Clouds of reeling bats silhouetted against the blood red sky as they bolted away. And in the dark empty sky, an enormous shape that looked Bat-Like, appeared. More bats flew around it, swamping the symbol.
The distant sound of children's laughter could be heard as the sunlight shed through trees in a summer garden. There was a boy chasing a girl. The boy reached for a Victorian greenhouse. He stood in the doorway as he caught his breath. This was Bruce Wayne, he was 8 years old.
He peered down at the rows of plants on long trestle tables and he called, "Rachel?"
There was no response. Sunlight streamed through the wrought iron and glass. Bruce advanced in a cautious manner. He was grabbed from behind and pulled under a table by a young girl who was 10 years old. That was Rachel. She then put her hand over Bruce's mouth.
"Rachel? Mister Bruce?!" a female voice called.
A woman strode past the windows, Mrs. Dodson. She was Rachel's mother, a housekeeper of the Wayne Manor.
Then Bruce whispered, "What're you doing?"
"Kidnapping you. They pay a lot for precious Brucie," said Rachel as a matter of fact.
Bruce stared with a wide eye. Then she smiled. This caused him to relax and then he bolted out from under the trestle table as he sprinted for the back door. Rachel tore after him.
Bruce crouched in the mouth of a disused well as he peered over the stone wall at Rachel, who searched for him.
"Bruce, I can see you," said Rachel.
Bruce was suppressing a giggle as the boards beneath him gave way and he plummeted into an old well. He dropped thirty feet into it and he landed painfully on the rubble that was strewn at the bottom of the shaft.
Rachel, who was in the kitchen garden, heard the sound and ran to the well. "Bruce?!!"
Bruce lifted his head from the damp dirt and rocked as he groaned.. Rachel sprinted towards the house, "Mom! Mister Alfred!"
Bruce was in shock as he groaned. He heard squealing freezes as he peered into the darkness of an opening between rocks. Bats exploded from the darkness, filling the air. He screamed as he curled against their flapping, squawking and fluttering.
—
Older green eyes flicked open, they were waking…in darkness. In a filthy, sweating darkness.
The eyes belonged to a bearded, weathered, young man's face. It was Bruce Wayne, now 28 years old. An old Asian man sat staring at him in Bhutanese Jail.
"A dream," said the old man.
"A nightmare," said Wayne.
"Worse than this?" asked the old man as he gestured around. Their cell was a tin box. Light seeped through gaps in the roof and shouts echoed, making Wayne to shrug.
Later in the prison courtyard, Wayne and the old man lined up for gruel. Prisoners were scattered in small groups. All eyes were on Wayne.
"They are going to fight you," said the Old man.
"I fought them yesterday," replied Wayne.
"They will fight you everyday. Until they kill you," the Old man warned.
Wayne held out his plate as he watched the gruel dribble onto it, "Can't they kill me before breakfast?"
Wayne turned from the table. His path was blocked by an enormous man backed by six aggressive prisoners. The enormous man smashed his plate away. He spoke with a broken English, "You are in hell, little man…"
He punched Wayne and Wayne went down really hard.
"...and I am the devil," continued the enormous man.
Wayne picked himself up as he dusted himself off. "You're not the devil."
The Enormous man swung again and Wayne caught his fist as he kicked the big man's knee out and as he went down, he booted his face, "...you're practice."
Six prisoners rushed at Wayne all at once. Wayne fought skillfully and hard as he flipped one prisoner into another, kicking as his arms were held. Several prisoners hit the deck before…
Then the sound of gunfire was heard. Two guards broke it up as they shot into the air and then they grabbed Wayne. "Solitary!"
"Why?" asked Wayne indignantly.
"For protection," replied the guard.
"I don't need protection," said Wayne.
The guard pointed angrily at the unconscious prisoners, "Protection for them."