The Wrath of Bane

‘Si!' Bane thought, ‘Any moment I will have my triumph over Batgirl! Soon Gotham City will be mine!' Bane had to restrain himself from rushing through this. He wanted the woman to suffer for humiliating him. The former prisoner of Pena Duro craved revenge. He desired to wring maximum enjoyment from every second of Batgirl's demise. Bane required that she be punished for defying him.

Batgirl let out another scream. "You feel it, do you not, Mujer Murcielago?" Bane taunted through clenched teeth. "Any instant now, you will hear the snapping of your own vertebrae! Your spinal cord will be pinched or severed. You will either die immediately or never walk again . . . which for you, I believe, would be a fate worse than death!" Bane ever so slowly, ever so tediously, increased the load on the heroine's chest and thighs.

Batgirl's flailing became less frantic. Blood pounded in her ears. A rainbow of colors swam before her eyes. A low moan escaped her lips.

Batgirl continued to slowly wave her lower legs and feet. The idea occurred to her that soon, she would never be able to move them again.

Barbara's life flashed before her. Time seemed to slow down, as the thought of all the people she had helped and all she had been through competed with an overwhelming sense of depression and helplessness in her mind. ‘Is this really the end?'

A calm descended over the shero. As it did, Batgirl noticed something she had overlooked before. One of the tubes running to the back of Bane's mask seemed to be empty . . . and she might, just might, be able to reach it with her heel! She was unsure what would happen if she could pull that tube out, but what did she have to lose?

Batgirl stretched herself to her maximum and lifted her right leg as high as she could. Bane had long since stopped paying attention to what Batgirl was doing. He was confident in his absolute mastery over Batman's ally. His concentration was focused on deriving the most pleasure possible from his foe's plight . . .

but Bane was not used to dealing with an opponent who wore high heels! While he subconsciously was careful to keep Batgirl's feet away from his Venom delivery system, he had not considered that she might be able to catch a tube with the pointed heel of her boot!

Once, twice, Batgirl tried to hook the tube, but failed. Any moment and it would all be over . . .

She groaned as, with a final, supreme effort, she extended her body to a length beyond that which appeared possible and . . .

WHOOSH!

Batgirl's right heel had caught the tube and she had pulled it out of Bane's mask! In abject despair, Bane screamed, "NO!"

The seemingly empty tube returned air in the closed system. Now that the arrangement had been opened to the outside atmosphere, and before Bane could do anything to prevent it, vast, uncontrolled amounts of Venom were pumped into his bloodstream!

Bane stood to his full height, forgetting all about Batgirl as he dropped her carelessly to the floor. The heroine sprung to her feet as best she could. Her back ached horribly, but everything still seemed to work. She took a fighting stance, but discovered that the man before her had other concerns.

The loudest sound Barbara had ever heard issue from a human tore out of Bane's throat. Every vein on his exposed skin stood out. The villain's eyes bulged hideously in their sockets. It was the most grotesque sight Barbara had ever seen.

Batgirl's first instinct was to try to help a person in agony, even if that person had just tried to kill her. Bane, however, was now on his back on the floor, thrashing about so violently that the costumed crimefightress couldn't get close to him. There was no way she could even attempt to shut down the contraption that had betrayed her massive adversary.

Finally, Bane became deathly still. A bloody foam ran out of his mouth. His breathing was reduced to a faint wheezing. It appeared that it would be Bane who might never recover from their encounter.

From a safe distance, a pair of pale blue eyes had watched this titanic, life and death struggle with keen interest. The fake EMT had given Dick Grayson the antidote to the genetically altered Ebola virus. The teen would recover, but would remain unconscious for some time and weak even longer.

Surprisingly, the blonde was not at all upset that Batgirl had been victorious. The outcome was, in fact, quite pleasing. Despite all his power and intelligence, Bane had once again been used by someone in Gotham City for their own plans . . .

but show time was over. Lingering any longer would risk capture at the purple-gloved hands of Batgirl. The figure leapt behind the wheel of the ambulance.

Batgirl had understandably forgotten all about Bane's assistant. As she heard the engine turn over, she started to run after the ambulance as its tires squealed. It was hopeless trying to catch it on foot. She was surprised, however, when her utility belt was thrown out the window by the driver. She instantly concluded that she would have to check it over carefully for booby-traps and tracking devices.

Her win over Bane, though, was now tempered by the realization that, for all intents and purposes, she had failed! Dick Grayson was now in the hands of some unknown person! Batgirl could only hope that he had at least been cured . . .

Bane remained inert. Batgirl determined to try to access her radio and call for medical assistance. She did not look forward to reporting what happened to Batman . . . or to Bruce Wayne.

Cautiously, Batgirl opened the access on her utility belt to her walkie-talkie. No trap greeted her, but a piece of paper was wedged into the pouch with the two-way radio. The shero unfolded the paper and read:

"Batgirl,

This was not some lackey on the run. The note had been printed out from a computer! The "EMT" had expected Batgirl to beat Bane, or at least was prepared for that eventuality. Was this one of the escaped super-villains keeping his or her identity a secret for the time being? or was this some new, cunning enemy?

Batgirl secreted the message inside her utility belt. She then called for help.

Fifteen minutes later the Batmobile and another ambulance arrived virtually simultaneously. Batman leapt from his car, barely glanced at the fallen behemoth and, as he ran towards Batgirl, shouted, "What happened? Where's Grayson?"

"I'm sorry, Batman. As soon as I defeated Bane, a short, blonde person sped off in the ambulance with the boy still in the back. We can only hope he gave him the antidote first."

Batman's face fell. ‘He must really be good friends with Bruce Wayne to be taking this so hard,' thought Batgirl. Before Batman could say anything more, Batgirl let the other shoe drop.

"Before he left, though, the driver said he had captured Robin! Is that possible, Batman?"

Batman looked away as the police forensics team arrived in a van. The medical personnel loaded the still motionless Bane into their vehicle. Softly, Batman replied, "I'm afraid that's quite possible, Batgirl . . ."

Dick Grayson opened his eyes. With his trained powers of observation, despite how crummy he felt, he quickly made note of his surroundings.

He was laying on a cot in one corner of a small, sparse room. It was rectangular, no more than fifteen feet by eight. Some five yards away from him was a heavy door. A small nightstand was next to the bed and a plain light fixture lit the room with what Dick guessed was a hundred watt bulb. A single, plain chair sat in the opposite corner.

Dick tried to sit up, but immediately gave up the effort. The teen was taken aback as he felt how thin he was. Although he felt somewhat nauseous, he was also thirsty . . . and hungry.

Woodrow Roosevelt's Valedictorian of the Class of 2000 tried to concentrate on the last thing he remembered. He was giving a speech in front of a crowd . . . at graduation! ‘Yes, that was it!' He remembered feeling faint . . .

Dick heard a click, then the door swung open. A slight, blonde figure of medium height entered the room.

"Dick! You're awake! At last!" The voice that said this was familiar to the boy. It seemed too high for a male voice, but too low for a woman's. There did seem to be genuine concern in it as it asked, "How do you feel?"

The person standing above him seemed to be about his age. The face was adorned with black lipstick and black eye shadow. The Goth figure wore tight, faded jeans and a loose fitting Abercrombie and Fitch sweatshirt. Although the hair was longer than he remembered, Dick asked, "Chris, is that you?"

"Yes, it's me."

Dick once again tried to sit up, but flopped weakly back onto his pillow. He hadn't seen Chris Thomson since that afternoon at the student's house when Dick's classmate had revealed to the Boy Wonder that his secret identity had been discovered . . . and when Chris had kissed him.

"Chris, what's going on? Where am I? What's happened?"

Chris plopped into the chair. "Oh, Dick, I was kidnaped on my way home from school days ago! This awful person said as I was grabbed that I was needed for a nursing job! I was knocked out and brought here, wherever this is. I have a room just like this one next door.

"A short while later you were wheeled in here on a gurney. You looked terrible! I was told you were exposed to a deadly virus by someone named Bane . . . and that this Bane had learned that you were Robin!"

"What!" This time Dick was able to sit up, as a rush of adrenaline at this revelation revived him. "Did you tell him that?"

"No!" Chris cried. A single tear had formed in Thomson's right eye as the tale was told. Now it ran down the cheek, leaving a black trail of mascara as it traveled. "I've never told anyone, I swear! I don't know how he found out!"

Dick lay back in the bed as Chris sobbed the denial. The mystery of Thomson's gender once again involuntarily came to the Boy Wonder's attention. Chris was emotional, but after all the teen had been through, Dick couldn't draw any conclusions from a few tears.

Quickly Dick's razor-sharp mind turned to more important considerations. Batgirl had told Batman and him about her battle with Minerva's giant henchman. How did Bane find out he was Robin? Besides Bruce, Alfred, Chris and himself, the only other person that had ever known his secret was King Tut . . . and after intensive treatment by Dr. Floyd, Tut had returned to the persona of Professor Mackelroy, with no memory of what he had learned in his other life.

"The commencement speaker, Senor Duro, must have been Bane!" Dick blurted out. Chris looked up with a quizzical expression. "Somehow, he must have exposed me to the virus, probably when he shook my hand," Dick said, as much to himself as to his companion. Dick shuddered as he looked at the palm of his right hand. The thought of it inside the contaminated, massive grip of the villain sickened him.

"This other person said you had been given the cure," Chris explained. "I was told that as long as I cooperated and helped you recover, I wouldn't be harmed."

‘Oh, great!' thought Dick. ‘Now that's another person who knows who Batman and Robin really are!' It then occurred to the Teen Titan, however, that perhaps he shouldn't take everything Chris said at face value. Thomson had proven to be far from trustworthy. ‘Maybe Chris is in on all this?'

"Tell me about this place," Dick asked. "You say there's another room just like this one?"

"Yes," answered Chris, regaining composure. "Beyond the door there is a corridor. After my abduction, I woke up next door. I was locked in there until you arrived. That's the only time I've seen our captor. You were on the gurney in the hall. I was let out to help carry you in here.

"The doors at each end of the corridor are always locked. At the bottom of one door is a lazy Susan through which I get food. The only other door off the hall is to a bathroom."

Dick fixed the layout described to him in his mind. Dick then decided, that if someone wanted him to recover, that might as well be the first order of business. "Chris, could you please get me a drink . . . and perhaps a little something to eat?"

Chris' face brightened considerably. "Sure! After all, that's supposed to be why I'm here."

Chris spoke in a quiet, conspiratorial voice. "I've discovered that if I just say I'm hungry, food soon appears at the door. I'm sure everything we say is overheard." Then louder, he continued, "I'll bring it in as soon as it's delivered."

Chris got up, went to the door, opened it and exited. The door swung shut of its own accord.

A few minutes later, Dick had shut his eyes to rest, when a voice over a loudspeaker snapped him to attention. "I'm glad to see you are back with us, Robin."

The voice was distorted. It was impossible for Dick to recognize. He shot back, "Why do you think I'm Robin? I don't know what you're talking about."

A chuckle emanated from the speaker. "Don't bother to deny it, Boy Wonder. We both know it to be true . . . but it really doesn't matter. I'm not interested in having you admit it."

"What do you want?" Dick demanded.

"For now, just what your little friend told you - for you to get back on your feet. I'll provide you with sustenance and exercise. Then . . . we'll see."

"And what if I don't care to play your games?" Dick said defiantly.

"You wouldn't want anything bad to happen to your buddy, would you?" the voice asked ominously. "If you do as you're told, your companion will be set free, unhurt."

‘Can I believe that?' Dick wondered, ‘and is Chris really my friend?'

"Your food will be in shortly," Dick's jailer continued. "Let me know when you're up to starting your training. The sooner you're back in shape, the sooner I can let Thomson go."

Dick Grayson was served a high protein, high calorie meal by the enigmatic Chris Thomson. Chris, rather than watch him eat, left him alone. After finishing his food, Dick took a nap.

When he awoke, Dick felt much better. He sat up easily and decided to try to get out of bed. Being in peak condition had given the Boy Wonder unusual recuperative powers. Experimentally, he got to his feet and found that he had no trouble standing nor walking. He was chagrined, however, to discover that he was dressed only in a hospital gown. "Holy Indecent Exposure," he muttered to himself.

Dick walked over and tried the door. It was locked. ‘I might as well find out if somebody's listening,' he decided. "Hey! Open the door! I need to go to the bathroom!"

In response, Dick heard a loud click. He turned the handle and found the door was now open. The Teenage Thunderbolt walked out into the hall.

It was just as Chris had described it. Dick tried the doors at the ends of the corridor, but they were both secure. The door to what Dick guessed was Chris's room was also locked. Across the hall, equidistant from Dick's and Chris's respective cells, the prisoner found a bathroom, as promised.

Dick was gratified to discover that there was a shower. Not only that, but soap, shampoo, towels, a new toothbrush, toothpaste, an electric razor, several athletic supporters and gym trunks (all just his size) were provided. ‘Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to make me feel at "home," Dick concluded.

After cleaning himself up, Dick abandoned the patient's gown in favor of the gym shorts. There was, however, no shirt to be found. When he opened the door back to the hallway, he was surprised to find Chris standing there.

"Uh, hello," Dick stammered, startled. "Your turn?" he asked, pointing his right thumb back over his shoulder at the rest room.

"Um, no," Chris answered shyly. "I was told to see if you felt like a little exercise . . ." The blond was quick to add, "but there's no rush. If you need to lie down . . ."

"No, I'm ready," Dick replied. He saw no point in going back to his room. He wanted to do something and, besides, there were no answers waiting for him in there.

"The voice said this door leads to a gymnasium," Chris explained as he pointed down the hall. "I'm supposed to stand by in case you need any help."

Chris led the way to the left down the corridor, to the door at the end of the hall. Thomson opened it and peeked cautiously inside. Dick looked over Chris's shoulder into the room . . .

Inside was a well-equipped fitness center. It had a universal gym, treadmill, free weights, uneven parallel bars, balance beam, pommel horse, a rope for climbing, punching bag, heavy bag, and a hot tub. Part of the floor was covered with wrestling mats, while the walls were covered in mirrors. There was also one folding chair.

"Wow," said Chris in a low voice. "This should keep you busy." Even Dick, who was used to the facilities at Wayne Manor and the Batcave, was impressed.

"I think I'll start on the treadmill, just to get warmed up," Dick said, climbing aboard in his bare feet.

"Good idea," Chris offered. "Don't go at it too hard the first time."

Dick started off at a jog. Chris pulled the folding chair over and sat down. The blonde watched the male figure in his late teens admiringly as he exercised.

Soon, rivulets of sweat were running down Grayson's back. Chris tried not to be too obvious as
(s)he stared fascinated, as Dick's perspiration disappeared into his trunks. Chris's gaze lowered to the back of Dick's legs. The fine brown hair there was just beginning to become matted with moisture. The athlete's legs moved up and down rhythmically like a piston. Apparently, he could run like that all day. It was hard to believe that less than 24 hours earlier this boy had been at death's door.

Chris's attention shifted to the mirror in front of the stationary runner. The Boy Wonder's smooth, well-defined pecs shined in the reflection. Chris looked at Dick's face, wondering what would happen if their eyes met . . .

"Woo!" exclaimed Dick, as he stopped. "I think that's enough for now."

"Let me get you a towel," Chris offered, starting for the door.

"No, that's all right," Dick said, halting Chris. "I think I'll hit the shower again."

Dick led the way through the still unlocked door out to the corridor. Just before the bare-chested boy opened the bathroom door, Chris said hesitantly, "Dick . . ."

Bruce Wayne's ward turned to look back at this strange companion someone had provided for him. "Yes, Chris?"

Grayson could only see the top of Chris's head. The blond stared at the floor and mumbled, "I'll wait for you, if you want. You could come in my room and we could . . . talk."

Even if Chris was a girl, Dick had no desire to pursue what he guessed Chris had in mind. He remembered the kiss that Robin had received. "Uh . . . no thanks. I'm pretty tired. I think I'll hit the sack."

"Of course," answered Chris, looking up, crestfallen. "Some other time, perhaps?"

Dick gave his admirer no encouragement as he went through the door, letting it close behind him.

It was very difficult for Dick to tell how much time was passing. He slept as long as he liked. When he wanted food, he was served meals that gave no clue as to whether they were intended to be breakfast, lunch or dinner. Very soon, Dick was engaged in work-outs that involved every piece of equipment in the gym. He felt as if he was back in tip-top shape.

After one long period of deep sleep, Dick awoke with a start. One decision that he hadn't been able to make before was resolved in a moment of clarity. It came to him as an epiphany. It was as if people all over the world had voted and helped him make up his mind. He decided that if he ever got out of this, Dick Grayson would attend Gotham State University in the fall.

Before he had much time to congratulate himself for resolving this issue, the rarely-heard voice came over the loudspeaker. "Ah, you're awake. I've been watching you closely. You seem pretty well-recovered to me. Would you agree?"

"Yes," Dick snapped. "Now, will you let Chris go?"

"Very soon. You'll find a new set of clothes in the bathroom for you. Put them on and go through the door that has always been locked. Then I will set Thomson free."

Dick had been basically living in gym trunks, wearing the jock underneath while exercising. Without further comment, he made his way to the bathroom.

He opened the door. There, spread out waiting for him on the counter, was the Lincoln green and red costume of Robin! His winged boots, utility belt, gloves, cape and mask were all included.

Dick quickly got over his initial shock. "I keep telling you, I'm not Robin!" he called to the empty room. He went over and examined the costume. Except for the fact that the utility belt was completely empty, it looked like an original! "Where did you get this?" he asked in surprise.

"Batman, or should I say Bruce Wayne? stuck an Instant Unfolding Batcostume with Utility Belt under your pillow when you were put in the ambulance. Very clever." The voice paused, and then continued, triumphantly, "That should put to rest any question of you being Robin, don't you think?"

Dick was amazed by this revelation. His condition must have truly been serious if Bruce confirmed their secret to save him.

"All right," Dick said with what little defiance he could muster. "Let me get ready. I'll be out in a minute."

"Take your time," said the voice. "We have all the time in the world . . ."

Batgirl pulled her motorcycle besides the Morton building tucked away in the corner of the woods. She would never have found this place without the explicit instructions provided to her by "Andro." It was miles off the main road. She doubted if anyone knew this structure even existed, other than the people who built it and, maybe, the tax assessor.

The Dominoed Dare-Doll had been careful not to be followed, just as she had been instructed. In addition, any means of tracing her had been shielded. She had turned off her headlight as soon as she came within sight of the metal building.

The days since Dick Grayson's disappearance had not been easy. Batman, who was always obsessed, had become single-minded to the point that it actually scared Batgirl. On a couple of occasions when their paths had crossed, she had to physically restrain him as he threatened to try to beat information out of some hoodlum.

No information, though, was forthcoming. No one seemed to know anything about the mysterious ally Bane had recruited.

Bane remained almost as much of an enigma, although Batgirl did glean a little information from a visit with Nora Clavicle in prison. Nora took great delight in bragging how Bane had hired her (for ten million dollars) to release all the Arch Criminals . . . and how she had then shot him.

Bane himself was still in a coma. Doctors gave him little chance of recovery from his overdose of the drug Venom. Bane was put on a jet and the "diplomat" was flown back to his own country of Santa Prisca.

One of the things that bothered Batgirl the most about this whole affair was not being able to tell her friend Alfred that she would at least have the opportunity to effect a rescue. Alfred's feelings for Dick were closer to the affection one might have for a grandson, rather than the regard an employee would have for the ward of his employer. Barbara knew, however, how resourceful the manservant could be and couldn't risk him getting involved.

Batgirl also knew she was walking into a trap. She doubted Robin was still alive. This course of action, however, seemed to be the only chance of sparing Dick Grayson's life. She felt personally responsible that she hadn't been able to rescue him the night she fought Bane. If the kidnapper got her, she hoped that Dick might be set free, or at least ransomed. Batgirl was resigned to her fate, but held out the possibility she might somehow save the honor student.

Batgirl crept up to the door at one side of the front of the edifice. Finding it unlocked, she carefully opened it and looked inside.

What she saw astounded her! Inside this rural, machine shed-like building was what appeared to be a well-appointed living room. Quite large, it stretched almost the entire width of the building. In the far wall were three doors leading, she assumed, deeper into the structure. Furniture was tastefully laid out in the room, which included a wide-screen television.

What caught Batgirl's eye immediately, however, was at the far end of the room, a figure standing on a pedestal. The figure had its back to her, but Batgirl had seen that view - the yellow cape and green boots - often enough to know that it looked like Robin! He seemed to be standing there, motionless, facing the other way.

Batgirl cautiously picked her way through the room, looking out for any traps or ambushers. Finding none, she soon was standing before Robin.

The Boy Wonder remained motionless and silent. The only movement was in his eyes, which swung to look at Batgirl. The blue orbs seemed to be trying to tell her something . . .

"Robin!" Batgirl whispered. "What's wrong?"

Batgirl was so concerned about her young ally, that she didn't notice a door opening behind her and a figure emerging . . . Suddenly, Batgirl heard a sound to her rear like water rushing out of a hose. Before she could even turn around, she felt wetness through her cape onto her back, butt and the back of her legs.

She whirled to see an odd figure before her, holding what looked like some sort of spray gun with liquid shooting at her. A tank was attached to the figure's back. The person was bizarrely dressed in a puffy tunic. Her assailant was totally androgynous. With closely-cropped hair, eye liner and other make-up, it was impossible to tell whether this person was female or male.

The front of Batgirl's costume was doused. Except for her cowl and waterproof boots, she was now completely soaked. "What's the meaning of this?" she demanded.

"You'll soon see, Batgirl!" the figure shouted in a voice of indeterminate gender, lowering the spray gun and slowly backing away.

Batgirl moved to apprehend her attacker, when, all of a sudden, she felt the Batgirl costume tightening all over her body!

Her own costume was constricting her, strangling her! Batgirl found it increasingly difficult to inhale. Her breaths became short. She felt all strength disappear as her muscles tightened and cramped. "What's happening?!" she gasped.

"Ha, ha, Batgirl! I've put the squeeze on you!" crowed the figure standing before her. "That chemical has not only strengthened the material of your costume, but made it kinetically resistant as well! The slightest movement, no matter how small, causes it to contract about you, compressing the fabric ever-tighter, shrinking until it crushes you!"

This was like the Cat's Whiskers, only worse! Instead of narrow strands contracting around her, every square inch of her purple costume pressed in on her body. Since her cowl and boots had escaped unscathed, her head and feet were unaffected. The force around her collar and on her ankles, though, was so great that now these extremities threatened to pop like a squeezed pimple, as more and more blood was forced into them.

Batgirl desperately tried to stand completely still, keeping her respiration to a minimum. In spite of her efforts, every tiny breath tightened the lurex around each of her breasts, individually sculpting them like the ultimate wonderbra. Soon they inevitably began to flatten.

The pressure caused Batgirl to stumble slightly. She caught herself, but immediately felt her costume seal even tighter to her buttocks, go up her crack, press taut against her pubis and creep a little inside of her!

Any second she might topple over. She feared that action could be enough to immediately squeeze the life out of her. In an instant, Batgirl would be fatally squished and smothered.

Her tormentor enjoyed her predicament for a few moments before saying anything further. "You're in such an untenable position, Batgirl, that seconds from now you will perish. You'll expire right in front of the Boy Wonder's eyes!

". . . but that's not what I have in mind for you . . . not at all . . . oh, nothing so quick."

The sadist whipped out a small hand-held device that looked like a TV remote control. It was pointed at Batgirl and a button was pressed.

Batgirl heard a high-pitched whine. Immediately, her costume started to loosen around her, returning to basically its original condition. The knees of the costume, though, were now hopelessly bagged out. Batgirl took in a precious gulp of air.

Robin's and Batgirl's captor pressed another button on the control. A pedestal, just like the one on which Robin was standing, rose out of the floor. In horror, Batgirl realized what had happened to her friend . . . and what was about to happen to her!

"Yes, Batgirl!" crowed their torturer. "I can see from the look on your face that you've figured it out! Climb up them and strike a comfortable pose . . . because you'll be holding it for some time!"

Batgirl did as she was told. For the moment, she had no choice. She chose her classic hands-on- hips pose, much to the delight of the person before her. The control was then put down.

"OK, Batgirl, without the benevolent influence of the ultrasonic waves from this device, your costume is once again kinetically resistant. If you just blink, swallow carefully and breathe very, very shallowly, you should be all right. Isn't that correct, Robin?"

Of course, the Boy Wonder made no answer. It was as Batgirl had feared. Robin's costume must have received the same treatment. Now the two of them had to stand there, silent, not moving, for the amusement of this maniac for as long as was wished. If they tried to escape . . . or even faltered in the slightest, their costumes would tighten around them, either strangling or crushing them to death!

‘How long can I stand here without moving?' Batgirl wondered to herself. ‘The Siamese Human Knot was bad enough, but at least in it we were sitting! Besides, in the Human Knot we were somewhat restrained by each other's bodies. Here, now that my costume's back to normal, I could move, but the result would be disastrous!'

The person who had captured the Dynamite Duo sat back in an easy chair and regarded the prize, a cold drink clutched in one hand. ‘I have the ultimate trophy! Robin and Batgirl as true living statues!'

Back to the Batgirl Bat-Trap Homepage!