It Comes With the Cape

Power Trio

Gotham had few truly pleasant nights regarding the weather. If it wasn't raining or freezing, it was windy enough to blow you out of your shoes. However, even on the nights where the sky is clear and people aren't holding onto their hats for dear life, there was always something to dampen the mood. Sometimes, it was a villain attack. Occasionally, it was a loss of one of the local sports teams. More often than people cared to admit, there would be some catastrophic event that involved the entire country, or even the world. On the few nights where people could finally catch their breath, they still trod carefully, fearing their luck would run short. It was these nights where it was the individuals, rather than the populus, that found the most misfortune.

Tonight's victim of fate was none other than the son of Gotham's pet billionaire: Damian Wayne.

The heir to the Wayne Enterprises empire was presently duct taped to a steel chair bolted to the concrete floor of the abandoned sewer line running deep under the streets of the bustling city above. The stench wasn't quite as unbearable as that of the one currently in use, which was a plus, but it was much worse than the mere stale and musty warehouses which were, at this point, the norm in this type of situation. Unfortunately, upon his first escape attempt (which involved simply lifting his arms over the back of the chair, kicking his guard, jumping on the chair, flipping and kicking the next brute in the chin, running toward the exit, flipping the next thug over his shoulder and striking the nerve cluster in his shoulder, then heading for the surface), he had been apprehended before he could get out of sight, and therefore had been more firmly attached to the chair with multiple sticky, silver, industrial-strength adhesive pieces around his chest, waist, and legs. It was an altogether regrettable experience that he would have liked to do without.

Oh, and he now had a piece of duct tape securing his mouth firmly shut.

Were it not for his father's rules, he would have killed them all for their insolence, but alas, he could not. He was stuck, quite literally, with the imbeciles who planned to use him to get a ransom, as if that would happen.

When he saw the small glint in the corner, he was relieved to know that someone had finally come to free him from his dreadfully droll captivity. When he saw the bit of red, he hoped he'd just seen Jason's helmet in an odd place. When he saw the staff, he huffed in annoyance.

Of course it had to be Drake.

Tim perched on a catwalk high above them, scoping out the situation. There were three guards visible, but there could always be more out of sight. He could take down the one by Damian easy enough. Then he'd start freeing Damian. He'd have a few moments before the second guard attacked him, and he could easily deal with him as well. The third guard would (ideally) be preoccupied with Damian, whom he would have given a birdarang with which he could start cutting the tape that Tim hadn't already gotten. Tim could knock out that guy before he could secure Damian more properly, and then they could skedaddle. Easy as pie.

He dropped down on top of the guard and punched him in the face a couple of times to make sure he stayed down. When the large man (who seemed to already have some bruises on his face-- compliments of the demon brat, no doubt) was down for the count, Tim pulled the tape off Damian's face. (Yes, he resisted the urge to rip it.)

"You idiot!" the small assassin hissed.

"Come on, I didn't do that--" Wham.

He punched the burly man who was now trying to wrestle him to the ground. Yes, he overestimated how long it would take for the man to reach him. That was fine. He could make up for it. He was still a good fighter. It wasn't like he couldn't handle it when his strategies went down the drain.

"Were you going to say that you didn't do that badly? I would have to disagree with that statement," Damian said bluntly.

Tim managed to shove the thug away. "You want these guys coming after you?" he snapped. A set of arms wrapped around him from behind, and he instinctively slammed his head backward. The thug grunted and let him go.