Warning: this chapter includes mentionings of rape and impending rape. You have been warned.

Dawn was arriving, the sun pouring over the city's skyline. Traditional media indicated a rooster was needed to announce the arrival of a new day.

Currently, there was no need for a rooster.

"That bitch broke my jaw!" Damian roared, a hand grabbing at the offending injury.

Batgirl had her arms crossed over her chest, her head tilted to a side, giving the impression she was rolling her eyes. "No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did! You cheap shotted me and broke my jaw!"

Ever since the brat had woken up, he had been on this. This was after the Batclan and Birds of Prey had rendezvous. He had yet to shut up this entire time.

So far, the night had been successful save for the destruction of two of the locations. Manhunter and Spoiler had failed in their assignments, though the former's was more catastrophic. Spoiler's location at least had been empty; Manhunter's had people there. Emergency responders were still trying to clear the area.

Spoiler was currently sitting on the roof, her back against the small wall that made for a railing. She had her legs bent at the knees in front of her, one arm resting on top of a knee while her other hand was pressed onto her head. She looked distraught.

Katana had been the first one on the scene, finding her nearly a block away from the smoldering building. Aside from some bumps and bruises, she miraculously was in one piece.

Bluebird was currently leaning on the brick railing next to Spoiler, her bottom nearly sitting on top of the wall. She had tried to cheer up her friend, but hadn't tried for long. Spoiler just wasn't consolable at the moment and the blue-haired girl ran out of ways to comfort her, so she was opting now to just be silent support. The other Birds were milling around the roof, watching the scene Damian was making with amusement on their faces.

Well, make that Black Canary and Huntress. Katana was just staring stoically and Manhunter looked as if she were on a different planet.

"I highly doubt she broke your jaw," Huntress interjected, cutting off the rant currently-in-progress, which earned her a glare from the boy. "If she had, you wouldn't be able to speak right now."

Damian rubbed his aching jaw. "How would you know?"

"Because I've broken a few jaws and every one of them couldn't open their mouth, much less talk."

"She's right," Katana agreed.

Damian's face darkened. "It still hurts."

"Batgirl," Black Canary spoke up, "how hard did you hit…uhh…what's your name?"

Bluebird perked up. "Oh, yes, tell them your name."

This time, Damian was scowling at the blue-haired girl, fury on his face. "I am…still working on that."

"Aww, you don't want to be Son of Batman anymore?" Bluebird teased.

Huntress raised an eyebrow. "That isn't a mouthful," she retorted sarcastically. "What, didn't want to go by Batboy or something?"

"You mean like those kids that pick up the bats at baseball games?" Bluebird asked.

"I am not Batboy!" Damian nearly shrieked before he clamped his hand onto his jaw. He must have felt some pain from screaming. Batgirl couldn't help the smirk that appeared on her face, though it was well-hidden by her mask. "I can only be called that when I have my father's symbol."

"Father's symbol?" Huntress questioned.

The boy puffed out his chest. "Yes, my father. You call him Batman."

That actually got the attention of the Birds, even the distracted Manhunter. "He has a kid?" Canary pipped up. "Since when?"

"Since the paternity test results got lost in the mail," Bluebird quipped.

And the brat was glaring at the teenage girl. "I will end you for that."

"Anytime, S.O.B."

There was silence. "I don't have to take this," Damian announced. "I'm leaving."

"Do you need us to walk you home? We are in a rough neighborhood."

Damian just turned his back and walked away. The rest of the women watched him go until he jumped off of the roof and vanished from sight.

"Okay, what did you really do to him?" Huntress then asked, turning her attention right to Batgirl.

"I did a nerve strike," she answered.

"Nerve strike?"

The dark-clad girl nodded. "I hit the nerve that runs up from his jaw into his cheek. It causes immediate unconsciousness when hit correctly. However, because it's in the bone, I have to hit it hard, so it usually leaves a tiny fracture."

"And you had to nerve strike him why?"

"Because he was being a brat."

There was silence. "Okay, I can understand the impulse, but next time, try talking it out? We don't need him yelling and screaming every time you decide to nerve strike him."

"Or you can try hitting him harder," Canary suggested. "Actually break his jaw and keep him quiet."

Huntress shot a look to the blonde. "Now that's something I would say, not you, Glorious Leader."

"Hey, you were the one playing the parent, so someone else had to say it."

This was nice, Batgirl had to admit. It had been awhile since she had worked with the Birds of Prey, but they had such a rapport with each other, they could joke with each other whenever they wished. One day, she hoped to do the same with her budding Batclan.

However, now was the time for business.

"Thank you for your help," she said, drawing the two older vigilantes' attention towards her. "We could not have stopped them all without you."

"I'm just glad you called," Canary told her. "It means you understand your limits, which is a good thing in this line of work."

"Unfortunately, we weren't able to stop them all," Huntress groused. "That Shreck guy still got what he wanted."

"Perhaps not," Katana interjected. "If the two locations that exploded weren't his first choices, then he will simply have to make do."

"That's hardly a consolation prize, Katana."

"More importantly, we need to have the police prove there was foul play involved," Black Canary said. "All those guys we captured should help with that, assuming they talk. If necessary, you girls will need to direct their investigation in the right way."

"Direct it?" Bluebird questioned. "What do you mean by that?"

"Exactly that. You think Batman or us just leaves the investigation to the police once they get on the scene? We make certain we find something incriminating and leave it with a bow on the precinct's doorstep. Sometimes they need to be led by the nose to make certain justice is done."

"Then that's what we'll do if we are able," Batgirl said. To be honest, that was low on her priority list. They would do what they could, but tonight was a side adventure at best. They had largely prevented a lot of deaths, Manhunter's location notwithstanding. "What will you be doing?"

"We have a lot on our plate as it is," Huntress told her. "There's been a string of kidnappings lately and we're looking into that. We even have Oracle working on it. Since you were the ones that found out about this crazy plot with Shreck, it's up to you to see that he pays for it."

Batgirl narrowed her eyes. Was Huntress saying they weren't busy either? She had to get her father out of prison, the sooner the better. Having to do follow-up on a case that didn't involve him was out of the question.

That thought only stayed in her head for a moment. She didn't need Batman's disapproving look to know he would be disappointed in her for even thinking as much. No, they needed to see this through while working on his case.

Damn it.

Talia sat behind the desk, the blinding lights flowing down from overhead. To her right sat the news anchor Jerri Prudence, who was just having the finishing touches to her makeup done. They were in her studio, mere minutes from being live.

Before the set they were on, crewmembers were hurrying back and forth. Some were adjusting the cameras, others seemingly moving around for the sake of moving. Surely, they had a task they were working on, but Talia wasn't certain what those were.

That all slowed down as the director stood up on a small platform behind the main camera, holding both hands above his head. All of his fingers were showing, but slowly he lowered them down one-by-one, a silent countdown. The crewmembers slowed down their pace, some even coming to a stop as they stared at the set. Others continued on, but did so quietly.

The makeup artist pulled away from Jerri Prudence, escaping off of the set. Jerri did a last second adjustment to her hair and stared right at the main camera. The director had lowered one hand and was ticking off the last five fingers. Four…three…two…one…

He then pointed his last finger towards Jerri and a sign on the camera lit up, the words ON AIR shining bright. The music introduction played.

"Welcome to the Jerri Prudence Hour," the anchor greeted, "I'm Jerri Prudence and we have a top-notch show for you today. Beginning with mysterious explosions that shook the city to its foundation, two areas of Gotham were destroyed last night. The police are still investigating the scenes, but as of yet have provided few details as to the cause for these explosions. More on that later. But first, an update on the on-going Wayne-Fairchild case.

"A motion to appeal for bail has been dismissed and Bruce Wayne will continue to remain in Blackgate Prison until his appointed court date—and I say let him rot there until we've all forgotten his name. Good on the judge for keeping a dangerous criminal off the streets."

Talia narrowed her eyes slightly. She had seen this so-called media personality lambasting her Beloved on screen, but it was much more irritating to witness in-person.

"Also, Vesper Fairchild's funeral is being held today by her family and friends. She is set to be buried in the Fair Meadows Cemetery. Donations are welcomed on the crowdfunding site, GoFundMe. To anyone that can, we encourage you to help this family in this tragic moment. Our prayers are with them."

There was a pause. "Now, today I have a special guest. In the studio with me is Talia Head, C.E.O. of Head Development Corp. She has graciously agreed to come onto the show to discuss our top developing story, the Wayne-Fairchild murder trial."

The lights brightened over Talia and she had the sense that she was now within the camera frame. A smile was on her face as Jerri turned her chair to better face her. "Welcome to the show, Ms. Head. Allow me to say it is a privilege having someone of your esteem this morning."

"Thank you for having me," the dark-haired woman returned cordially.

"I have to say, I was rather excited you agreed to join me and the panel." Jerri gestured towards Talia's shoulder. There were two more people here, one being the political correspondent Gill Brandt and the other legal analyst Linda Blazzio. Apparently, they weren't going to telecommunicate into this episode.

"Welcome, Gill, Linda, sorry for the rushed intros, but I'm just really excited for our guest," Jerri apologized.

"No problem here," Linda replied. "I've been wanting to meet Ms. Head for some time as well. It's not often you get to meet a woman C.E.O., which is something I believe needs to change."

"Then I hope I live up to your expectations," Talia said.

"Oh, you have," Jerri assured her. "So, to get this out of the way, you currently run Head Development, one of the up-and-coming companies in Gotham. You currently don't announce your company's revenues and profits, if I'm not mistaken."

"That's because Head Development is a private company, which doesn't require it to file its accounting information in the public sphere. There are no stockholders, so I am answerable to myself and the people I employ."

"How's business then?"

"Oh, it is going quite well."

"I'm happy to hear that. Now, I'm assuming you've met Bruce Wayne before, since you run around in those social circles."

"I have. I consider him to be a close friend."

"Then it must be devastating to find out he killed a woman, in his office no less."

"I believe the word you are looking for is found," Talia countered. "He found the unfortunate Vesper Fairchild in his office."

"With his own gun hiding in the toilet," Jerri shot back. "One covered in his fingerprints."

"I imagine his office was also covered with his fingerprints as well."

"That is correct."

Talia raised an eyebrow. "Of course, his fingerprints would be in his office; he spends many hours a day there. The same with a gun he owns. Next thing you are going to tell me his stapler has fingerprints on it."

"I see the point you're making," Linda jumped in. "But to counter that, only the gun was used to kill Vesper, so that's the only piece of evidence that matters."

"Quite true," Jerri agreed.

"Then allow me to ask, why do you think Bruce Wayne killed this woman?" Talia asked.

"Well, first off, the gun. I mean, that's pretty damning," Jerri answered her. "Then there's Bruce Wayne's reputation and his history of mistreatment of women. It was only a natural progression that led to him killing Vesper."

Talia held up a hand, which actually caused the anchor to stop. "Allow me to rebut, as the lawyers say. In regards to the gun, Bruce Wayne isn't a registered gun owner. The gun in question belonged to his father. The man I know isn't fond of guns."

"That's just semantics," Gill piped up. "If he isn't a fan of guns, why does he still have his 'father's' gun?"

Talia turned her seat to coolly gaze at the man. "Because it is his father's. I have been to Wayne Manor and I have seen Thomas Wayne's study. It is still intact from the time the man was still alive. Bruce simply never threw any of it away, including the guns. Surely you have some possessions from your parents, no?"

"It still doesn't take away the fact that Bruce Wayne had access to the gun," Gill pressed, ignoring her question.

"And so do a number of construction workers that are currently rebuilding Wayne Manor. The mansion is rather large; anyone could sneak off and no one would be the wiser."

"Are you saying that you think someone else killed Vesper?" Jerri questioned incredulously.

Talia returned her attention to the television personality. "I believe so, yes. The Bruce Wayne I know would never have committed such violence, especially against a woman."

"I'm sure you have your reasons, but the police have a very good case. They wouldn't have arrested him otherwise."

"Oh, I'm certain you feel that way. After all, the police never wrongfully arrest people."

"That's a different issue that does deserve some attention," Linda spoke up, "but that isn't the issue at hand. Bruce Wayne does have a reputation of misusing women."

"Are you talking about the rich socialites? Or the Hollywood celebrities?" Talia questioned. "Remind me how many of them have claimed abuse? How many have claimed harassment? Considering the accusations he is accused of, that usually opens the door for those who have suffered to gain courage and speak their truth. So far, we have heard none of that."

"What are you saying? That the stories of his mistreatment of women aren't real?"

"You were just using physical evidence to determine Bruce Wayne's guilt. What physical evidence do you have that he has beaten a woman? I'll wait."

There was an uncomfortable silence. "I believe that is something that the DA's office is most certainly looking into," Jerri said after a moment. "As a former prosecutor myself, I would certainly be doing that. And in my experience, there is quite a bit against Wayne, enough that a jury should find him guilty."

"Is this the words of a prosecutor speaking, or of an aggrieved co-worker?" Talia asked.

"It is both," Jerri answered her. "I'm human, just like anyone else. People feel things, sometimes intensely and it's something that shouldn't be ignored."

"Yet, you are using an impartial justice system, are you not? That means only objective facts are necessary and emotions should have little sway," Talia pointed out. "Or rather, they should have no place in these proceedings."

"In theory yes, but that's not how people are. Any good lawyer will know this."

That was a point in the news anchor's favor. Most people had a hard time separating their feelings and emotions at the best of times. "I'm assuming you've taken advantage of this in court, no?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss that."

"I don't think I'm comfortable with this discussion," Linda said. "You're indicating that people's emotions are used against them."

"Aren't they?" Talia countered. "Your entire news program is designed to enrage your viewers. I have seen the coverage from this network over Bruce Wayne and everything from your graphics to the words you use are meant to persuade people that he killed Ms. Fairchild. For a debate panel, many of you have been in a lot of agreement versus actual debate."

"That's because he did it," Jerri insisted. "You may claim that Wayne couldn't have killed a person, but as a lawyer, the evidence indicates otherwise."

Talia gave Jerri a deadpanned look. "Jerri, with all due respect, you have been a media personality longer than you were a lawyer. It's been years since you participated in a case, and the law is constantly evolving."

"Now you're trying to dismiss my experience, which I do not appreciate," Jerri shot back. "You cannot—"

"How are those boys from Gotham State?" Talia interrupted. "You know, the ones you accused on this show of sexually assault that woman? The stripper? The ones that weren't even present at that party in which it claimed to have occurred, one of which was even in an entirely different state? I know men like to brag about their size, but even that is impossible."

Jerri actually sat there, mouth agape. "As a lawyer, you should know better than to make such blind accusations," Talia continued. "But your history indicates otherwise."

"Seems to me you've been waiting to bring that up," Gill remarked, as if there was something wrong with that.

"I'm walking into a den of people convinced a friend of mine is a murderer. Of course, I'm going to prepare myself," the dark-haired woman countered. "It's your fault for coming in unprepared to be challenged.

"Now let me make this blatantly clear. Bruce Wayne is innocent. The wrong man, who you have lampooned for years, and now comfortably slander, is behind bars. You have clearly neglected to perform a proper journalistic investigation and instead allow yourself to be spoon-fed what the police give you as it serves your interest. You claim the media is under attack, but that is a result of your willingness to give up on integrity. Every news channel and newspaper presents a biased view of the same story, and then you wonder why there is diminishing trust. This is a mess of your own making and it will take a generation before it is ever repaired.

"And shows like this are certainly not helping your cause."

The sky was a brilliant blue, the sun warming the yard. One could almost forget the chill in the air.

Inmates were scattered throughout the yard, some just milling around. Others were using the weights, iron bars raising up and falling down, large round weights on either end of the bars. There was a basketball game in progress that was causing a lot of yelling and shouting.

Bruce had positioned himself just outside of the door inside, watching the basketball game in progress. It was more of a pick-up game than professional, but it was the only entertainment around.

The days were starting to blend in together, a monotonous stream of routine. Bruce hated it. If it weren't for the fact he had difficulty sleeping at night, he would never keep in shape. His public persona didn't allow him to participate in weightlifting or basketball. So he did his workout after lights out, whatever he could manage.

He was pent up, frustrated with this lack of activity. The night called to him, urging him to dawn his cape and cowl and protect his city. Every subsequent night got worse.

He felt the need to hit something—hard.

"If it isn't my best friend, Wayne!"

Sparing a glance, Bruce saw Gantz and his sexually deviant friends approaching him. Each one had a predatory glint in their eyes, the same look he had seen on many rapists as they stalked women in the streets.

Those looks hadn't vanished in prison either. Every time he had seen this group, they had the same look of desire and determination. They were simply biding their time. Gantz came to a stop near him, looking at him bemused. "I never took you for a jungle fever junkie."

Bruce ignored him. He wasn't in the mood for this.

"Tell me, what does it take for a chocolate lover to try some vanilla? I'd love to know."

This was over. Bruce leaned forward, pushing himself off of the wall he was leaning on. He turned to leave.

Suddenly, Gantz grabbed his elbow and was extremely close. Something poked into Bruce's side, something thin and pointed. He came to an immediate stop. "What's that? You want to show me? I never thought you'd ask," Gantz murmured in his ear, a leery tone in his voice. "Now, do you happen to know a place where we can enjoy ourselves?"

"Back off," Bruce growled. His voice dropped a couple octaves, which got a couple of Gantz's friends attention. They looked startled by his tone.

This, unfortunately, only riled Gantz up. "Oooh, me like." He dug his sharp weapon into his side—a knife, or a shank, it was hard to tell without looking. "I know the perfect place to go. Now, let's go inside."

Red flags were going off in Bruce's head. When being kidnapped, you never allowed yourself to go to a second location. That was where something terrible would happen. The stories of rape surviviors repeated this over and over.

Unfortunately, he wasn't in a position to prevent that, not with that alleged knife in his side. So he gave in, allowing himself to be led back into the prison. Gantz and his posse knew exactly where to go as they went into the bowels of the prison. Clearly they had done this before.

Eventually, they ended up in a boiler room. There was a boiler and furnace tucked into the corner of the room, pipes running across the walls. It was dank, hot, and uncomfortable. Heading for a corner, Gantz shoved Bruce towards it, causing him to stumble. On the plus side, he didn't have the knife in his side anymore.

Turning around, he saw Gantz and three of his buddies creating a semi-circle, one that trapped him against the wall behind him, indicating he wouldn't be leaving any time soon. Gantz held a make-shift knife in his hand, the shank he had been feeling the entire way here. "Now, isn't this just cozy," he jeered.

"This doesn't have to happen," Bruce said, his tone back to his usual playboy billionaire one. The higher pitch made him sound scared. "Just let me go."

"Let you go? After you brought us here?" Gantz scoffed as he looked at his friends. "I think we have a tease on our hands, boys."

"What a prick," one of them agreed.

"Well, let's show this tease what a real prick looks like." Gantz took a threatening step towards him and then another, holding the shank in clear view. Another hand dropped to the waistband of his pants, fiddling with the belt buckle. "Now, you're going to get on your knees and you're going to enjoy everything I give you."

"And if I don't?"

Gantz stared at him before the corner of his mouth twitched up, dropping his hand from his belt. Suddenly, he lashed out with that hand, slamming a fist against Bruce's eye. He had seen the blow coming a mile away, but he couldn't have done anything to stop it, not as Bruce Wayne.

So he took the punch, dropping down to the floor, one knee down as a hand gripped at the side of his face. "Then there's more of that where that came from," Gantz threatened as he got back to work undoing his belt, finally succeeding. "Now get to suckin', Wayne."

With trembling hands, Bruce raised them up towards Gantz, grabbing onto his pants on either side of his hips. "Oh yeah," he heard one of the other rapist cheer. There was a smirk on Gantz's face as he looked down at him.

Bruce then pulled the man's pants down, slow at first, thankful when he saw boxers coming into view. However, he didn't stop pulling the pants down, not until he went past the knee, bundling them down at the ankles.

His hands then grabbed onto Gantz's lower legs and jerked them towards him. This pulled the man's feet forward, and with his pants around his ankles, the rapist was unable to keep his balance. Eyes widening, he toppled over backwards, landing hard on his back, the sound of his shank clattering across the floor as he lost his grip on it.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" Bruce quickly apologized as he shot up onto his feet. He stepped towards Gantz, holding a hand down towards him to help him up.

At least that's how he looked before his next step swung forward right into Gantz's groin, kicking him hard in the balls.

A high-pitched scream erupted out of the man's lips as his hands shot down to his painfully throbbing manparts.

Bruce Wayne may not have been much of a fighter, but he could certainly hurt someone while being accident prone. A fighting style known as Drunk Boxing was a martial art that mimicked the erratic movements of a drunk. The unorthodox fighting style incorporated swaying and random motions that confused the opponent.

That concept could be used in other ways and Bruce was going to use it to its fullest.

"What the hell?!" the largest of the rapists bellowed, storming over towards Bruce. Allowing a frightened look to appear on his face, Bruce backed away, holding his hands up as a sign he meant no harm.

At least until he purposefully drove the heel of his foot into the floor, preventing himself from taking a full step backwards and throwing off his balance. Topping over backwards, he extended his hands out to grab onto anything that would stop him from falling and grabbed onto the approaching rapist's shirt.

This threw the man's own balance off, his eyes widening as he stumbled forward. Bruce "fell" backwards until his back hit the pipes that ran from the boiler. He felt incredible heat the moment he made contact and was certain he would be doing more than sweating had he not had his prison clothes on. The pipes went right to the corner next to him, where they made a sharp turn and ran along the wall there.

"I'm sorry!" he yelled as he adjusted his grip on the man in front of him. One hand fell onto his shoulder, the other grabbed a fistful of the man's shirt just off-center of his chest. He stuck a foot out, planting it right next to the man's. He then pulled the rapist to one side.

The man lunged to that side, his foot colliding with Bruce's and preventing it from being used to restore his balance. This left him pitching over until the side of his face struck the pipes running along the wall.

The same pipe that was running with boiling, steaming water from the boiler.

Immediately, the man screamed. However, Bruce wasn't done. He used the screaming man to pull himself off of the pipe he was against, the hand that had been on his attacker's shoulder moving up to press down on the side of his head. This only kept the man's face against the heated pipe, causing him to scream louder as the flesh of his face was burned and cooked.

Restoring his balance, Bruce then pulled the man from the pipe, again using his foot to trip the man, sending him stumbling away.

By then, Gantz had rolled onto his back and was gingerly releasing his hold on his junk. The burnt rapist went stumbling right towards him, his hands on the side of his seared face, blinding him to where his leader was. As luck would happen, his foot stomped right down on Gantz's groin, causing him to scream again.

Because of the uneven surface, the burnt man fell to the floor, landing hard in a heap. He continued to roll back and forth as the pain in his face was no doubt excruciating.

"I'm so, so sorry!" Bruce continued to apologize, rushing over to Gantz. Again, he purposefully misstepped, this time driving the toe of his foot into the floor, once more throwing off his balance. Widening his eyes, he went stumbling before he fell, holding his arms up by his head.

At the last moment, he tilted to one side, bending his elbow so that he could ram it right into Gantz's face.

Instantly, Gantz stopped crying, the back of his head banging hard on the floor. Immediately, Bruce began to scramble onto his hands and knees. He kept his head down, appearing to look at the now-unconscious Gantz.

That didn't stop him from seeing a pair of shoes appear in his sights.

He felt hands grab onto the back of his shirt and pull up. The moment he did, he shot straight up, his head swinging up so that the back of his skull hit the chin of this latest interloper. Pain erupted in the back of his head, but he gritted his teeth and bore it. Blindly, he jerked a fist up, lashing out with it.

His fist ended up striking the latest rapist against his throat, causing him to gag as his larynx was crushed. The man dropped to his knees, his hands latching onto his neck as he painfully tried to regain his breath.

The sound of retreating footsteps rang out, causing Bruce to look to the last rapist, only to see the man running away. That was just as well. Returning his attention to the choking rapist in front of him, he decided to drop his clumsy act. Reaching a hand out, grabbed onto the man's dark hair and pulled his head back.

After all, he really needed to hit something.

Brad ran as fast as he could.

What…what the hell had just happened?

In all of his time here, following behind Gantz, Brad made certain he wasn't on the receiving end of an ass fucking. He was the ass fucker, not the ass fuckee. He had been on the outside and if it hadn't been for that bitch changing her mind after he was done with her, he wouldn't be here.

But now…what the hell?

Bruce Wayne had been a mark the moment he walked through the doors of Blackgate. Everyone knew who he was and knew he was a ripe plum. When Gantz said he was ready for a billion-dollar ass, Brad knew he was going to be getting some sloppy seconds, possibly thirds or fourths if Sampson and Drew were wanting their turn next.

But then Wayne…what the actual hell? He was like an accident waiting to happen! He tripped Gantz and then accidentally kicked him in the balls. Then when Sampson went to put him in his place, Wayne tripped and grabbed onto him, only to throw Sampson off-balance and into the hot water pipes.

It just kept going downhill from there. Unable to figure out just how things went wrong, Brad decided to get his ass out of there. The guards were going to want to know what happened here and he didn't want to get thrown in solitary, not for getting his ass beat without getting himself some.

Reaching a turn, Brad raced around it, only to slam hard into something very sturdy. Bouncing off of it, he exclaimed, "What the—"

Only to stop when he found himself staring straight into a very large chest. Frozen in place, he slowly tilted his head up.

A large, beefy hand raised up, resting the pinky side on his shoulder. The tips of the sausage-sized fingers faintly brushed against his face. "I…I didn't do anything," he stammered.

The large man remained silent. There were shadows here that were hiding his face, not that he needed to see the man's face. Everyone knew who this guy was.

"We…we were just trying to have some fun," he sputtered out. "We didn't even get any! I swear!"

"That's too bad," the large man grunted. "Because it'll be quite some time before you get to enjoy…anything."

The massive hand then clamped down on to his face, fingers across his check, palm pressed down over his mouth. Brad shot his hands up, grabbing onto the large man's wrist. He tried to scream, but it was muffled by the hand firmly latched onto his face. Brad could only watch helplessly as a fist raised up and came crashing down on him.

A couple notes: the nerve strike Cassandra uses is right out of the comics, which she uses on Spoiler rather than Damian, twice in the same issue lol. Damian's response is much like Stephanie's too, though brattier, I hope.

The Gotham State boys Talia references is a reference to the Duke Lacrosse Scandal. For those who aren't familiar with that, it's a case where a woman claimed four boys from the school's lacrosse team raped her. It was a big media circus too. You had civil rights leaders chiming in; you had school administrators and professors signing letters that they were uncomfortable with boys being on campus; you had calls of racism and classism, because the woman was African-American and the boys were rich and white. Then the DNA tests came back and none of their DNA was detected on the woman, and their alibis were confirmed with all of them not even being present at the party where the rape allegedly went down. One boy was even in a different state. The DA tried to bury the DNA results and when it was found out, the case was dropped, the DA was disbarred, and the media coverage puttered out very quickly. I was hesitant to include this story as a point during Talia's scene, but considering the points being made about media coverage in this story, I felt it was a point that fit in with the overall theme.