A/N: Okay, so I always try to keep the Top Author Note short and to-the-point, but I wanted to thank you all for your continued support. To be honest, I found Gotham last summer and I watched the first three seasons on Netflix and then watched Season 4 as it came out live. I'd never seen what happened on Fanfiction during a Gotham offseason, and I assumed it'd be kind of dead.

Boy…was I wrong. The amount of stories that are being produced, even without any new weekly content, is amazing. I've never seen anything like this. Even with Season 5 being postponed and shortened to 13 episodes starting in the spring of 2019, the fandom is going strong. So, in conclusion, thank you for your support and make sure to stick around as I'm just getting started.

Oh, and there isn't a Bottom Author Note for this chapter, so this is the last you'll hear from me until the next one. Enjoy!

A Concrete Room

"But, Alfred, you're being so unreasonable!" Selina wined as her butler and guardian bustled around her room, packing clothes into her trunk.

Alfred sighed. "I think some time away from Gotham will be good for you, Miss Wayne."

"No, you think some time away from Bruce will be good for me," Selina argued back.

"Although I do not personally like your relationship with Mr. Kyle, that isn't why we're going," Alfred responded. "Ever since your parents died, you've done nothing but sit inside and research things you shouldn't, and then you go and almost get yourself killed. I spoke with Dr. Thompkins and she agrees with me that you should take some time abroad, clear your head."

Selina huffed. Alfred had made up his mind and there was no changing it.

"At least let me safe goodbye to Bruce, first," Selina requested.

Alfred shook his head. "Our flight leaves in an hour, and you still need to pack."

She sighed. "Fine." Alfred walked out of the room and she wistfully whispered, "I hope he's alright, wherever he is..."


Bruce finally came to.

His entire body was aching from being drugged. He'd had alcohol a couple of times in his life and had even tried a few drugs, but that high was something completely different from the hangover he was experiencing.

Beams of artificial light filled his eyes and he grimaced. After a few seconds of squinting, his eyes adjusted and he looked down at where he was sitting.

He was tied to a rickety, wooden chair in the middle of a concrete pit.

The walls were several meters high, too tall for him to run up, and there seemed to be nothing but the gravel-covered floor below and two weird, short ladders, each only three rungs long, at the top of two opposite walls.

On the roof of wherever he was, spotlights had been turned on and sent down at the pit.

Curious if he was alone, he called into the space above the pit, "HEY!"

No one responded, which hopefully meant he was alone.

Bruce focused on his current predicament: he was tied to a chair.

The bindings were too tight to shake off, and the rope was too strong for him to break by brute force. However, he noticed that the chair creaked and groaned and even dipped a bit as he moved around.

He had an idea.

He started hopping over to a less-gravelly part of the pit where executing his plan wouldn't hurt as much.

He found a spot that was almost completely clear of gravel and leaned up on his feet, lifting the chair into the air. He swung the chair back down onto the ground and he felt it start to crack. He did this again and he felt the chair break even more. Taking in a deep breath, he leaned forward one last time and then brought the chair down with all the force and momentum he could muster.

The chair shattered, sending wood everywhere. Bruce landed on the pile of splinters and shards. He groaned and winced in pain, but at least he wasn't tied to a chair anymore.

He looked around the edges of the pit, expecting the people who'd put him there to swarm in and retie his bonds, but no one came.

New problem: trying to get out of the pit.

He scanned the pit again for anything useful, but there was nothing except the walls, the floor, the broken chair, the two small ladders at the top, and the rope he'd been bound in.

The rope!

Bruce shifted through the pile of scraps and pulled out the cord.

He pulled on it and found that it was extremely sturdy, definitely enough to hold his weight. Bruce looked back up at the ladders and suddenly realized where he was.

He was in a diving well at an abandoned swimming pool. It was probably the one in Gotham's West Village, which, if memory served him right, had closed down a few years back.

Bruce unraveled the chords like a whip and tried to crack it, but the chord itself was a bit too lightweight.

He glanced over at the pile of wood and took a particular piece, wrapping an end of the rope around it and tying it the best he could.

Bruce looked at his handiwork with satisfaction, and moved right below one of the ladders. He swung the heavy end of the rope around a couple times before throwing it straight up. It hit the ladder, but didn't wrap around the metal posts like he'd hoped it would.

Huffing, he tried again. This time however, it made it through the gap he was aiming for, and seemed to lock in place in between two posts. Bruce pulled on it a couple times to make sure it was stable, and then started pulling himself up, hand over hand.

He was only a couple feet from the ladder when the wood he was using as a hook started to become unstable and Bruce felt it start to give under his weight.

Knowing it was his last chance, Bruce threw himself up the wall as high as he could and reached out to the ladder.

As the makeshift grappling-hook fell to the floor, he grabbed onto the bottom rung of the ladder. Mustering up all the strength his sore muscles could manage, he climbed up a rung, and then another so his feet could get onto the bottom rung.

Bruce pulled himself over the edge and collapsed onto the floor, breathing hard. However, he knew it wasn't over yet.

Once again, relying on all the power he could muster, he stood up and ran out of the pool.

He found an exit door and busted through it, arriving on the streets of Gotham.


Unbeknownst to Bruce, a man and woman had been standing in a room with one way glass that overlooked the pool. They'd been watching his every action, and as soon as he was out the door, the woman stopped her stopwatch.

"Two minutes and forty-two seconds," she told the man. "That's unheard of."

"Yes, it is," the man agreed. "And most of the others who have done this test hadn't been drugged prior. Next time, we must try and make it more difficult for the boy. He is my heir, after all."


Bruce didn't stop running until he reached the Flea. He wasn't quiet sure why he went there, but his subconscious must've had a reason for bringing him there, so he entered the abandoned building.

He made his way to the back of the warehouse and slumped down a wall, breathing hard from his run.

What just happened? Why didn't they just kill me? These were only a few of the millions of thoughts shooting through his head.

He was interrupted by a familiar voice, asking, "Bruce?"

He looked up and saw Zee standing opposite to him. "Hey Zee," he mumbled weakly.

"Oh my God," she muttered, rushing towards him and taking the sides of his face in her hands. "What happened to you?" she asked, rubbing over several bumps and cuts and scrapes that were left over from the previous night when Clyde's goons had beaten the living shit out of him.

"Clyde threatened Cat," he told her simply.

Zee chuckled and shook her head, saying, "You're a real piece of work, you know that?"

Bruce shrugged, but groaned from the sudden movement. Ever since the previous night, it'd been like he was on a constant adrenaline high, from escaping Wayne Manor, to escaping from Clyde, to kissing Selina, to getting kidnapped, to escaping from his kidnappers, to running back to the Flea. Right then and there, all of the minor injuries he'd ignored were finally catching up to him.

Zee's face went ghostly white and she told him, "You shouldn't be here. If Jack…"

Speak of the devil himself, a sinister voice called, "Is that Brucey that I see?"

Zee froze. "Hey, Jack," she said, standing up and giving him a fake smile.

"Hey, Zee. Lookin' good as always," he turned to Bruce and said, "but you're not. You look like actual shit, man." He nodded to his bodyguards who picked Bruce up off the floor and firmly grabbed Zee by her upper arms. Jack stepped in close to Bruce and said, "You're just the person I was wanting to see, actually. There's someone I want you to meet. Come on, gentlemen, lady"

Jack let them up to one of the back offices. The entire trip, Bruce and Zee had been getting wary glances from other street kids, but no one had said anything.

Finally, Jack showed them into a particular room that Bruce had never been in before. It was dark and damp and the concrete floor was tinted red. There was nothing in it except a couple of chairs in one corner and a wardrobe in the other.

However, they weren't alone in the room.

A man was tied up in the middle of the room and had a piece of duck tape wrapped around his mouth. Other than a few light bruises, he seemed fine, but the horror in his eyes was evident.

Jack cleared his throat and gestured for Bruce and Zee to take a seat.

They complied and Jack began his monologue.

"Bruce, Zatanna, since we're all friends, I feel that I can talk to you about the predicament I'm in." He turned his back to them and opened the wardrobe, continuing, "You see, I asked a friend to do me a favor. It wasn't a big favor and it certainly wouldn't have been hard to do, but my friend didn't do it. Oh, by the way, the tied up guy's name is Geoffrey. You see, my friend and Geoffrey here have something in common: they both lost me a lot of money." He turned back from the closet holding a crowbar, smiling crazily at the pair of them. He sauntered towards the man in the middle of the room and told Bruce and Zee, "Well, my boss isn't too happy about that." He brought the crowbar back and swung it hard into the man's ribs. Both Bruce and Zee lurched forwards, but Jack's bodyguards forced them back down into their seats, both completely helpless. He swung it again, causing the man to cry out in agony. "And when my boss isn't happy," he brought the bar down onto the man again, who'd fallen over onto his side, "I'm not happy. So, here's my predicament." He squatted down next to his victim and told Bruce and Zee, "Either, I can kill them both, Geoffrey and my other friend, that is, quickly and send a message, but lose two valuable allies, or I can beat one to death in front of the other, and keep one alive while still sending a message." He playfully poked the man who was now crying from the pain of what were probably several broken ribs. "Well, I had to make a decision, and I choose Plan B." He stood up and started hitting the man, over and over, striking mostly his sides and chest and back, but occasionally swinging at his head as well. Zee had shut her eyes but Bruce looked on, refusing to give into Jack's mind games. Finally, Jack stopped beating the remainder of what used to be a man. He grinned and looked up at Bruce. "Get the message?" he asked.

Bruce didn't respond.

The only sound in the room was the hitched breathing of the man.

"He's still alive!?" Jack exclaimed like a kid at Christmas. He turned back to Bruce and shook his head, saying, "Oh, and that's the wrong answer."

Jack took a pair of latex gloves from his coat and pulled them on while walking over to the wardrobe. He pulled out a wooden box and removed a revolver from it.

He nodded towards Zee, who'd just opened her eyes, and the two guards that'd been holding her down pulled her onto her feet and dragged her over to where Jack was standing. Zee tried to squirm out of their grasp, but she made no progress.

"No! Jack, don't!" Bruce begged. "Wait!"

Jack smiled at his desperate begging. "Relax, Brucey. Me and Zee are friends, remember? And I don't kill my friends."

Zee was desperately struggling against the men, but to no avail. One of them took her left hand and held it out towards the man on the floor.

Jack took the revolver and held it out for her to take. He told her, "There's one in the chamber, sweetie, and you have two options. Shoot me, and Bruce dies because of you, or shoot Geoffrey here, and you two can both leave unscathed. Cool?"

The guard allowed her to take the gun, but her hand was shaking furiously and she fumbled with it.

Bruce yelled at Jack, "Stop it! Don't make her do this, Jack! I'm sorry!"

Jack perked up at his words. "You're what?" he asked.

Bruce gulped and repeated himself, slowly. "I'm sorry, Jack."

"Sorry for what?" Jack pushed, determined to break Bruce's defiant spirit completely.

"I'm sorry for losing you your money," Bruce told him.

Jack smiled. "That was all I needed to hear. The gun is loaded with blanks, by the way, Zee. I didn't need you to kill him, to be honest." He took the gun back from Zee and the guards let go of her. Her knees buckled and she crumpled to the floor.

Bruce rushed forward to help her.

He pulled her into an embrace and quietly told her, "It's okay, it's okay. You're gonna be okay."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that last part," Jack said.

The firing of a gunshot rang through the concrete room.