. I'm planning on going back to write another chapter that goes between this and Interrogation. I wrote this all in one go, because the idea just popped up in my brain and wrote itself. Just in case you didn't read my other A/N, this is a DIFFERENT PERSON. Although it's still first-person POV, this is not the same character. Anyways, please review. They make me happy and all fuzzy inside. Unless they're flames, but those keep me toasty warm so it's a fair trade. I appreciate any comments you feel like posting.

Cafeteria

My job at the prison was neither disgusting nor prestigious. I simply worked in the cafeteria serving food. I'd take a spoonful of whatever glop the city had decided was food for today and plop it on all the plates that went by. It was not invigorating. It was boring and tedious, but it paid well.

Many times I would just daydream as I mechanically gave food to the prisoners. Scoop. Glop. Scoop. Glop. Today, however, the lunch line was much more interesting. Usually the cafeteria was filled with noise, of convicts shouting and laughing and fighting. Today nothing was above a whisper. Nearly everyone was watching the newest inmate. Everyone knew someone was going to start a fight with the man, but nobody knew who would gather enough courage first.

If I had not seen the face of Bruce Wayne on a dozen gossip magazines while buying groceries, I would not have thought there was anything remarkable about him. He was dressed in the same orange jumpsuit all the inmates wore, and stood in line just like them. He had the same shuffling walk that many inmates here for longer than six months develop. What's the point of hurrying? It said. I've got enough time to waste.

Today the food was yellow, with noodle shaped blobs floating around. The menu claimed it was macaroni and cheese. Wayne looked at his plate as I served him. He seemed strangely… happy. As if the food here was actually good, compared to the gourmet meals he would eat as a billionaire.

Wayne was walking by my station as Tim and his gang walked up. There were seven of them total, all built like refrigerators. What little conversation there was immediately stopped, and the guards shifted nervously in their posts.

A feeling of dread rose over me. The criminals hated Wayne because he had given them to the police. Any action the guards took would be stopped by a mob of angry criminals all looking for revenge. There were too many criminals, too little guards. A fight was going to happen, and the guards were too smart to risk their lives stopping it.

Wayne regarded the men approaching him with half-closed eyes. He stood there as Tim bashed the tray out of his hands. He said nothing as Tim taunted him. He simply rolled with the first punch Tim sent sailing at his head. The second time Tim tried to punch him, Bruce dodged and punched back.

He attacked so suddenly I almost missed it. With one blow, Tim was down. His friends sent up a roar and charged. Wayne was surrounded in a mad tussle of bodies all clad in the same orange jumpsuits. The only sounds in the cafeteria were cries of pain (Were those only from Tim's gang?) and the meaty thud of flesh hitting flesh. Nobody else had the courage to speak.

Wayne was fast and deadly. While Tim's gang threw wild punches and kicks, Wayne moved and dodged like lightning. One moment he would be in front of a man, the next moment the man would be down and he would be launching a kick at someone else.

The fight was quick and brutal. Somehow, Wayne had managed to beat seven men single handed and emerge victorious. All seven men were sprawled out on the ground, unconscious. Wayne simply stepped over their unconscious forms and headed to his tray. He looked down at the food spilled all over the floor and sighed. "And it tastes so much better than last time…"

He muttered so softly I wasn't sure I had heard correctly. What last time? Wayne turned towards the doors and strolled out of the cafeteria, acting as casual as if he usually beat up criminals daily. Wait… It suddenly occurred to me that I had seen the Batman in action. My eyes shifted from the door to the unconscious forms of Tim and his gang. Yes, the Batman had been provoked and he had attacked with such force it had been astounding.

The door swung back into place with a dull thud that echoed through the room. It seemed to startle everyone out of some sort of trance. The long line of inmates again shuffled forward to be served while the guards emerged from their stations to cart away Tim and his gang.

Scoop. Glop. Scoop. Glop. I went back to the boring routine, and now my mind was quite occupied. What would Batman do next?

The next day, I found out the answer to my question. It was breakfast, and the inmates shuffled forward slower than usual. With no caffeine to speak of, most of the inmates were lethargic and less rowdy in the morning. The subdued atmosphere from yesterday still permeated the air.

The doors crashed open, startling everyone out of the early morning apathy. Someone – I couldn't tell who – went sliding into the room. Someone else was quick to follow, staggering backwards. A third came in after them, swinging a punch at the man still standing. The third man I recognized – Bruce Wayne.

A small mob of men followed him. I tried to count all the attackers, but it was impossible when they were all moving around. I estimated, and put it at about eight. So, ten men total had tried to attack Wayne.

Another lunged and Wayne sent him flying across the cafeteria to hit a table face first. I winced. While Wayne was good at fighting, he wasn't very gentle. Every single man from Tim's gang was spending serious time in the prison hospital for their attempt to attack Batman.

Someone in the mob attacking Wayne yelled, and another group of at least four separated from the spectators. Now, it was something like twelve against one. Wayne jabbed his hand at someone's throat and dove backwards, rolling towards the cafeteria line. He grabbed one of the plastic trays and held it up just in time to intercept someone's fist.

There was a crack, and I knew something broke. The tray was still in one piece, so that only left the inmate's hand. The man was hunched over in pain, and Wayne disabled him with a rabbit punch straight to the temple. The next few minutes were pandemonium as Wayne beat over ten men with a food tray, of all things.

I now knew why the criminals used to whisper of Batman with such fear. If this was the damage he could do inside a prison, imagine what he could do with his suit and all the fancy gadgets he was said to have.

A screech brought my wandering thoughts back to the fight in front of me. The only remaining man had somehow procured a knife. My guess was one of the friendlier guards had been bribed to smuggle it in. However it had gotten in, the inmate was now very desperately trying to stab Wayne. The food tray was tossed aside with a clatter, and I bit my tongue to stop myself from yelling something. Stupid! Why had Wayne thrown away his only weapon? He really was crazy!

While Wayne was concentrating on the newest threat, another inmate had stepped away from the silent spectators. Were they forming a conspiracy against him or something? I blinked at how stupid my thought sounded. Of course they were - he was the Batman!

As tempting as it was to shout out a warning to Wayne, I bit my tongue again. Cafeteria workers who took sides ended up very unpopular and very dead.

The unnoticed conspirator lunged at Wayne's back and slashed the knife towards his unguarded side. It connected with his shoulder, and Wayne grunted in pain. The man in front of Wayne took his momentary distraction to lunge forward. He tried to stab instead of slash, but Wayne managed to push away the attack at the last minute.

Now there were two men with knives against an injured Wayne. I didn't recognize the two inmates, but their smiles were predatory and gleeful as they circled the injured ex-vigilante. They thought they had the upper hand. So did everybody else, until Wayne attacked. He grabbed one of the hands holding a knife and twisted it violently. Something snapped, and the knife clattered to the floor. His other hand latched onto the unfortunate man's neck, and Wayne literally threw the man at his companion.

The two of them went crashing down in a mess of limbs, and Wayne dispatched them both with swift kicks. Apparently he didn't believe in not kicking men when they were down.

Now that the battle was over, I had expected Wayne to show some sign of pain. Instead, he just rolls his shoulder and looks at the spectators.

"If anybody else would like to try and kill me, I suggest they do it now."

His voice is calm and sparkled with just a hint of humor. I just shake my head. If he wasn't running around dressed like a bat, Wayne was in prison brawling with criminals and egging them on.

Now that the fight is over, the guards emerge from their safe zones. Only in Gotham would the guards wait until after the fight is over to act. They were probably placing bets on who was likely to win.

They cautiously approach Wayne, who's busy trying to see his knife wound. He's twisting around and I know that moving that way had to hurt his shoulder, but he doesn't even flinch. He turns to the guards and talks to them with the same voice he had addressed the other prisoners with.

"I'd appreciate it if you would take me to the prison hospital. I would sew it up myself, but it's kind of in a hard-to-reach place…" He trails off, and I'm not sure whether he was serious about patching himself up. The fact that he doesn't even mention painkillers kind of shocks me. It's usually the first thing people ask for before somebody shoves a needle in their open wounds.

The head guard (Oh, what is his name? I can never remember. I think it's Gary or something like that) motions to one of the rookies. He looks like he's going to cry from fear, but grabs Wayne's arm and leads him out of the cafeteria.

This time, nobody even tries to eat. The inmates are too busy discussing the fight with friends to bother with breakfast, which is supposed to be eggs of some sort.

Jerry leans over his pot of mystery food and half-whispers "How many men do you think it will take to beat him?"

My gaze goes from the men who are being carted out by the guards, and I just shake my head. "Honestly? I don't know if I even want to find out."