Hello my dear readers! I am terribly sorry that it has taken so long to update! Life has gotten super crazy again lately, and add that to the intense writers block on this chapter, and you get super long periods with no update. But never fear! Finals are over, I have gone back down to one job (at least for now) and I now have time to focus on hopefully getting this story wrapped up before I leave for school in the fall (Just don't get your hopes up. It's not a promise, just wishful thinking)

I Guess That You Can See

The Owl leader must have seen the look of disbelief on my face, because he shrugged and said "in a real fight, your opponent will not play fair. You turn your back on them, and they will attack. There is no honor in a street battle, you of all people should know that."

"Could have told me this was supposed to be a street battle," I said, deciding it would be best to leave the knife where it was for the time being. It was deep enough to be lodged in there, and I knew that once I pulled it out, the blood would start flowing.

"You should always assume the worst in your opponent. Now then, attack me, Richard, as we talked about. Let's see how you fight knowing that your opponent will play dirty."

I didn't bother coming up with a plan at that point. I charged right in and began attacking. I was still small for my age, so I thought about attacking from lower down, keeping my moves small, but then I realized that these people had been training children for decades and must have been used to that method of attack, so I switched it up. I leapt into the air, aiming right for his face with my foot. As expected, he grabbed it in one hand, but before he could throw me back, I used that leverage to swing my other foot at him, slamming it down into his shoulder.

Now that I was more awake, my fighting was definitely better. The other Owl had simply caught me off guard earlier, but now I was ready for a fight. I was starving, yes, but wide awake and aware of everything around me, especially knowing that the other could come to the leader's aid from behind at any moment.

The leader released his grip on my foot and I fell to the ground, catching myself and landing silently. I took a brief second to look back and make sure where the soldier was. Standing against the wall, watching with interest—good; he wouldn't be getting involved again.

The leader charged at me this time, taking advantage of my looking for the soldier. I saw him coming and made to leap out of the way, but he sent me straight up with a kick to my stomach. Before I could gather my bearings, he had gotten above me in the air, slamming own on me with both fists. I landed on my back, causing the dagger to go deeper into my body. I cried in pain as I heard the skin tear, and felt a rib crack.

"You must be better at paying attention to your surroundings," he scolded. "During a battle you cannot turn your attention elsewhere. Your enemy will not stop his assault just because you are otherwise distracted. I thought Mr. Wayne would have taught you at least that."

I didn't justify that with a response. I was used to working with a partner, but I knew how to work alone. I should have been more alert, but the pain was starting to affect my thinking. I was starting to feel woozy, and I knew that it would only get worse the longer the fight went on.

"No snarky comment?" the leader asked.

"None coming to mind at the moment," I replied, attempting to push myself up, but instead I found his foot on my chest, shoving me back down. I felt the knife lodge itself deeper into my back as he shoved me down.

"Good," He replied, and I could almost hear the smirk in his voice. "One less thing for me to beat out of you."

"Not so fast, Birdface, give me a few minutes and maybe I'll get something. In case you weren't aware, it's a little hard to come up with witty comebacks when there's a knife in your back."

"Well then, allow me to help with that," he said, flipping me over and yanking the knife out from there it was lodged.

There are different levels of pain that a person goes through, and let me tell you, having a knife ripped out is one of the higher levels, especially when you're not expecting it. Luckily, the knife was small enough that it wasn't a through-and-through wound, but there was a lot of blood once the metal dam was removed.

"We'll end here and stitch that up. We can't have you bleeding to death quite yet." The leader motioned for the guard to join us, and he did. The guard hoisted me onto me feet and gave me a push towards the door.

I wanted to run. I can honestly say that I formulated a plan to knock the guard in the face, then drop to the floor and sweep the leader's feet from under him. In a heartbeat, I could have been on him and snapping his neck. I resisted the urge, however, knowing that it would be futile. These guys were trained far beyond what Batman taught me. The only thing fighting back at this stage would get me would be a really bad beating; and, y'know, probably more severe training tomorrow. Overall, it just seemed best to bide my time, learn their moves, while learning a few tricks of my one. Then I would strike, and they wouldn't see it coming.

The longer we walked, I seemed to lose more blood at a faster pace. The room started spinning a little, and even though I would stagger every few feet, the guard simply gave me another shove and a "suck it up" to keep me going. By the time we finally reached the designated door, I was sure there was a trail of blood all along the floor from the training room, and even possibly streaks of it here and there on the walls. The worst part about it was that it was all mine. All that blood and I didn't even have the satisfaction of being able to say "you should see the other guy".

The guard motioned to an odd—rather medieval looking—metal table and I sat down. I watched him for a moment, but when I saw all the knives and scalpels and needles, it seemed best to look away and mind my own business. I turned to the room and was even more terrified by what I saw. When I entered I had assumed it was some sort of medical wing, but upon further inspection, I could see that it was anything but—chains lined the walls, all in pairs of two, each pair a different length. There was also a set of chains hanging from the ceiling, which had shackles attached to the end. There were several contraptions that I could only describe as "torture machines", and I knew in that moment that I never wanted to get near any of them. Aside from the chains, the walls were a plain stone, just like the rest of the fortress. Plain, boring, gray stone—seriously, whoever they hired as an interior designer needed to be let go, immediately, especially because the floors were comprised of the same stone. It all just looked overly dreary.

I was so caught up in my observations that I didn't even notice when the guard walked up behind me and shoved me forward, barely giving me time to stop my head from colliding with the side of the table.

"Hold still," he said, and I felt a stinging on my wound as he rubbed something—most likely alcohol—on it.

"What, nothing to dull the pain or anything?" I questioned, already knowing what the answer was.

He didn't even respond before shoving the needle into my back and beginning to stitch the wound shut. I felt every jab of the needle as it wove in and out of my skin, moving back and forth along the length of the opening. Fortunately, it wasn't a huge gap to seal, so it didn't take very long to seal—though I think he added a couple extra stitches on purpose.

"You guys should really invest in some laughing gas or something," I said, trying my best to smile. The guard began moving back to the counter and shuffling with some more tools. "I know a guy who could really help you lighten up."

The guard continued to ignore me, and I was beginning to get a little nervous with the way he was shuffling through all the many torture weapons. "I mean, he may also kill you, but I guess we could both win in that situation," I continued, trying my best to hide my nerves. "I get to go home, and you guys get to smile for a little bit. Can you guys even smile?"

"Lie down," the guard commanded, walking back to the table and setting something down on a small end table nearby.

"Yeah, I think I'll pass," I said, folding my arms over my chest. I knew something was coming, and I wasn't about to make it easy for them. I glanced briefly at the edges of the table and noticed straps. Definitely not a good sign.

"Don't make it harder than it has to be."

I shrugged, "I always make things harder. I'm actually notorious for it back home. If I hadn't become a hero, I probably would have been some horrible villain who just made things hard for—" I didn't get to finish my sentence before the guard was shoving me down—being none too weary of the fresh stitches he had just administered—and fastening the straps over my body. There were multiple straps, and it definitely screamed "torture table". Or maybe lobotomy; that seemed to be a possibility as well.

The guard strapped down my shoulders, torso and arms, and legs (just above the knee), along with my head. The strap on my head was especially terrifying, and reminded me of the Princess Bride a little bit.

"So are these my new sleeping arrangements?" I asked, feeling myself shaking in terror as the guard went to grab the syringe. "I dunno man, this isn't the comfiest thing. There isn't much wiggle room, and let me tell you, I am not a sound sleeper. I toss and turn like a log in a fast moving river."

"We are continuing your training," the guard finally said as he approached the table, releasing the excess air from the syringe in a terrifying fashion.

"Not really sure how I'm supposed to fight in these conditions."

"You will not be fighting a person, child. In order to give your… injury some time to heal, the Master has given me permission to start with pain tolerance."

"Pain tolerance?" I repeated, and the situation finally sunk in, and I knew that whatever was in that syringe was bad news.

"We must build up a tolerance in you. If you are injured in the field, you must be able to ignore the pain and continue fighting. This is something that the Batman never taught you to do. Because of the delay in recruiting you, we are a bit behind in this field, so we're just going to skip a few levels. Your previous training under the Batman should have prepared you at least for this."

And with that, the guard injected the fluid into my arm. I didn't know what to expect at first. Well, I knew to expect pain, but I wasn't sure what kind of pain. That is, until it started. It took a few minutes, but from almost out of nowhere, a terrible feeling filled my body, and I can honestly say that it was the worst pain I had ever felt.