8 Days a Hostage

Day 1

Tim maintained perfect motionlessness and perfectly even breathing as he awoke. His shoulder throbbed; his eye ached. His hands were bound behind his back as he lay on a hard, shuddering floor – presumably a moving vehicle. Flashes of the last few minutes of consciousness flew through his head. Surprised in the science classroom. Seizing a burette and twisting it like his staff half extended. It smashing, not halting the fist flying at his face. Ducking, lunging for a cabinet full of small bottles of hydrochloric, sulphuric and nitric acid. His attempts at throwing them arrested by the knife sinking into his shoulder. Pulling it out, fingers tacky with his own blood. A kick in the stomach sending him flying into the wall.

Waking up.

The vehicle stopped. Tim continued shamming unconsciousness as rough arms grabbed his arms and heaved him upright. He felt himself being manhandled into the open air, and cracked open his unhurt eye a slit. He recognized his surroundings. They were in the warehouse district by the docks, and that was one of Wayne Shipping's warehouses. He couldn't immediately place himself, but it wouldn't be too hard to work out.

An arm snaked around his head from behind, and a hand clamped down over his mouth. "Stop pretending," a heavy voice breathed in his ear. "There's no point."

Realising the game was up, Tim went for the first thought that came into mind. He bit down on the hand.

The voice growled. "Behave yourself, or I will tear your teeth out. I won't tell you twice."

A knife, probably the same one that had stuck his shoulder, tickled the underside of his jaw. Reluctantly, Tim released the flesh between his teeth. The hand was removed completely, but the knife remained.

Tim opened his eyes fully – well, mostly. The battered orb, no doubt black and swollen, only opened halfway. Before him, holding a deadly weapon to his head, was his ambusher. David Cain.

"Be good, and I won't be forced to do anything permanent. Scream, and I'll be forced to cut your tongue out. Nothing personal."

"Nothing personal?" Tim asked. "You're threatening to remove my tongue, and you're saying it's nothing personal?" He thought about it a moment longer. With the captive/captor relationship currently existing between them, it did sort of make sense. He shrugged his uninjured shoulder. "Fair enough".

Cain's mouth tightened, not in anger but in suppressed amusement. He looked at the two peons holding the teen. "Bring him," he ordered, turning away and leading them into the warehouse.

The warehouse was dark. In the centre was a trapdoor flung open. Tim was pulled towards it, and dropped down.

Cain caught him, and pushed him into a seated position in a waiting chair. Another flunkie held Tim in place as Cain cuffed his ankles to the chair legs, then released his hands from behind his back, only to cuff them to the arms of the chair. Cain looked up at his underling, who left, closing the trapdoor behind him.

After a moment, a light flared into existence. "As I said, nothing personal," Cain said. "I just want my daughter back."

"My sister," Tim commented.

Cain shrugged. "You did wonders with my girl, but it's time for her to return home."

Tim stared at him for a moment. "Who can hear us?" he asked.

"No-one, until the hatch open," Cain answered. "You will be watched at all times."

"How many of your people know?" Tim asked frankly. It wasn't necessary to state that he meant the truth of their double lives; Cain knew who he was, and that Tim knew he knew.

Cain paused. "All but Lady Vic and Deadshot. These assassins all trained with Bruce when he was with us."

"How kind of you," Tim said sardonically.

"Enough," Cain decided. He picked up a camera, and focused it on Tim's face. A flash, and he moved on. The bloodied hole in his shoulder, another photo. "To keep your family moving," Cain explained. Then he grabbed Tim's right hand, and selected the little finger. He jerked it, and it snapped.

Tim shuddered as the pain flooded his system. "Nothing personal," he heard Cain repeat. Then he let his abused body give in, and shut down.