Notes: Wow! I'm so glad you guys are still around, gaap and Ana! It has indeed been a long, long time and I want to apologize once again for the hiatus. And gaap, the cell phone question will be answered in this very chapter… I suppose I've decided to give the story a nice, big push forward here. It'll probably lead towards a bit more meaty action in future chapters (a.k.a. not just Bruce battling with annoying maneating dogs). It's deviating a little from my original plan back from '08 but I'm hoping things will still work out nicely. Anyways, here it is… Chapter Nine.

Chapter Nine

Bruce stared at the phone, innocently sitting in the middle of the clearing. His brain had simply stopped functioning for a moment. Now his mind was racing, frantically going through all the ways the object could have gotten to this spot. Could this be a trap? Did this mean that there were other people on this island? Was there someone here recently? Could Bruce possibly be rescued right here and now?

Breathing fast, he slowly went forward, and knelt down to inspect the phone. His fingers trembled a little as he picked it up; Batman's voice, the one telling him to be extremely careful and mindful of his surroundings, was rather muted at the moment by the beating of his heart. It was from a brand that Bruce recognized; a sliding phone that seemed like it was quite a recent model. It was quite well-worn, the back scratched all over and some grit having worked its way in between the keys. With determination Bruce pushed the phone open with his thumb… and the screen flashed on.

Bruce's eyes widened. The display was set to a plain black, with the time and date. To his bitter disappointment he saw that there was no signal being received; however the bar indicating the remaining battery power was still a little over half-full. Batman's cold, cynical and rational judgment immediately stepped forward. What was this phone doing here? What advantage could it bring Bruce, since it was useless for calling anyone? Bruce considered this last question. He could get information about whoever owned the thing, and perhaps that could lead him somewhere…

The phone was programmed in English. He found the 'menu' button, a little awkwardly. The phone felt so smooth… His fingers hadn't felt anything man-made other than his watch and knife for over a week – although that should have been a short period of time, considering what he'd been through before, it didn't feel that way at all. The standard phone menu popped up – Contacts, Settings, Messages, Camera, Games… Bruce chose to look in Messages first, as that was where any relevant might be located ('what exactly in this would be relevant to your situation, anyways?' Batman asked skeptically). The inbox was full. Bruce opened the first and most recent message.

He had a sinking feeling when he saw that it wasn't in English. Of course this would be the case… Looking closer he saw that it was Spanish. "Damn this, why couldn't it be in French or something?" Bruce growled in irritation; he had always had a better grasp on French than Spanish. Heck, he would've preferred Mandarin over Spanish, since he'd picked up a little bit of that when he was in China during his wild years. As a matter of fact, he had quit Spanish back in high school after getting frustrated with basic reading, and hadn't studied it since then. He couldn't tell much from the text at all. Bruce probably couldn't even read airport signs in Spanish – a text message was out of the question.

The contacts list didn't provide much information either, it being just a list of names, as Bruce had expected. There were names of all nationalities, including some Spanish, some American-sounding ones, a Russian one, and what he recognized as Japanese. Either way, it wasn't very helpful, and Bruce heaved a deep sigh. He was almost tempted to hurl the thing away into the trees but common sense prevented him from doing so. He slipped the phone into the pocket of his shorts. At the same moment, a rustling noise in the undergrowth nearby made his head snap up.

Bruce recognized the glinting eyes of the dog in the bushes immediately, and tightened his grip on the stick he'd wisely brought with him. Funnily enough the beast seemed to be alone – he could only see and hear one dog. Bruce, or maybe Batman this time, ground his teeth together and growled, "Bring it on, you son of a bitch."

The dog snarled and exploded from its hiding space, obviously having realized that it had already lost the element of surprise in its attack. Bruce yelled and swung his stick as hard as he could, aiming for the animal's face or neck. It didn't hit it exactly where he'd have wanted it to, but there was still a cracking noise and the dog gave a high-pitched yelp of pain. Somehow, though, it still landed on its feet, and came charging forward again, looking rather enraged. Bruce let out his breath in a slow whistle, braced himself for the impact, and thrust his stick forward with all his might at the last moment possible. It hit the dog at the sternum or perhaps right above it. It was probably the latter, the way the animal's breath gurgled in its throat as it slowly pitched forward. Bruce wrinkled his nose in disgust, and figured that it was time for him to get out of this general area.

The buzzing of Gordon's cell phone, which had been set on 'vibrate', woke the cop from his uncomfortable slumber. Groaning, he sat up, rubbing at his eyes blearily, and looked to the phone, also noticing Alfred, who was asleep on the other side of the chopper. Gordon put his glasses on and picked up the phone.

"Commissioner Gordon." He hoped his voice didn't sound too slurred.

It was the voice of a woman that Gordon didn't recognize. "Commissioner, we have a bit of a problem in Gotham."

Gordon didn't know whether he should just sigh or be concerned. "What is it? How bad?"

"Well…" the woman hesitated. "There was a heist at the Gotham City Bank, and the criminals got away, apparently by boat. We've gotten sightings near your area, apparently… The detailed report's being emailed to you, Commissioner."

Ah. He knew it. The situation had just gone from bad to worse. Gordon massaged his temples, trying to fend off an incoming headache. What was he supposed to say to that? First it was to look for a billionaire bastard, and now he needed to grab a couple big-time bank robbers at the same time? "Wow… um…" he tried to collect his thoughts together and form a proper sentence, which wasn't easy in his current drowsy state. "Thanks for letting me know. Any… any chance I'll be getting any backup?"

"Certainly, sir. We'll send over another chopper right away." Right away by Gotham standards, of course. That would only take what, a week, perhaps?

"I appreciate it." Gordon didn't feel like saying any more, and hung up on that note. Muttering half a curse, he kicked back in his uncomfortable seat and stared at the low ceiling of the helicopter. What the hell was with his life? Really? Criminals just thrown into the mix, just like that? Why did things have to just keep getting more and more complicated and headache-inducing? Gordon wasn't a particularly spiritual man, but at that moment, he knew that if there was a God, he probably wasn't in high favor.

Sighing, Gordon went to fetch his laptop and some food. His mind wasn't really functioning at the moment. He'd gotten three hours of sleep, only to be woken up by that lovely phone call… he wanted to go back home and see his wife and children again, godammit. Where the hell was the moron Bruce Wayne, anyways?

Strangely, every time he looked at Alfred's worn sleeping form his anger would fade a little; ultimately he decided that he'd find Wayne for Alfred, the kindly old gentleman, and for no other reason. With this thought swimming around in his brain, Gordon opened his laptop and checked his email, where the report on the bank robbers was waiting for him. The tiny font was rather scarring for Gordon's poor eyes, and he felt rather nauseous after reading through the thing on a rickety helicopter.

It was around when Gordon was laboring his way through the last couple lines of the report when Alfred stirred. The old man, looking groggy, slowly sat up and blinked a couple times, obviously trying to get his bearings. Gordon somehow managed to smile, despite thinking that his face was no longer capable of forming such expressions any more. "Did you sleep well, Alfred?"

"I've been more comfortable before, I suppose," Alfred replied dryly. "How about you, Commissioner? It seems like you've been up for a while."

"Yeah, got woken up by a phone call." Gordon stifled a yawn.

Alfred raised his eyebrows. He seemed to be well-practiced at that particular movement. "Anything I should be informed of?"

Gordon opened his mouth, then closed it again. He had a quick internal debate on whether he should risk telling the old butler about the criminals he was now supposed to find on top of Wayne. In the end, he decided not to – there was no reason for Alfred to know such things yet. Besides, it would be better if he thought that Gordon was fully focused on finding his charge. Gordon felt rather guilty about lying but since it was partly for Alfred's peace of mind… "No, it was just the usual."

"I see." Alfred didn't seem to have fully believed him but left it at that. After a moment of silence, he inquired, "Did we make any progress?"

"Eh… I think we'll start looking more closely at nearby islands, to see if we can find any sign of Mr. Wayne or human life, for the matter, since I've been informed that this chain of islands has no recorded inhabitants."

"That's fine with me," Alfred leaned back on his seat, and started to attempt to smooth down his very crinkled shirt. "You don't happen to have an iron with you anywhere, do you, Commissioner?"

"Nope." Gordon wondered whether a rumpled shirt was really such a big deal. These higher-up rich people… They lived a life of their own, didn't they…

As if reading Gordon's thoughts, Alfred said, "If Master Bruce saw my clothes in this state he probably would not be very happy."

"… oh." The bastard…

For the second time this day, Bruce wondered if he was beginning to go insane.

He'd come out of the woods and closer to the shore of the island, deciding that it would be safer to walk along the beach instead of through the forest again. He was only a little surprised to find himself on the edge of a rock face. This island was a lot bigger than he'd thought… When Bruce went to the edge of the cliff and looked down, he saw that it led down to a large, rocky shoreline. As his eyes swept across the edge of the rocks for anything interesting (what exactly he'd been expecting, he had no idea), a boat entered then exited his field of vision. It took a moment for Bruce to process what he'd just seen. His eyes immediately went back to the boat in question, and confirmed that it was real. It was what looked like a very ordinary fishing boat, except what was written down the side of it, which made itself legible to Bruce when he squinted. It almost made him choke on his own saliva.

Gotham. Wayne Enterprises.

"Holy…" Bruce couldn't even finish. It was a boat. From. Gotham. His mind had begun to race very fast again. Frantically, his eyes jumped from the boat to the cliff that separated him from it. This thing was at least the height of a small apartment building. He could have easily scaled it if he had his gadgets or at least the Batsuit, but right now, he knew that things were probably a bit more dangerous. There was no way he could climb without some sort of protection or assistance, especially in his current physical state… Damn it. God damn it. He was so close to busting out of this stupid prison, yet so fucking far away at the same time.

It was then something else caught Bruce's eye. It was straight below where he was standing, so he'd missed seeing it. But to his credit, it was very well-camouflaged among the craggy rocks of the shoreline – it was what looked like a small shack or hut of some sort, built in a rather haphazard manner with wood, was it? Bruce wouldn't know how the hell whoever built it would've gotten the materials needed down there, but what mattered was that it was there. He was almost literally reeling from shock and hope. Could he finally get out of here? Was this the ticket to his freedom?

"Don't jump to conclusions, now," he said aloud to himself, "whoever might be down there is obviously not a vacationing rich playboy like you. What sort of normal people build little wooden shacks in on the rocky shore of an uninhabited island in the middle of nowhere?"

Goddammit, no need to crush my hopes the minute they surface… But the naïve Bruce Wayne had to admit that the voice that had probably been Batman had a good point. He didn't particularly find the shack-thing very inviting… oh, wait. Was that a barbed-wire fence he saw surrounding it? The realization was accompanied by a sinking feeling as the depressing possibilities began to jump to Bruce's mind.

It was a good thing that he had the sense to drop down and lie low among the shrubs that lined the edge of the cliff the moment he saw figures beginning to emerge from the boat. They seemed to be all men, and they were carrying some large bundles between them. Who could they possibly be? Bruce wondered.

For some reason he had a very, very bad feeling about this.

TBC