Morning roll call was abrupt and disturbing. At some point, Bruce had fallen asleep, he wasn't exactly sure when, but the fact he found himself startled into consciousness indicated he had closed his eyes for a long period of time.

He was groggy and disoriented, the yells of the guards ringing out as they walked along catwalks, dragging their nightsticks against the cell bars made for a lot of noise that simply could not be ignored. Bruce forced himself to sit on the edge of his bed, a feeling of lightheadedness forcing him to remain seated. If he stood up too fast, he could worsen the feeling—

"Get your rich ass out of bed, Wayne!" a guard shouted at him as they appeared on the other side of the cell bars. He didn't slow down, his stick banging against every single metal bar as he passed by. Grunting, Bruce stood up, the feeling of dizziness growing stronger for a couple seconds before finally fading away. Stiffly, he approached the cell door and stood there.

He could hear more yells from the guards, but the sound of nightstick-against-bars were becoming fewer. The same guard that had yelled at him moments ago passed by his cell again, heading back the way he came. He didn't lose stride as he passed by, clearly checking to see if he was up.

Eventually, silence returned. Then, "Opening cell doors!" was shouted, followed by his door swinging open.

"Come out, scum!" another voice ordered and Bruce stepped out of his cell. To his left and right, he saw the other prisoners doing the same, coming to a stop a step or two outside of their cells. He did the same as them, forming a line down the catwalk.

"It's chow time, ladies!" the same guard announced. "Single file, head to the mess hall. No horsing around or you can expect a knuckle sandwich for breakfast!"

Bruce remained where he stood, peering over the railing of the catwalk. There was movement on the bottom floor, prisoners beginning to walk in the direction of the mess hall, walking in a single-file line. Once the bottom floor was empty, the second floor began to empty out, climbing down stairs to the bottom floor and then heading the same way as the first group. When it came to Bruce's turn, he turned to his right and followed the man in front of him, heading down the metal stairs and down to the ground floor.

Blackgate had multiple mess halls. With its prison population, having one large room wasn't feasible, so there were three. Bruce found himself entering the second one as the first one had filled up some time ago. He trudged through the line up to the cafeteria-style serving line. Each man in front of him had snatched up a rough cardboard tray, one with three small pockets along its top, and one bigger pocket on its bottom. It was just like the metal trays he had seen in various prison movies, but it was clear the metal ones weren't trusted. It made sense since they could be used as weapons. Plastic spoons, forks, and knives were also present, and he grabbed one of each.

For today's breakfast, a scoop of eggs were dropped onto his tray as he passed by, a couple patties of sausage, and a single biscuit. He was able to pick up a small container of orange juice and little packets of salt and pepper and then he was through.

Yeah, this was certainly not a breakfast of champions.

Still, Bruce wasn't a big breakfast eater, so a small, simple meal was alright. Now he was met with a choice: where would he sit? Long tables with plastic stools connected to them were laid out before him. Men were scattered at various tables, indicating it was a choose your own seating arrangement.

Bruce went to an empty spot and sat down. He wasn't hungry, so he just stared down at the food. It wasn't appealing to begin with, but chances were he wouldn't be eating until the early afternoon.

He needed to eat. He didn't want to, but it would be in his best interest if he did.

Absently he forked up a piece of egg and ate it. It was bland, so very bland. Considering they were mass cooking food, it made sense. Peppering the eggs with his little pepper packet, he tried another bite. It was better, but not by much.

He felt a presence then. On either side of him, two men sat, another two on the opposite side of the table, one directly in front of him and the other to his left.

And now it was time for this cliche.

"I was hoping to see you, Bruce Wayne," the man in front of him stated, making himself at home on his stool. Bruce glanced to his left and right, seeing a large man with a dark goatee on his left, and a smaller, yet large bald man to his right. "How are you enjoying the amenities of Blackgate?"

Bruce didn't answer, merely opening his orange juice so that he could take a sip.

The man in front of him wasn't all that perturbed by his silence. He had a receding hairline, looked as if he were middle aged, but his blue eyes were piercing. "I'm Gantz," he greeted. "It's early, but how would you like a friend?"

Gantz…Bruce knew who he was. He also knew the men that were surrounding him. Each one was a rapist with one too many notches in their belt. Of course he had to meet them first and in a pack no less. In prison, they grouped up, no doubt preying on those they thought weaker.

And Bruce Wayne, playboy billionaire, would be considered an easy target.

"Not particularly," he grunted, toying with his rubbery eggs with his fork.

"Not a good idea, Wayne," Gantz responded. "Everyone needs a friend in prison. Without one, well, things can be really, really hard. Seeing as we're all trapped in here, we can only make friends with each other—and I can be a good friend to have."

Bruce already didn't have much of an appetite; it was all but gone now. He didn't want to be here; he didn't want to be having this conversation. If he had his cowl, he could deal with this situation in a very satisfying manner. Unfortunately, he couldn't be Batman here and because of that, he was stuck as a perceived weak man.

A weak man surrounded by predators of the worst kind.

With a sigh, Bruce dropped his fork into his leftover food and stood up from his seat. The men seated around him just tilted their heads up as they watched him. Picking up his trey, he carried it away, heading right for a trashcan, where he tossed it all in. "Too good for the food here, Wayne?" Gantz shouted after him, causing a number of prisoners to look in his direction.

He just ignored them, heading for the exit. A couple guards eyed him, but allowed him to leave the mess hall. There weren't a lot of places for him to go, he imagined, but all of them were far better than being here.


The morning air was cool, perhaps nippy even. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, allowing it to be a beautiful, taunting blue. As Bruce left the main building, he found himself in the exercise yard. It was a large area, surrounded by a towering wall and guard towers. Through glassless windows, there were guards with high-powered rifles. The yard itself was a dirt field, all semblance of grass having been stomped out long ago.

The dirt ground was solid beneath Bruce's feet as he walked across it. He ignored the empty basketball courts to his left, the cement patio where weights and bench presses were sitting unused. He went right for a bench and sat on it. The yard was empty save for him and the guards, isolating and lonely.

He rather liked that.

It was hard to believe only a handful of days ago he was living in a penthouse. Being thrown in jail and now Blackgate, it was all so startling. Yes, he had believed that if he messed up, was captured in his role as a vigilante, he would end up here. That was always a possibility, one he expertly avoided time and again.

He had ended up here regardless, accused of a crime he knew he didn't commit, but couldn't reveal why. The easiest way out of this was to admit he was Batman. There had been sightings of him all throughout the night, which would have disproved him as the killer.

Yet, if he did that, it would be inviting a storm of consequences. He would be rightfully charged with being a vigilante and all the other charges that went with it. Assault, battery, breaking and entering, you name it, he probably did it. Then there would be the financial fallout. The government would look into his expenditures, the S.E.C. primarily looking for accounting frauds and the like. His domestic accounts would be frozen immediately.

Then there was his family. Cassandra wasn't so tied down to Gotham like he was, so moving her abroad wouldn't be that big of an issue. She had only started trying to build a social life, so having to start over wasn't all that difficult. Having the outlet as Batgirl suspended for awhile might chaff her, but eventually she would settle.

Yet, he didn't want that for her. She already had a tough hand dealt to her and she didn't need more difficulties. Stability was good for her and it was at least one thing he had consistently offered.

So he was stuck here, his name being dragged through the mud, no doubt. His business would suffer so long as it defended him. His city would suffer without him out there protecting it.

He needed to get out of here.

The door to the prison opened, the shrill sound of the hinges protesting. Glancing up, Bruce spotted a handful of prisoners sauntering out, laughing and joking with each other. They were clearly heading for the weights, that was until one of them spotted him. With a quick jab of his elbow into his friend, the man pointed a finger right at the dark-haired billionaire.

Great, here we go again…

The group immediately detoured towards him. "Well, well, well," the man that spotted him called out as they closed in, a swarm of sharks gathering around chum. "If it isn't the rich boy. Saw you in the mess hall earlier. Was the food not to your liking?"

Bruce just stared up at him, hunched over on his seat on the bench.

"What? Too good to talk to me?" the man sneered. His bald head reflected the morning sunlight, making it appear to be solid white. His wife beater was clinging to his thin, muscular body. "Is that it, rich boy?"

"I don't want any trouble," Bruce replied back, keeping his tone low and soft, deferring.

"Well, trouble found ya anyways." The man smirked. "Already you got the rape pigs sniffing around ya. Won't be long until they try to hide the sausage in your ass. What's say we make it easier for them, huh? It'd be easy pickings for them if you're too beat up to fight them off."

Great, jail yard bullies. He was finding all of the stereotypes, wasn't he? He was beginning to get annoyed and considering he hadn't had his usual outlet, he could go for a little fight. Too bad Bruce Wayne wasn't known for fighting.

Still, there could be other ways around that.

"Knock it off, Chaunsey," one of the man's friends said. "It's too early for scrappin'."

"What, are you some kind of pussy?" Chaunsey shot back. "C'mon, this won't take long."

"Do what you want, but I'm getting to the weights before the brothas come. You know they hog the iron."

"Fine, beat it. The rest of us can have some fun."

The other man just walked off, though perhaps to Chaunsey's surprise so did the rest of his friends. That just left him and Bruce. Seeing that he was alone, Chaunsey just glowered at the young man before he hocked up a loogie and spat at Bruce's feet. "You're lucky I ain't in the mood anymore. Maybe later we can have a dance and I can show you what it's like to fight a real man and not a woman."

Bruce watched as Chaunsey took off, going after his friends. Seemed the guy was a lot of bark, so long as he had backup. It was a good thing his group wasn't in the mood, otherwise he would have had to figure out a way to defend himself.

The parting shot, however…

Bruce leaned backwards, glancing up to the sky. That wasn't going to be the last time someone referenced his alleged beating of Vesper. It was going to be the first of many, many more. He sighed. That part, at least, would be true even if he wasn't in prison.


The morning had crawled on forward from there, right until a guard had approached him and ordered him to follow. He had visitors, apparently.

He was led to a small room with two columns. Each row contained a series of booths, for lack of a better description, each booth divided by wooden dividers. A telephone receiver hung from one of the dividers. A plexiglass window cut the booth in half, allowing for a visual for the visitor to see the prisoners. The visitors were restricted to the outer sides of the columns where the prisoners were stuck on the inner sides.

Bruce was led to one of these booths and sat down on a hard plastic chair. It looked like one he had used in grade school, just big enough for an adult. Comfort was clearly not the motive here. He immediately saw Lucius and Cassandra sitting on the opposite side of the plexiglass. Lucius wore a warm smile, Cassandra perking up at the sight of him.

"You've got ten minutes, Wayne," the guard grunted before he left. Bruce just turned his head to keep the guard in his peripheral vision, lasting long enough to know the man wouldn't be listening in, not that he needed to. There were recording devices in the phones, picking up anything and everything that would be said. It was a sneaky attempt to get someone to implicate themselves.

Returning his sights to his guests, he picked up the phone receiver and held it to his ear. Lucuis did the same, holding his receiver between him and Cassandra, both of them nearly pressing their faces together to get their ears close to the top of the phone. "Good morning, Bruce," Lucuis greeted him.

"I've had better," the dark-haired man grunted back.

Cassandra nearly stuck her mouth onto the bottom of the receiver as she responded, "Are you okay? Is someone trying to hurt you?"

The answer to that was of course, but she didn't need to know that. Just looking at her, Bruce could see the teenager was anxious and overwhelmed. He needed to calm her down as much as he needed to be.

"I'm alright, just some school yard bullying is all," he reassured her. "Nothing I can't handle. I'm assuming this isn't a social call."

"It is partly that," Lucius said. "We're both concerned and understandably so. We're also here to let you know that Rae Green is doing everything she can to get another bail hearing to get you out. If all goes well, you'll be out of here."

That was nice to know, but Bruce didn't see it being all that successful. As much as he didn't like it, there was some truth to his wealth and resources making him a flight risk. He had the means to leave the country and never come back if he wanted to. Nevermind that he couldn't, not with his…need…to be Batman. It was all he knew now and he couldn't function any other way. He had a chance once to walk away and never look back.

His present circumstance indicated what choice he had made.

"We also wanted to speak to you about your defense as well," Lucius continued.

"Nothing too detailed," Bruce warned. "We're being monitored for quality assurance."

"Of course," Lucius responded. "But what I mean is that we need public support. Right now, every media outlet is declaring you guilty."

"That shouldn't be too surprising," the dark-haired man pointed out. "That's sort of what they do: jump to conclusions. The day they actually investigate a story instead of putting it out for clicks will be a seismic shift in modern journalism."

"Point, but we still need to get your side of things. Any prospective jury is only hearing the current media narrative. We need to get your story out there and counter what is being said about you. The courts are going to try and make an impartial jury possible, but let's face it, you're too well-known for anyone not to have heard of you and your reputation. There won't be an impartial jury available for you, so we need to start planting seeds of doubt in the current story."

That wasn't a bad idea actually. Sad to say, Lucius had a point. His years of playboy behavior as a cover story were not going to help him. They needed people to doubt he could kill another person, especially a woman. It was only a matter of time before he was accused of preying on vulnerable women. While he used many to establish his cover, he had alienated quite a few.

"If that's what you want to do, I won't stop you," Bruce said.

"That means you will need to speak to some reporters—"

Lucius stopped the moment he saw the scowl appear on the billionaire's face. "Look, I know that's not what you want to hear, but how else are we going to make your case? Wayne Enterprises can only do so much, so the words have to come from you. I'll be vetting the reporters myself to make certain you're not speaking to someone with an axe to grind."

"Just about every reporter has an axe to grind with me," he pointed out. "After all, I'm accused of killing one of their own."

"Which we know you didn't do," Cassandra added.

Bruce nodded, then sighed. "If this is something you're adamant on doing, then run it by Rae Green. She'll want to know what we're up to."

"Naturally." Lucius then tilted the receiver towards his face. "Now, Cassandra would like a couple minutes with you, so I'm going to step away. Know that we're in your corner and we're going to do what we can to help you."

He then held the receiver to Cassandra, who snatched it up, pressing it against the side of her face. Lucius stood up from his chair and backed away, indicating he was giving them privacy. The girl opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Clearly she wanted to talk; she just didn't know what she wanted to talk about. Bruce decided to help her. "How are you doing?" he asked her gently.

Cassandra's mouth closed. Then she opened it again. "I am well." That was a lie, he could see it in her face. He didn't like that. "I want you home."

"I want to be home too," he assured her. "Unfortunately, it's going to take some time."

The dark-haired girl was silent. "You were receiving calls last night." Her eyes rolled upwards, indicating just what kind of call she was talking about. "I told them you were unavailable."

Considering he had seen the Bat Signal and the way Cassandra looked upwards as if she were looking to the sky, he figured that's what she was talking about. She must have answered the call and covered for him. "You would think they would know that," he tried to joke. "It's not exactly a secret where I'm at."

"They were the last to know." A small, tired smile appeared on her face. "There is a lot I want to tell you, but…I don't think this is the place for it."

"What things?"

"Your case. I want a private investigator, someone that hasn't already decided you're guilty. I want this personally looked into."

Bruce had to give her credit, she knew how to talk in code pretty well. He wondered how she was able to figure this out and keep up her composure. Clearly, the investigator she was talking about was herself. "Do what you need to do," he told her. "Talk to Lucius about going about it. The police won't be willing to cooperate since they'll be trying to conserve their evidence and crime scene."

She rolled her eyes. "I figured. I do want to go over this with you though."

"This isn't the place for that," he warned her.

"But I could—"

Use his help, he knew those were her next words, so he sent her a stern look, one that cut her off. "Whatever you find would be best sent to Rae Green," he said. "It would be the best way to get it into the court proceedings. She can get it released during the discovery process and make it of public record."

Slowly, she nodded. "I see. Then that is what I will do."

A wiry smile appeared on his face. "You be careful, okay? Don't forget, you have a new job you're starting. Lucius will be understanding, but you can't let what's going on with me drive you to distraction. Learn what you need to learn from him and do the best job you can do."

"I…I will."

"You better. Now, we only have a couple minutes before the guard comes back. Use them wisely."

The rest of the day went by without incident. There were lingering looks as the other inmates eyed him. Many seemed to mind their own business, but they couldn't help but check out the billionaire in their midst.

Shuffling back into his cell, Bruce was finally alone. He had sat down next to a few other inmates to avoid Gantz and his group. That largely worked and thankfully his dinner mates had only glanced at him, then ignored him. Still, Gantz had kept his eyes on him the entire time he had been in the mess hall.

Something was going to have to be done if Gantz made a move and he most surely would.

Sitting on his bunk, Bruce just stared at the wall opposite. He wasn't tired, but he would have loved nothing more than to sleep the rest of his time here, whether it be a few months or the rest several years. If the DA's office had it their way, it would be for life.

He glanced towards the window, seeing the fading light of the setting sun. Nightfall was almost upon them. Would he sleep tonight? Or would his internal clock keep him up again, used to his nightly vigil? Too bad J'onn wasn't here to help him fall asleep again.

Leaning over, Bruce laid down on his bed, bringing his legs up onto the mattress in one simultaneous move. He stuck a hand under his pillow, feeling his knuckles brushing up against paper.

Paper?

Frowning, Bruce pushed himself up with one hand as he drew the other one out. In his hand was a folded newspaper; how had it gotten here? Unfolding it, he couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.

What was the Daily Planet doing in his cell?

Naturally, the big headline was about him. WAYNE: GUILTY OR INNOCENT? That was certain to draw in the readers. Underneath the headline was a picture of him being lead into the Solomon Wayne Courthouse, hands handcuffed, guards on either side of him. To the left, the author's name hovered over the article itself.

What did Lois write about me this time? Sitting back up, Bruce read the article, seeing as he had nothing else better to do. It was pretty on-point, reporting on what had been released to the public by the GCPD. That Vesper had been found dead in his office, that a gun had been found in his bathroom. That he had been arrested as the primary suspect and his denied bail. There didn't seem to be an overt bias that he could tell, but then Lois was one hell of a reporter. She hadn't won all those awards by being sloppy.

The story itself was to be continued on another page. Bruce glanced at the rest of the page, stopping when he saw a second article in the bottom left corner. WHAT WE KNOW ABOUT WAYNE, it read, and it had been penned by Clark Kent.

I'm sure you've heard by now; the entire country has and so everyone has their opinion on it. Lost in the media circus that has followed Bruce Wayne are what we do now.

So let's review:

Vesper Fairchild, a budding reporter in Gotham, was found dead in the office of Bruce Wayne. The police were called and they performed a criminal investigation. They found evidence, including the murder weapon. Bruce Wayne has been arrested in connection to the crime, the GCPD stating that he is their primary suspect.

As of right now, Bruce Wayne is innocent.

That may seem as incendiary to some, triggering to others, but until he is convicted by a jury of his peers, Bruce Wayne is innocent. The trial has not happened, so there has been no conviction.

Many will point to Wayne's previous behavior. He is a womanizer; he has used women to his own gratification and tossed them aside like a tissue. It is a fact that Wayne has dated many women, more than most men. That is undeniable.

But does that make him a killer?

Some will say that he has ruined lives. Certainly the people on the former Board of Directors for Wayne Enterprises feel that way after he ousted them. It is a fact he did remove the entire Board following a vote of no faith by the stockholders.

Others will comb Wayne's past history and use it as justification that he was fully capable of killing another person. As sordid as Wayne's history is, much of it is the result of speculation and exaggeration. That's what happens when someone of Wayne's status behaves as he has and the public has an insatiable appetite to read his exploits.

But does that mean he is a murderer?

We are at a moment where there is a rush to judgment. In a media cycle that runs twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, stories are reported on at a moment's notice. With social media, it is even faster. The need for information, the hunger, the gluttony, is ever present.

But we need to maintain perspective and that is something that is getting lost. The media does not have all of the facts on this story; neither does the public. Only the GCPD know for certain and they have only shared every detail with Gotham's DA Office. Much of what we will learn will happen in the courtroom and not a moment before.

Bruce continued reading until he reached the end. Well, he could at least count on two members of the media to at least not call for his head. It wasn't much, and he could only imagine the flak the two of them would take until the trial was over.

However, he couldn't help but think back to Lucius and his urging of them to take on the media narrative. If he were to meet with the media, it would need to be with someone that wasn't going to try and catch him in a gotcha moment. Vesper had done that to him and he was once bitten, twice shy about speaking to another reporter.

However, anyone that didn't write that he was guilty as sin would be seen as a pawn of his, a sympathizer being used to further his own agenda. They wouldn't be wrong about that; however, Lois Lane and Clark Kent both had solid reputations. If they were to write on his behalf…

Bruce narrowed his eyes. J'onn, what are you trying to make me do?

There was nothing at first, not until he could feel a warmth, one of embarrassment. I would not flatter myself to think I could get you to do anything, Bruce.

Then why the newspaper? And the very specific articles by two journalists that may actually give me a fair shake? I highly doubt any of the guards or prisoners here left it beneath my pillow.

I may have had something to do with the delivery, the Martian admitted. It serves as a helpful reminder that there are people who want to help you, even if it isn't in the way that they normally can.

Bruce snorted, starting down at the newspaper. Not much for giving up on me, are you?

We will never give up on you, old friend.

Bruce had to admit, he felt touched on that. If he was a better man, he may have even cried. As the case may be, only a lone tear trickled from his eye, the only show of emotion he could do. If you're so insistent, have our friends in Metropolis arrange a meeting with Lucius. I'm certain he can make something work for an interview of some kind.

Very well. I'm certain the others will be happy to know of your approval.

The dark-haired man narrowed his eyes. Only those two, understand? I don't need the others trying to sneak in pretending to be the media. I'm already under the microscope, which means if they make one wrong move, they're getting exposed.

I understand. Sleep well.

Yeah, he would try at least. Unfortunately, he doubted he would succeed.


For those that are interested, I'm basing Gantz off of a rather known prison movie, The Shawshank Redemption. In particular, he's the rapist character, right down to the physical traits. The name is different, but the inspiration remains the same.