Author's Note: I've had this whirling around in my head for awhile and just wanted to write it down, but as I already said in the summary, I have no idea where it's going. I've decided to start in the middle of the (currently nonexistent) story, which is something I've been wanting to explore a bit but never had the chance. Thoughts? Like it, hate it... Yeah I should just write the rest of the story instead of babbling...

No guarantees on constant and/or regular updates, and I'm so sorry if you hate cliffhangers. I hate them too and I'm the author! If you have any inspirational ideas, please PM me or leave a comment.

Chapter 1

Cold. A slight yet muscular figure sat hunched on an unforgiving metal chair. His raven-black hair, bloodied strands sticking together in places, was just long enough to hide the black domino mask conformed to handsome cheekbones and an angular nose. Blood seemed frozen on the way down from his pale lips, unable to continue its destination towards the rest staining the dark blue, raven insignia on the black armored chest piece. The man's wrists had been handcuffed and forced around the back of the chair while his ankles were tightly chained to the chair legs. One could only tell whether the figure in the chair was alive by the small puffs of breath coming out of his mouth. His chest rose and fell imperceptibly.

It was silent save for the hum of a large generator hidden somewhere beyond the uniform, steel grey walls. There was nothing else in the room besides the bare lightbulb in the center casting ominous shadows far into the corners.

After some time, the figure stirred. He tasted the bitter tang of dried blood in his mouth as he painfully gasped for breath in the frosty air.

Good likelihood of a punctured lung. Maybe some broken ribs. Breathing definitely hurts enough.

He was grateful for the cold, for it numbed the many injuries he knew he had sustained. He berated himself again for not sensing the danger before he'd been ambushed and injected with a nerve-immobilizing drug. Despite the freezing conditions in the room, he could feel a weak throbbing in his right knee - it had snapped under the swing of his attacker's heavy boot after the drug had paralyzed him. He remembered the fierce, sadistic kicks and punches to nearly every part of his body afterwards while he lay like a ragdoll on the ground, unable to defend himself. He did not know how long it'd been since he'd mercifully blacked out. The last fuzzy memory he had was of the hulking, black and orange masked man leaning down to whisper into his ear. He shivered.

His sluggish train of thought was cut off as the clicks and groans of numerous gears and bolts grating open a heavy door rebounded from behind him, assaulting his ears. He knew that his delayed, flinching reaction was a sure sign he had been in this freezer for some time. Echoing footfalls grew louder as his captor approached at a heavy, deliberate pace, as if he had all the time in the world. The prisoner felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

The man stopped directly behind the chair. Pausing. Contemplating. Relishing the moment. The jagged breathing of the captured contrasted with the beast-like breaths of the captor. A full minute passed. Finally, an icy voice whispered in the prisoner's ear, "welcome back, Nightwing."