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he Bat hung from the wall…his head groggy, filled with cobwebs. He attempted to fight through the nausea to do a self assessment. He felt the pain in his shoulders. He was being hung against a wall by his wrists. The familiar weight of his cape and belt were gone. 

He tried to look up, confirming his suspicion that he was bound, but the light in the damp room was dim, preventing him from seeing that his gauntlets were gone and his bare wrists were being held by wire. He ordered his legs to kick forward, to try to free himself, but his muscles would not obey him.

His head rolled forward and he noticed, on a table, his yellow utility belt and the dark folds of his cloak. His two most important tools were just out of reach. A wave of panic washes over him. Few things can make the Dark Knight panic; losing his secret is first and foremost. For the first time, he feels relief. The cowl is still in place. The integrity of the Bat, his most important weapon, remains. 

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