Heavy footsteps echoed through the hall, passing Meta containment units on the left, not even glancing through the glass walls to the trapped Metas inside. The white-coated man had his eye on one goal, a single prison jutted out from the rest, designed to contain the most powerful Meta on earth. It contained a human.

When he got within rage he started speaking loudly, catching the attention of the awake Metas, some lifting their heads to watch him pass. "I run a facility designed to contain the growing metahuman threat, you and your colleagues were the bulk of the public threats. I'm very happy to announce we caught every last one of you..." His tapping feet slowed to a stop in front of the special cell, turning in front of it with his hands neatly behind his back. He glared into the cage with a twisted smile. "Except one of you doesn't belong. Imagine my surprise that the head of this Metahuman uprising is none other than a non-Meta."

"Which means you're harboring me illegally," Batman negotiated from his very non-negotiable position inside his prison cell. It was a simple room with a single platform for a bed and an attempt of a toilet next to a sorry excuse for a sink. Three walls were thick and white, the ground and ceiling concrete, one wall was thick plaster glass. There was no entry or exit larger than .2 inches except from the ceiling, where a platform would retract and lower when food was brought in.

Bruce was chained to the floor, his gloveless wrists spread in different directions and with chains that could give out and retract so he could actually use the room. Currently he had no slack, forcing the man to his knees in the middle of his room. He was staring at the man who was obviously in charge of this whole operation,"You need to release me or else a lot of lawmen are going to get angry."

The smiling man was quiet for two solid seconds before busting out laughing. "You think-" he started between huffing laughter, "you think society will side with you? You?!" He laughed once more before growing quiet. "No, you're worse than a Meta, you're a traitor to your own race." Before Batman could argue, the scientist (he assumed) turned to the left, addressing the armored man with the M.A.Z.E. stamp on his shoulder stationed at the cell. "In any case, Agent, would you like to demonstrate to our friend here what we think of the law?"

The firm line of the agent's mouth smirked before leaning forward to spit onto the ground proudly.

"I'll admit, things get..." the man drawled, expressing with a rolling motion of his hand with a deep nod, "messy... when non-Metas are involved, but I'm much more interested in your identity Mr. Bat."

Bruce stayed silent, locking his jaw as his glare dialed up. He was capeless, beltless, gauntless, and bootless. He was as de-weaponized as possible, but his cowl remained stuck in place by his technology. All of their attempts to take it off ended in electrocuted agents and burned fingers.

"We will get it off Batman. One way or another." The man snarled before composing himself with a frown. "From the others we've learned that none of you really knew each other outside of 'business' hours, would you like to know who your minions are Batman? Or have you always known? Being their leader must come with pirks."

Again Bruce stayed silent, he wasn't actually leader and he had no intentions of selling Wonder Woman out. He could be the scapegoat, a small victory, he didn't mind. But yes, he did keep tabs on his teammates. Nothing too intrusive, just enough to know if they were in any danger. Bruce had given out communicators to each league member when they started, it's purpose was self explanatory, but they doubled as sensors and trackers. He assured them only League members could access that information via a DNA code, it was enough for the groups' tentative trust in the non-Meta. And, ya know, Wonder Woman's vouch via her truth-inducting lasso.

Bruce always knew where his teammates were, they had distress signals they could put out if in danger, even if it was destroyed. But no, Bruce did not know who his Meta friends were, he had respected their request for secrecy and he completely understood. He didn't like to admit it but he would be the last person anyone on the team would trust with their identity, purely because he was human.

"Clark Kent, Diana Prince, Oliver Queen, Arthur Curry, John Jones, and Barry Allen. Who are Superman, Wonder Woman, Green Arrow, Aquaman, Martian Manhunter, and The Flash, respectively." The man revealed.

Bruce didn't show it, he didn't dare show it. Everything needed to stop, just freeze for a moment so he could analyze what had just been said.

When Social Services whisked Dick away, Bruce made sure he knew the family before anything. Their last name was Allen. Barry and Iris Allen.

Bruce's immediate concern was Dick, but of course Barry's family too considering Barry was a meta his entire family might be one too. He held no concern for Dick's safety from the maybe-Meta-family, but for the repercussions of Barry's capture. His family would be attacked and Dick would be caught in the crossfire.

But he didn't react. He did nothing to this news, he refused to give the man one ounce of victory more than he already had. But it did surprise him that he knew a few of these people without the mask and suit. Of course with his intensive search of Dick's new foster family he knew all about Barry Allen.

Barry was a forensic scientist in Central City, an honest job fitting of the man. Clark Kent was a reporter for the Daily Planet that was not above making snide articles about Bruce Wayne, or the occasional article that was borderline non-discriminating against meta's. Oliver Queen was a fellow billionaire, one he inherited after a long leave of (probably meta induced) absence. The other three he knew less of, but he might of heard of the name Diana Prince before.

The man was still talking, "Quite the array of abilities Batman, very powerful. What exactly did you plan to do with such a powerhouse?"

Bruce wanted to scoff, this man was trying to interrogate him? Well, he knew exactly what to say to that, exactly what he said to every other news station or reporter.

"We are heroes, created to help the oppressed Meta's who can't stand up for themselves, to stop the slaughter, to end the war." That would be the end of what he told the press, but his hooded eyes bored into the man as he continued gravely. "We were formed to take down madmen like you."

The man took the speech in stride, "And I am created to take down anarchists like you. We're not so different, and why should we? We are human after all. Now who would stoop so low as to use the dangerous and unpredictable weapons the Metahumans are just to fight a lost cause? Time to take off the mask Batman."

"If your unconscious men or third-degree burns can't tell, you can't take it off." Bruce replied.

"I'm not asking." The man simply said, bringing out a small black device with his thumb over a red button (which was totally cliché). The thumb went down.

And nothing happened.

"That was an EMP Batman, I'm sure you know what that means, in its most basic description it simply turns electric things off." The man explained to the unimpressed prisoner, then a smile lit up his cruel face. "But, this is a special little do-dad here, what it does to electricity it does to certain types of fabric, Kevlar to be exact. The room you're in is selective to this device, anything inside that room that's Kevlar will disintegrate within minuets. I sure do hope you wear something under that suit of yours or Barry Allen might not be the only Flash in here."

Bruce's eyes widened a millimeter as the man chuckled obnoxiously. Of course he wore something under the suit, it wasn't anything too revealing (modesty-wise), but his defenses would be severely weakened without the Kevlar. The cowl, however, would remain on his face, precariously though. Without the Kevlar holding it together it could simply be knocked off.

Also this scientist must be one heck of a engineer to single out Kevlar fabric and cause it to deteriorate with a push of a button. Or maybe he had someone else create it for him, a group of people?

Then the Kevlar covering his body seemed to decay rapidly, crumbling like sand and even falling off of him in clumps.

The man started talking again as his suit decomposed, answering Bruce's unasked question. "You can thank a little boy wonder of mine for this little trinket," he waved the trigger around before pocketing it and keeping his hands in them. He leaned forward slightly, beady eyes focused on The Batman. His smile stretched as he continued. "He designed the inhibitor collars on your friends, and the weapons that took them down. We're like a little team, him and I. He's actually a fan of yours, I'm sure he'd be just as eager to find out your identity."

Bruce was only half listening, as it was rather distressing that his protective layer was literally disintegrating off his body. Even the stitching knitting the Kevlar together pooled into a fine black dust at his knees. Soon he was in nothing but his work out clothes, revealing his shorts and a white (sweaty) fitted t-shirt. The cowl was half disintegrated, the hard helmet-like part stayed over his head and face, but the padding and the fabric connecting it to his (now non-existent) suit was gone. All Batman had to do was lower his head and the mask would slip off.

The man watching held a victorious sneer, greedily taking in what the vigilante looked like without the 'bat' part of 'Batman'. The mask was still there, but he could see the defenses were weakened. He stepped closer to the glass, "You have a choice now Batman, you can take off the mask or I'll have someone do it for you."

Bruce just stared at the man, his fists clenching in his chains.

"But," the white-coated man grinned devilishly, "if I have to clean up your mess like some toddler's toys there will be consequences. Not to you of course, but to your teammates and their families."

Bruce's eyes widened, hating how the man's grin only grew at the sight.

"That's right, you have the power to save some lives right now. I have teams sent to each meta's home, where they'll detain their family if they have one." Bruce knew the other Metas could hear this conversation, and the man knew it too.

That little fact came to the forefront of his angry and scared mind because he could hear struggling in the other cells. Barry was yelling, pleading for his family to be left alone. Clark was grunting and groaning against his restraints, he could not speak because of the muzzle they put over his mouth when they found out about his ice breath. Diana and Oliver were protesting, trying to argue with the man who paid them no attention.

The man crouched in front of Bruce, mockingly cocking his head to study the vigilante, finding no reaction. "This will happen no matter what, but you, Batman, can decide if they live or not."

The rest of the noises died away, everyone was quiet, silently hoping, quietly waiting, holding their breath for the answer they couldn't see.

"All you have to do," the man said gently and lowly, "is tilt that little head of yours, and the mask comes off."

Bruce hated it, he hated it so much.

He had no choice.

For Dick.

He let his head hang in defeat.

The cowl slipped off and slapped against the ground, revealing ruffled black hair and his icy eyes. Bruce stared at the fallen mask, The Batman, and closed his eyes.

How the man could tell who he was without his eyes was beyond Bruce, maybe he was just too popular not to be recognized in sight, but his head hung lower when the man stood up victoriously.

"Bruce Wayne." He sounded surprised, then repeated the name in awe, "Bruce Wayne!" He chuckled and started to walk away, mumbling to himself. "Who woulda thought little Timmy was right."

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

"Bring me the good news Agent." The man belted, placing both hands on the desk to lean over the microphone, some wiry strands of hair falling into his face. He had a giddy smile on his face, hard eyes searching the many screens above.

"Target acquired, one Wallace West is tagged and bagged." A male voice crackled in the speakers.

"Not in the literal term I hope." The white-coated man muttered dangerously despite the smile that creeped along his face.

"Heh, no sir, I only meant he's ready for shipment,"

"And the wife?" He huffed, raising an eyebrow at the lack of report concerning the other half of Barry Allen's immediate family. A Meta nephew to a Meta uncle was rare, most powers were not familial, and according to the readings they had very similar powers. But Meta genes were random and unpredictable, he continued to be surprised by what odds and ends the tar would ignite in his test subjects. Two Metas unrelated except through matrimonial convergence having nearly the same powers? Unpredictable indeed.

"...The woman fled, we perused but couldn't catch her without making a bigger scene."

The man sighed and leaned to one side to drag his other hand over his face. It was probably a good call, the public tended to 'tolerate' them more than support, but he was almost done with PR. Who needed them anyway, he had his back doors and clients to keep him afloat. But it was best to keep themselves in good light more than not.

The speakers crackled again, "But there was a boy there that isn't part of the family, he fought back. We have him detained sir but he does not appear to have any abilities. The boy is Richard Grayson, apparently the ward of Bruce Wayne. We did some research and evidently Mr. Wayne recently lost custody of him because of suspected abuse. The Allens were his foster family. What should we do with him sir?"

"My my my, I suppose it stands to reason that the apple never falls far from the tree in a forest." The man muttered quietly. In the proceeding silence he thought, weighing options and figuring out what to do. "What to do, what to do indeed."

There was no decision that needed to be made regarding if the kid would come to MAZE, Richard Grayson was too lucrative a prize. But there was the question of Bruce Wayne, threatening his teammates families had gotten Batman to comply, Bruce Wayne to comply. What could be better leverage than his ward? But, the alleged abuse, would Bruce Wayne, Batman, really abuse his adopted son? This needed some investigating, good thing he was the head scientist around here.

"Bring him in of course," he decided, "Awake."

"Awake sir?"

"I want to display him for a bit," he shrugged. He didn't actually have to explain himself to his men, but he had no reason to be harsh with his men who were just doing their jobs. Or maybe it was just amusing to mess with his underlings. "Should be entertaining."

"Yes sir."

He was always in need of more guinea pigs, and as he was finding out, the younger the better. He couldn't wait to get his hands on more ten year olds. His supply were a few odds and ends, orphans from the streets plucked here and there, nothing anyone would miss. Some were even given to M.A.Z.E., parents of Meta children were always looking for somewhere to discard their abominable offspring. Like that spitfire of a girl with the big yellow hair, and his precious little genius.

Which brought him to the other half of the revelation, the younger the Metas are the better for experimenting, but that leaves the adults good for nothing.

Adults were just annoying and too much to take care of, he couldn't do as many experiments on them as he could with the Meta children. Adult meta DNA was solid and too mature for nothing more than endurance. Children, on the other hand, were mailable. They could be molded and pulled apart to finally get what he needed. It was a new revelation though, he only had so many test subjects and he needed more.

If he could get a copy of all the Justice Leaguers in child form he would be golden, especially Superman. But that project was already a work in progress. The clone was still young and held promise, and now that he had DNA straight from the Man Of Steel himself it could go much smoother and faster.

Regardless, he was eager to pop Richard Grayson into the tar to see what hatches. Hopefully he would take to it and sprout into something new, but genes are difficult and Metas, as previously stated, unpredictable. Metas at first were hard to find, the gene was rare, but since his little boy wonder figured out ALL humans have the Meta gene and that it was just dormant, getting test subjects became much easier. And even if the billionaire's boy rejected the tar and the gene destroyed him, he could always create it into something helpful. That cyborg was still alive wasn't he?

Granted the only reason that one survived was because he was an adult, but that's details.

His eyes flicked to a certain screen, watching the billionaire inside pace the small room many times over, chains following behind him like snakes. A smile slowly stretched across the man's face. He may not have many reasons for keeping adult meta's anymore but perhaps this time he could indulge himself. He had his reasons of course, he wasn't just some willy-nilly Meta creator. No Meta was created without thought, no prisoner kept alive without purpose, no child nabbed from the streets out of a sick desire.

Only for science. For the knowledge.

For the chaos.

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

"Mm, mm, mm, whatever are we going to do with you Mr. Wayne?" The man tsked, shaking his head as a smile was all too obvious on his face. He walked steadily closer, again gaining the attention of all the trapped Metas in the room. "I hear a little birdy got kicked out of the nest a little early, I'm sure if you put on your best behavior we can arrange a little something."

Bruce stood in front of the glass, eyes lit in anger as the man stopped in front of him. "Don't you dare go near him." He growled as his fists clenched, rattling the slack chains that hooked him to the ground.

"Feisty? Protective of your little bird? Or protective of your plaything?" His jab was punctuated with a dark chuckle. He had done some digging, (aka he actually paid attention when Tim rattled off about Batman) apparently Batman had a sidekick, a small vigilante who went by the name 'Robin'. 'Robin' was more of a myth than Batman, he was rarely sighted and the rumors only started about a year ago. A year after Bruce Wayne adopted one Richard Grayson. Coincidence? He thought not, and neither did Tim. "I'm wondering though, is Bruce Wayne really is abusive as the media claims? You're clearly not as innocent as you look."

"I don't have to explain myself to you." Bruce glared through hooded eyes, fists nearly shaking with the urge to punch the man square in the jaw. Fortunately for the scientist, there was a glass wall separating them.

"Probably not, but it makes it so much more fun!" The man was entirely too flamboyant, practically wiggling in joy. "Any who, the media is just drinking up all these disappearances, and who would have thought that Bruce Wayne had managed to dodge most accusations of direct involvement, until..." he mock gasped, even going so far as to place a hand over his mouth, "oh no!" his 'shocked' face twisted into a smirk and his eyes glittered mercilessly as his tone kept its false alarm. "Poor, poor little Richard Grayson has vanished as well!"

"You leave him ALONE." Bruce roared as he lunged, but the chains pulled taunt and yanked him back. The billionaire tugged at the restraints, clenching his teeth to keep from growling.

The man stood solidly, placing his hands neatly behind his back as his beady eyes locked into Bruce's. "How exciting, Bruce Wayne is Batman, criminal under lord, using a ten year old gypsy as a front, or is he more than that? What will the world think once they put two and two together? You'd never see the light of day again, much less your precious little bird. I look forward to seeing you crumble Bruce, seeing your enemies fall gives you a certain thrill doesn't it? Metas may be more dangerous physically, but like you've oh so wonderfully proven, it's the humans who ruin the world."

-0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0-

Dick had his head down as he was being frog marched down the hallway. Both of his upper arms were held roughly by the guards, his hands in impossible cuffs behind his back, and he was occasionally shoved just to keep him off balance. And probably to remind him not to get any ideas.

He was getting ideas all right, just maybe not escaping ideas. They made it clear enough that he couldn't do that, they took his belt (which, yes, he slept with) when he tried to escape in the truck. Poor Wally had been gassed asleep, Dick was left to fend for himself against the hoard of men and he was quite proud to say he got quite a few good hits in. But they were too much, he got hit in the gut many times and avoided a few fetal blows, but finally they had pinned Dick to the ground. His rebreather was long gone and they gagged and cuffed him while he was discombobulated. He remembered being taken outside to a dark truck, more men behind him dragging Wally with them with surprising gentleness.

He was sat in a seat, tired and foggy. The men seemed to be confused by him, he heard several words thrown around like "-unaccounted for-" and "-e fought back-" and "-at do we do-". Finally Dick was given some company, four men sat with him in the cab of the truck. He was sure Wally was in the more containment-unit-like part of the truck, Dick didn't have any powers so he was underestimated.

By then Dick was feeling better, he was out of the fog and he was rooting around his belt for lockpicks. He kept his head low, feigning unconsciousness or at least still being dazed. They didn't see his kick coming, or the smoke bomb.

He almost made it out, he had mini tazed two of the men before it got knocked out of his hand. He had another one doubled over his crotch area and the fourth one was the victim of his two-legged kick to the head.

He had opened the door, they were still stationary and he could have run off, but a hand grabbed his neck and pulled him back. A nerve on his neck was pinched and he was paralyzed but still conscious of the world around him. Dick was then searched, his belt taken and his hands and feet tied. They even put a bag over his head when the car started moving.

Dick had no idea how long ago that was, but it must have been a few hours or so because Dick could move again and was being walked down a weird military-looking hallway.

M.A.Z.E. had caught Wally because he was a Meta, they had only grabbed him because he fought back. They might even know he was the Ward of Bruce Wayne, who they have but hopefully don't know it. Dick was scared, because he was just a human caught by other humans for helping the 'enemy'. Humans who publicly aligned themselves with Metas never lasted long, a few hours at most. Bruce got away with it because he would do it under the radar as Batman, but Bruce Wayne had to at least pretend to be against Metas just like the rest of the world.

Oh no, if word got out both he and Bruce were taken by M.A.Z.E. then the news backlash would be all over them. And that's IF he and Bruce got out of whatever predicament they were in now. What was he saying. Their lives were already over by being here, who care what everyone else thought.

It hurt to not know where Bruce was, was he in pain? Was he trying to escape? He's Batman, he's probably already having tea with Alfred. Well no, he would be out looking for Dick...

Who was captured by M.A.Z.E.

Just like the Justice League.

Dick felt his heart flutter weakly, he was in deep, he had no idea where he was or if he'd ever see the sun again, much less Bruce.

He'd give anything to see Bruce again.

First it was his parents, ripped away from him at a tender age. Then it was Bruce, wrongfully accused and was forced to abandon him. Now it was Wally, hunted down just because he was born something he couldn't decide to be.

He kept his head hanging, shame running rampant through his mind. Wally probably thought it was his fault he got caught, and honestly why wouldn't he? Dick was the only one who knew, how else would M.A.Z.E. know to capture him? Wally had even warned him that his comment to Ms. Lane was too suspicious, why didn't he see this coming?

"Dick?"

The ten year olds head snapped up, immediately recognizing that voice and asking his own hopeful question. "Bruce?"

Dick realized he was walking along some cages, instantly recognizing the costumes of the contained Metas. His head swiveled eagerly towards the sound of his name and his sapphire blue eyes widened as he saw his adopted father. Bruce was here! Bruce was in a thick-walled cell, but one wall was made of glass, giving a full view of the room.

Bruce was standing there, Batman suit gone and a shackled hand splayed on the glass as he pressed closer, his icy eyes locked on his.

"BRUCE!" Dick cried in relief, then jerked and wrestled for his body, wanting to run to his father to hug him and never let go. "BRUCE! LET -Grh- LET GO! BRUCE!"

"DICK!" Bruce was slamming a fist onto the glass, shouting profanities and death threats. "DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH HIM! LET GO OF HIM!"

He sounded worried, which made Dick worried, which made his cries for his guardian all that more desperate. "BRUCE PLEASE! BRUCE!"

"DICK! I'll find a way out Dick! Just hold on!" Their eyes stayed locked as long as possible, both trying to convey too much through simple eye contact that the messages got all jumbled up. Bruce paused his pounding to lessen the chaos, wanting to make his meaning perfectly clear for his ward. "I'll get you out of here Dick."

Dick was crying, only realizing so when his picture of Bruce's promising face went blurry. He wrestled harder, kicking and screaming. "BRU-AGH!" Something hard slammed into his head and Dick stumbled. Bruce's cry of outrage was muffled by the cotton descending over his mind, everything was going numb except for the fleeting feeling of being dragged.

"Bruss-" the acrobat tried to lift his head, even if only to get one last look at his father. "Tati..."

His vision when black.

Bruce screamed in something worse than rage. He pounded his fists against the glass but the wall refused to yield to the father. His guttural yell so violent and primal that it made the guards flinch. His face was red and his veins bulged on his forehead and arms. He shoved away from the glass, eyes wild and searching for anything that could help him immediately escape. He paced, growling irritably before body slamming the glass. Bruce screamed again for his son to be returned, promising a slow and painful death to every last one of them who dared touch a hair on his son's head.

"Time to go Bruce." The white coated man stepped out of the shadows, eyeing the boy that was being dragged down the hall. "Even with such a convincing tryout, lets see what kind of beast you really are."

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