It Comes With the Cape

Losing the Record

This only came to be because
1) someone (*coughcough* FantasyHalfa *cough*) told me to update
2) I only had a vague idea for a start
3) I'm bored.
So have a useless, meaningless, and slightly rushed chapter.

This is when he's like 14. Or something like that. It's not like I plan these things out.

xXx

The two men sat in a sleek black van in the parking lot opposite the school. Their target was coming out soon.

The slightly smaller of the two glanced at his watch. "Class is dismissed soon." The other didn't respond. He didn't need to. He only ever did what he was told.

The bell rang. Students swarmed outside, talking amongst themselves. But the leader wasn't worried about the target quite yet. The Wayne boy usually took his time getting outside.

It wasn't long before the leader saw him. He nudged his associate. "There."

"Which one?" The hired help was strong, but a bit slow.

"The dark-haired one. The one dancing to nothing."

"He doesn't have headphones?"

"No, he doesn't, so we can't sneak up on him. I'm going, before he gets to his car. And don't leave this spot unless you absolutely HAVE to." With that reminder, he went off to aquire his quarry.

Dick bobbed his head and swung his whole body lightly to the song in his head-- at present, Poker Face. It was random, but man was it catchy. As he twisted around for the chorus, he noticed something that didn't fit in with the remaining schoolchildren-- more accurately, someone. A man was quickly striding to intercept him. Before he could casually boogie his butt over to Alfred waiting at the car, he found the man's hand on his shoulder. He looked up with what he figured was the appropriate amount of fear and annoyance for a normal teen to show.

The man was brown-haired but graying and balding (he dyed his hair, so his age might be a sensitive subject), wore thick-rimmed glasses (potential weakness in combat) and on the lean side of the spectrum, but he was by no means scrawny or weak-looking (probably relied more on his mind than his muscles, but physical strength is almost a necessity in Gotham criminals). He had a warning look in his eye that told Dick that this wasn't a friendly chance meeting.

"Come along quietly, now, and you haven't got to get hurt." European accent. Not too thick, just barely noticeable. If he had to guess, it would probably be Wales. Maybe the Western part. Maybe not. Accent studies weren't exactly his top priority.

"Uhhh... Who are you?" he asked, playing the 'clueless kid' card.

"No one of consequence." He started pulling the teen toward the street.

"But I have to go home and--"

"Oh, don't worry. You will go home." They crossed the street quickly. Gotham drivers were crazy that time of day. "Assuming your big-shot father pays the ransom." Without any further warning, Dick was pulled into a black van by another man, who had been waiting for them.

He tried to swing his backpack at his attacker, but it was too tight a space. The back of the van was crowded with cardboard boxes. When he bumped into one, Dick realized they were empty. Probably just there to take up space and block out the windows.

He was pinned against the floor as they started driving... somewhere.

Aw, man, Dick thought to himself. I've been doing so well... It's been almost three months! Ugh, I should get one of those signs that say, 'It's been ___ days since last kidnapping.' Might actually get past 100 someday...