BREAKING NEWS

"Welcome to the Jerri Prudence show! Our top story: Bruce Wayne is going to jail! You heard it right here, right now!

"But first, an incredibly brazen kidnapping right outside of the Solomon Wayne Courthouse! Following Wayne's arraignment this morning, a journalist covering the hearing was kidnapped right in the street for everyone to see! The GCPD is currently investigating, so we don't have footage of this insane kidnapping.

"What we do know is that a journalist for the Gotham Star, Freddie Jackson, was leaving the courthouse when he was taken in his own car and driven to points unknown. This…I mean, wow. What is the world coming to?"

Jerri Prudence shook her head. "We, at WGKX, would like to extend our condolences to the Jackson Family, who are going through a terrible ordeal right now. Our thoughts and prayers are with them and we wish for the swift, speedy recovery of Freddie Jackson."

She paused. "And now, our top story: Bruce Wayne was denied bail at his arraignment this morning. It was determined by the Honorable Judge Stanley Turnball that Wayne was too great of a flight risk and remanded him to Blackgate Penitentiary until his trial. I, for one, am relieved."

Jerri leaned forward. "This is our justice system, folks. It's not perfect, we all can agree with this. But, from time to time, it works, and in this case, it worked for the people of Gotham by keeping a murderer behind bars—WHERE HE BELONGS.

"While it needs to be said that people are innocent until proven guilty—this is the primary concept our system is based around—there is simply too much evidence to support that Bruce Wayne killed Vesper Fairchild. That's a fact.

"We here at WGKX have received quite a few letters—not a lot, but a few—stating that us at this news station are too close to this story. Vesper Fairchild was one of our own and that makes us unable to cover the story without prejudice and subjectiveness. To that I say: yes, it's close to home. Yes, myself and my colleagues are close to this because we all knew Vesper. This isn't a bad thing, it just means we're human. There's been a lot happening in the world today, forces that are out there to make the media appear incompetent and biased and so on. We've been under attack for doing our jobs and that is to bring the news to you, the viewer.

"Now, full disclosure, I knew Vesper and I saw her as this thoughtful, intelligent, incredible woman. She was going to be a fabulous journalist and reporter. All of that is gone now, all because one man couldn't handle that she had no interest in him. That she was only doing a job and if he couldn't take that, he should have gone and taken a cold shower.

"But now, we're left with a tragedy that affects of all. We have to live with that. We get to learn just what terrible things this cruel and sadistic man put her through. So yeah, you'll have to excuse me if I enjoy a terrible man getting his comeuppance. We in Gotham know that not everyone is who they claim to be, the rich even more so than others. They have their secret societies and their influence to bail them out at every turn. Well, I say, that ends today. Judge Turnball did this city and everyone in it a huge favor. I extend to him my gratitude for standing up for the common man.

"And to Bruce Wayne, you better get to know your bunkmate tonight. You're going to be spending a long time with him."


Though the biggest case was currently on Bruce Wayne, that didn't mean there weren't other cases that required their attention.

For instance, the kidnapping in front of Solomon Wayne Courthouse today. With an entire crowd of reporters nearby, they watched as an entire car was swallowed up by an armored truck and taken away. While kidnappings were a dime of dozen, unfortunately, the location of this one was rather astonishing.

And if it weren't enough, the latest kidnappee was a reporter. First, Vesper Fairchild was murdered and now a Fred Jackson was snatched up in the middle of a busy street and carted away. At this rate, the media was going to declare a War on Journalists at any moment now.

Unfortunately, it was just the latest in a string of them. Jeff Daniels, a parole board member; Erick Pense, a City Hall liaison; Donna Grier, defense attorney; Samuel Pierce, a suspected/known drug dealer. If it weren't for Bruce Wayne, this would be the top case.

So there was a saving grace for this. However, there were some people with pull that were missing and now this latest kidnapping was threatening to move it right into the spotlight. Maggie needed some answers fast, or she was going to have a talk with the Mayor. Her predecessor always groaned about those meetings.

"What do we have?" she demanded as she went to the lead investigator on these cases. That turned out to be Bullock, for better or worse.

"Well, that box has glazed and the other one has frosting and sprinkles," Bullock replied from his seat. Next to him were a couple of white boxes, the logo of a donut shop stamped onto the lid. "Help yourself."

"I meant about the kidnapping cases," Maggie responded, not the least bit put out by Bullock's behavior. No matter what one could say about him, Harvey did his job.

"Then you're gonna want a glaze," Bullock replied as he leaned back into his chair. "Because whomever is doing this knows what they're doing."

Maggie didn't want to hear that. "Explain."

"For Jackson, we got security footage. Thank God for CCTV, am I right? So we got a couple good visuals of this truck and it has some nasty toys in it. It latches onto Jackson's car and pulls it in the back of the truck. Pretty damn efficient too."

"And what about the other cases?"

"Which ones?"

"Daniels, Pense, Grier, Pierce."

"Ah, well, those are different. Those schmoes disappeared into thin air. Like, no evidence was left behind, or if there was, it ain't much. Whoever did those jobs, I don't think they did the Jackson one."

That made sense. If the previous cases had been done in secret, then it stood to reason they would keep doing it that way. Why do something as public as the Jackson Kidnapping, right?

However, "I did look into those cases. They looked connected to me."

"How so?" Bullock grunted.

"Well, there's the judicial angle. Grier is a lawyer, Daniels worked for the parole board, Pense for City Hall."

"And Pierce is a scumbag selling drugs to kids," the Lieutenant countered. "It's just a coincidence these guys were taken around the same time. Heck, I'm willing to bet some of Pierce's gang pals probably took him for a ride and he never came back."

"And you have proof of this?" Maggie raised an eyebrow.

"Not yet I don't."

"Then I suggest you find some."

"You're the boss, Com'mish."

That name, it didn't feel right being directed at her. Maggie had served too long under Jim Gordon, with Bullock always calling him the Com'mish. That should have remained Gordon's name, she felt. Still, she was the Commissioner now; she was going to have to get used to it.

Despite Bullock's denials, Maggie couldn't help but feel these kidnappings were linked. Sure, there were kidnappings of anyone of any strata, and that included public judiciary workers. Yet, their timing was just too close to be a coincidence.

Perhaps she needed fresh eyes on this.

Of course, she couldn't go to another detective in the precinct. It would undermine Bullock, not to mention piss him off. She couldn't blatantly send a message like that out. Yet, she did want another perspective on this.

As she left Bullock's desk, she couldn't help but glance up towards the ceiling. She hadn't been on the roof, nor used the equipment Gordon had left behind. Again, it was something that didn't feel right for her to use. Yet, Gordon used it when he needed help; she needed help, she felt.

And this way, she didn't step on anyone's toes.


"Welcome to Blackgate Prison, Ladies! This will be your home for the foreseeable future!"

Those had been the words to greet Bruce as the bus came to a stop. There weren't a lot of people on the bus, allowing for a few empty seats to exist. Most of the prisoners had their own seat, which was a small blessing.

The handcuffs and leg irons, on the other hand…

A guard came stomping down the bus aisle, stopping long enough to slap his hand on the back of each seat. "Up!" he would shout, clearly the direction for each prisoner to stand and move into the aisle. When it came to Bruce's turn, he did as instructed, the rattle of chains filing his ears.

"Into the aisle, Ladies!" the guard shouted as he reached the back. More chain rattling was heard as each man stepped out of their seats. "Now, just like grade schoolers do, exit the bus and form a line outside!"

Bruce waited until the man in front of him began to move. He followed the line clumsily, the cuffs around his ankles digging in with every step he took. The steps took a bit of effort as he couldn't fully step down without the leg irons resisting.

Somehow, he got off, stumbling as he lost his balance a little. He managed to correct himself thankfully, and stood in line as instructed. A few guards holding shotguns stood at the ready, keeping an eye on them in case someone tried to run.

The last man off of the bus was the guard. "Alright, through the fence. It's time to get processed!" he announced. Seeing as there wasn't a fence to the back, each man turned around, seeing the aforementioned fence there. A section of it began to slide to one side, wheels spinning beneath it as they rolled. The line of prisoners were led through the gate and into the prison proper.

Air conditioning blasted onto them as they entered the prison. There was a desk there, protected by bulletproof glass, a single slot the only opening between the glass and desk. Another guard stood behind it, holding a clipboard in hand. "Eams, Robert," the man said to the first prisoner in line. Through the slot, a stack of clothes was shoved through, a plastic bag on top of them. Eams picked them up and then shuffled away.

After a few more men, Bruce heard his name called out. "Wayne, Bruce." The guard paused before glancing up to him. He just stared at the billionaire. "You're taller than I thought you'd be," he grunted eventually.

The same pile of clothes and plastic bag came through the desk slot. Bruce just picked them up and followed the pathway. He was eventually led into a large room filled with stalls, though there was a noticeable lack of doors on each one. "Strip and put your belongings in the bag," he was instructed. "Put on your prison issues."

Bruce made his way to a stall, where the cuffs and leg irons were undone. He resisted the urge to rub his wrists from where the metal cuffs chaffed. Seeing a small shelf in front of him, he laid down his stack on it and proceeded to get undressed.

The entire time, he felt numb, like this was a dream—a really bad dream. His blazer and shoes came off first, his socks getting stuffed into the shoes. Each item was placed into the plastic bag as they came off. Next came his shirt, folded neatly before being placed in the bag. He took off his watch and shoved it into his pants pocket, his pants and belt coming off soon after.

Standing in boxers, he then began putting on the prison clothes. Orange shirt, orange pants, white undershirt, black sneakers, he was slowly being stripped of his individuality and remade into a nameless face, identical to each man next to him.

"Done in there, Mr. Rich Boy?" a guard demanded, the sound of his nightstick banging on the frame of the stall. "We're all waiting for ya if you're not still doing your hair."

Bruce ignored the jab. Picking up his plastic bag of belongings, he exited the stall. He saw a number of men doing the same as he, though it was clear there were a couple of others still changing. There was some sniggering from the insult.

"Glad you could join us, Mr. Wayne," the same guard drawled. "I hope I didn't rush you."

Bruce didn't reply, he just stared straight ahead. This guy was trying to get a rise out of him; he'd be disappointed.

Once the others were finished changing, they were led out of the room and to another one that looked exactly like the one they received their belonging bags and prison clothes. There was a change in that the bulletproof glass was further back on the desk, allowing for a line of clipboards to be laid out on the outside the protective cage. "Write down what you brought with ya," they were instructed as they came to a stop, each man in front of a clipboard. "Then turn it in with your bags."

Picking up a pen with a string tied to it, connecting it to the clip on the clipboard, Bruce wrote down each and every belonging. The sound of pen scratching against paper filled the little room. Some men finished faster than others, having to do with the little they brought with them. Once done, they placed their belonging bag on top of the clipboard, where it was seized by a guard. The guard checked the clipboard and pen before sliding it and the belonging bag through the slot to the guard on the other side.

They were then led through a doorway, where a folding table sat. It was stacked with bedsheets, each prisoner being handed one stack as they passed by. Bruce was roughly handed his, though it was no different for the man in front of him and the one behind.

Then came the Walk. As they left that tiny room, they were greeted with the sight of the cellblock. Plenty of prisoners sat in their cells, the doors opened. Others were on the catwalks that circled round the cell block, allowing for entry to the cells on the upper levels. Hooting and hollering could be heard from the other prisoners as they were led down the cell block.

They were forced to climb up some stairs, heading for the third story. From there, they were led down a catwalk, one empty of prisoners. One by one, they were shoved into a cell, the doors staying open. "You're now on my time, Ladies!' the guard announced. "Lights out is at 2100. Wake up is 0530. These are your homes going forward. If contraband is found in your cells, you will be punished. If you don't wake up when I tell you to, you will be punished. You give me any lip and, you guessed it, you will be punished. Am I clear?"

There was no reply. "Am I clear!" the guard shouted.

"Yes, Sir!" a couple men answered back.

"Good. Now welcome to your first night in Blackgate. It's not going to be your last."

The cell doors then slid into place, locking with a ring of finality. Bruce stood in the middle of his cell, a bed with a naked mattress to his right, a toilet to his left in the back corner with a rotting wooden desk and chair next to it.

He looked down at his sheets before he dumped them on his mattress. Turning away, he went up to the window his cell provided, metal bars in place to deter any thoughts of escape.

This was all so surreal. Bruce had thought he would be in this position if he had gotten sloppy and caught as Batman. To be here as Bruce Wayne and under suspicious for murder…he hadn't seen that coming. Now though, he had gotten a taste of what punishment awaited him. He couldn't say he liked it.

Then, as if to taunt him, a light appeared in the sky. Looking at it, he saw the Bat Signal, projecting his symbol onto the night's sky. It was like a siren's call, beckoning for him to come.

Yet, he couldn't. He was trapped here, in a room designed to keep him here, no escape possible. His city was calling for him, but he could not answer. He felt it stirring inside of him, the urge, the need to go out there, to protect his city.

Perhaps for the first time ever, he forced himself to look away.


The sound of chains clinking against each other filled the BatCave. There was a breeze coming from…somewhere, which was causing them to sway, the links softly colliding with each other.

On the screen of the main computer was security footage and traffic footage of the courthouse kidnapping. Cassandra had the computer do the work, but she wanted every conceivable angle she could get.

Thanks to the traffic cameras, she could see that the kidnapping was planned methodically. A little luck went into it as well, but what plan didn't?

Here was the picture: the street in front of the courthouse was comprised of four lanes, two lanes going west, two lanes going east. The armored truck had parked itself in the left lane of the eastbound lane, attempting to turn into an intersecting street, but appeared to be stopped due to oncoming traffic.

Then, suddenly, it abruptly pulled into the right lane, right in front of the car that held the reporter. The backdoors of the truck opened and two arms came out. The arms lowered to the ground before hooking underneath the bumper of the car, then dragged it into the truck. It was at this moment she personally saw the armored truck take off, its cargo in tow.

As much as that footage made it seem as if it luck was in the kidnapper's plan, Cassandra did a search for the car and found it had been parked in a parallel parking spot, one that forced it to go down that very road. So the kidnapper knew where to intercept and waited for their victim to go for their car before positioning themselves near that intersection.

All of this made for an interesting mystery, but Cassandra couldn't find herself focusing on it. Her mind was in another place, back in that damn courtroom with that damn judge and that damn decision and…

Cassandra tore her eyes away from the computer screen. Why was this happening? She hated it. She hated being in this stupid sewar cave, knowing that when she went to that stupid penthouse, her dad wasn't going to be there. It wasn't right; it wasn't fair! She hated this entire, stupid thing! Why did that damn reporter have to get herself killed in her dad's office? Of all the places, in all the buildings, in all of the offices in the world, it had to be that one.

Her dad didn't kill her. She knew this without a doubt. Even with all of the evidence that had been collected to prove his guilt, she knew it was wrong.

She couldn't handle this case. As much as justice needed to be done and this latest kidnapped person needed to be found, she couldn't find it in herself to care. She knew she would be reprimanded for it later, but sometimes there were more important things going on. If the world was in a crisis, the kidnapping would be a low priority, right? Well, her world was in crisis, and that made this kidnapping a low priority now.

Besides, she had seen the media coverage on her father. If these media people thought they could say the things they had and expect her services…

Returning her attention back to the computer, she pulled open another program. This one was of more interest to her. Make that two programs, actually.

The first was of a virtual print reconfiguration program. She had inputted the partial footprint she had found and had the program attempt to recreate as many potential patterns as it could. That was still running its analysis; who knew there were so many different shoeprint patterns?

The second was running an analysis on the sample she had obtained from the print. This one had completed and she eagerly read the results. The top result was of a mineral, limestone to be exact.

Limestone… she thought. There wasn't a lot of that in the city, was there? For some reason, she felt she should have known this. Aside from the limestone, there were trace amounts of rust and a couple other things, but for the most part it was limestone.

Again, why did it feel as if she should know about this?

A sound reached her ears, interrupting her thoughts. She focused on it long enough to detect hushed whispers. It seemed her team was here. Going back to ignoring them, she stared at the results again, trying to puzzle together why she was feeling something about this other than intrigue.

"Hey, Cassandra," Bluebird suddenly called out to her.

"What?" she automatically responded. A moment later and the name actually exploded in her head and her eyes went wide.

Had…had she really…?

Slowly she turned her chair to her right. There stood the unmasked girls, Harper Row staring coolly at her while Stephanie Brown looked as if her eyes would pop out of her head as she stared at the blue-haired girl.

Cassandra didn't have her mask on; in fact, she wasn't even in her armor. She was just in black pants, a black, long-sleeve shirt, and no mask. She felt so naked right now.

"Alright, the three of us need to talk," Harper declared, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

"...this isn't a good time," the dark-haired girl weakly responded. Her heart felt like it was beating incredibly fast in her chest. It wasn't a nice feeling.

"Well, in respect to you and us, this is a long overdue conversation." Harper dropped her arms to her sides and walked right up to her. Stephanie trailed behind her. "The way I see it, it's best to get it all out in the open."

Yeah, she wasn't liking where this was going, but she felt completely powerless. "So I'm going to start out by saying that you know who we are," Harper continued. "You worked with the Bat long enough that you know our names, our backgrounds, all of that, am I right?"

Slowly, Cassandra nodded. She did know these things. She had a bad feeling she knew where this was going.

"Well, now Steph and I know who you are. So to make re-introductions: I'm Harper Row." At this she held a hand to herself, then she moved it to the blonde girl next to her. "This is Stephanie Brown."

Then she held her hand out towards her and finished, "And you're Cassandra Wayne."

OH, this was SO bad.

"I don't know what—" she immediately began.

"—I'm talking about," Harper finished for her. "Yeah, when has that ever worked? You should know since you probably hear it a lot." She then sighed. "Look, I'm not doing this to get one over you, alright? I just want you to know that I know, that we know. And it wasn't as easy as you think it was."

Well, that was brief, blunt, and to the point. Still, she had to know. "How did you…find out?" she ventured.

"Well, I would love to tell you that Steph and I spent hundreds of man hours on this, but the simple truth is…we saw you by pure luck."

"...pure luck?" she questioned.

"My class was having a field trip to Wayne Enterprises," Stephanie volunteered. Already, Cassandra didn't like hearing that. "Harper tagged along. And then we saw you leave an elevator with Bruce Wayne."

Which was only a few days ago, when her dad had taken her out for lunch with the promise of a better job. Oh, crap. But wait, there was no way they could have figured out their relationship just by seeing them togeth—

"And then that right hand man of Wayne's, uhh, Fox I think, said you were his daughter," Harper finished.

—er. And the other shoe dropped. Great. Perfect. Her father was not going to like this one bit.

"I know this isn't the way you wanted things," Stephanie took back over the conversation. "Heck, this couldn't be at a worse time, really. But just so you know, we have your back. We know that your dad didn't kill that woman."

And now they were back on that subject. Cassandra wasn't certain if she preferred that or not. "How are you certain of that?" she couldn't help but ask.

The two girls shared a look with each other. "Because he's Batman," Stephanie said simply. "He doesn't kill people."

This just got so much worse. Not only did they know who she was, but they also knew who Batman was. He really wasn't going to like this. "So we're Team Bruce Wayne all the way," Harper said, trying to sound reassuring when she was doing anything but. "So how can we help?"

"Help?" Cassandra repeated.

"Yeah, we're the Batclan remember? We help each other out, through thick and thin. You and your family are having…problems…and we want to help you out any way we can."

"What she said," Stephanie agreed.

"Before we go there," Cassandra said slowly. "I need to know that you aren't going to tell anyone about this."

The two girls stared at her. "Seriously?" Harper responded. "We've kept our own identities secret. We've kept Nightwing's. We sure as hell are going to keep yours and Batman's."

Well, that was a little comforting. This was going to take some time to get used to. "Besides, if you didn't trust us, I'm certain you could kill us in our sleep," Stephanie added.

Cassandra wasn't going to lie, that sounded like a very tempting option. Very, very tempting.

As Harper threw a scowl at the blonde girl, Cassandra turned her chair back to the computer. She might as well tell them where she was at with this. She'd deal with the secret identity business...later. "I have the computer running analysis on the shoeprint we found," she said. Immediately, the two girls were at her side, Harper to her right, Stephanie to her left. "It's still trying to recreate a full shoeprint since we only have a partial, but it did finish with the composition of that sample we took."

"Sweet," Harper replied. "What did it find?"

"Limestone and rust."

There was silence. "Uhh, where are we going to find limestone and rust?" Stephanie asked. "Together. I can think of a ton of places with them being separate, but not together."

"What places?" Cassandra nearly demanded as she snapped her head towards her.

Unfortunately, she never got an answer. An alert went off on the computer and the three girls watched as a new window appeared. It was a picture of Gotham's skyline, live, and in the sky was the Bat Signal.

"Oh, this is ironic," Harper chuckled. "They arrested Batman and now they want his help. Good luck with that, chumps."

Heh, Cassandra liked that.

"Well, someone should answer it, right?" Stephanie responded. "I mean, it would look weird if no one did, right? Not to mention someone might notice that Batman never showed up when Bruce Wayne was in jail."

That was a very good point. They weren't going to be able to get Batman to answer it for obvious reasons, but someone needed to see what the police wanted. "They want a Bat," Cassandra said. "I'm a Bat, so they're just going to have to deal with me."

"And what about us?" Harper questioned.

"Suit up. You said we're a team. The team is going in."