It had been a long, hot, dry summer in Gotham City. Batman had been attacking crime with a viciousness that hadn't been seen theretofore.
The Gotham City Jail was full to overflowing. The Dark Knight had come down, hard, on all wrongdoers, from what was left of organized crime in the city to the lowest street hustler. The Caped Crusader was on such a rampage that all the escaped super-criminals laid low.
Everywhere Batman went, from arresting drug lords to shaking down known stool pigeons, the questions were always the same:
"Where's Dick Grayson?!"
"Have you heard anything about Robin?!!"
"Who was helping Bane?!!!?"
All sources, though, were as dry as the farm ponds in the area surrounding Gotham City. No one seemed to know anything.
Batman conducted a non-stop search for the Boy Wonder, to the point that what little sleep he was able to grab came in the Batcave. As far as the world knew, a distraught Bruce Wayne had left town, leaving the search for his ward to the Caped Crusader and a team of high-priced detectives.
Bruce did feel badly about abandoning Aunt Harriet. She had been inconsolable since Dick had collapsed at graduation. Batman rationalized, though, that Alfred could look after Mrs. Cooper far better than he. The best thing that could be done for the widow would be for the Dark Knight to find her nephew.
Then, as the days passed and Batgirl failed to re-appear, Batman began to fear that Batgirl, too, had fallen prey to this unknown blonde assailant.
To add to Batman's problems, Commissioner Gordon admitted one day that Barbara Gordon was also missing. The mystery deepened when, three week after Batgirl was last seen, the distraught father received an anonymous e-mail telling him that his daughter had been kidnaped! Neither Batman nor the police could determine if the same person was responsible for the abduction of Dick Grayson and for Barbara's disappearance.
What the Commissioner had no way of knowing was that Barbara herself was the source of that e-mail. Aware that business as Batgirl might take her away unexpectedly for long periods of time, she had set up a system to protect her dual identity which would automatically send such a message to her father if she failed to re-set her Task Scheduler for twenty-one days.
If Barbara failed to return for a year, the computer would then send a message she prayed her father would never have to read. It would tell him all about her secret life as Batgirl, as well as explaining why she felt she couldn't tell the Commissioner about her double life while she was alive. It would also express her great love and admiration for her dad.
The second day had been the worst.
The first day it had been dark when Batgirl arrived. She imagined that Robin had been on display for some time already. No clocks were visible from her pedestal. She guessed, though, only two or three hours had passed when what was to become a familiar pattern was established.
It had been tedious and taxing, but nothing she couldn't handle. She had been placed a few feet behind Robin, so it was impossible for either of them to see in the other's eyes as they were forced to stand motionless. Their captor wasn't about to let them communicate by blinking out coded messages to each other.
Batgirl finally heard the high-pitched whine that previously had loosened her costume, although this time it was much softer. Then, the androgenous voice came through a speaker and announced, "Robin, you may leave, but do not look at Batgirl."
The Boy Wonder hopped down off the three foot high platform and stiffly walked to the middle door, which was roughly in front of them. Batgirl heard the sound like an electronic lock opening, then Robin opened the door and walked through.
Batgirl estimated no more than a couple of minutes had passed when the voice returned to speak to her. "By now, Robin is used to this routine, but let me explain it to you. It will be the sum total of your existence for as long as I desire."
That last part sounded particularly ominous to the Dominoed Daredoll. What exactly does this maniac have in mind?' she wondered.
The cooing, triumphant voice resumed its discourse. "In a moment, I will activate the ultrasonic beam that will allow you to walk in a direct path from your pedestal to that same door you saw Robin use. Deviate in the slightest and it will be the last mistake you ever make.
"Beyond the door you will find a corridor. The first room on the right is the Boy Wonder's room. It is locked, but feel free to try it yourself, if you don't believe me. Next, on the left, is a bathroom. I'll tell you more about that later."
Batgirl thought of all sort of snide wisecracks she could make at this point, if she had been free to speak. As it was, the slight movements around her neck and in her chest that would have been caused by talking would most likely have strangled her. She exercised discretion and remained silent.
"The second door on the right is your room. You'll learn what is behind the door at the end of the corridor another day."
Batgirl heard the high-pitched whine, as before. She felt her costume loosen around her. "All right, Batgirl, you may leave. Go directly to your room.
"Oh, wait!" the voice interjected. "I almost forgot! Take off your utility belt and put it on the floor. You'll get it back after I've emptied it of its contents."
Having no choice, Batgirl did as she was ordered. It was heavenly to at last be able to move. With a shudder, she wondered what it would be like when she was forced to play statue for a longer period . . . much longer.
Batgirl removed her belt and then followed in Robin's footsteps. The corridor was as the voice described. Batgirl didn't give her jailer the satisfaction of even trying what she was sure were locked doors. She made her way directly to "her" room and went inside.
After the door swung shut on its own, Batgirl heard the distinctive click of another electronic lock. She was now a prisoner in this room.
It was spartan, but serviceable. A cot was wedged in one corner of the room, which was no more than fifteen feet by eight. A small nightstand was next to the bed and a plain light illuminated the scene. A single, simple chair sat in the corner opposite the bed.
Batgirl sat upon the bed to think. Her first move seemed obvious. As quickly as she could she stripped out of her costume, leaving on only her cowl, athletic bra and panties. The Dark Knight Damsel checked her underwear with bare fingers. They didn't seem effected by the kinetically resistant chemical.
She decided to risk leaving them on. Barbara wasn't about to become a Bare Batgirl, regardless of whether their captor was male or female.
Batgirl was going over every inch of her cell, when the voice invaded her quarters from a hidden speaker. "It's your turn in the bathroom, Batgirl."
Once again Batgirl heard a click from the door as it was unlocked by remote control. Her naked feet padded softly on the cold cement floor as she made her way out of the room, across and to the left to the door of what she was told was a bathroom.
Batgirl opened the door and looked inside. She was surprised at how well-appointed the bathroom was. Besides a toilet, there was a sink with a large mirror above. Although there was no bathtub, the shower stall was commodious.
Evidently, someone had cleaned since Robin had finished, as the room was spotless. The tile floor was dry. Fresh soap, towels and a washcloth were laid out, as well as an unopened bottle of shampoo, a new toothbrush and a full tube of toothpaste.
As pleasant as this was, Batgirl suspected an ulterior motive. She reasoned that their jailer was going to great lengths to prevent her and the Boy Wonder from communicating. Even the mirror had been polished to remove any message that might appear if the looking glass became steamed over.
Barbara considered what to do next. She guessed that at least one camera was hidden somewhere in the bathroom. Not only did she loathe the idea of being the subject of a peep show, there was also her secret identity to consider.
She had been careful to smudge her fingerprints on the door handles she touched since she removed her gloves. Although matching Batgirl's voiceprint to Barbara Gordon's would be an arduous task, to be safe she resolved to talk as little as possible, to give her captor as few samples as she could.
Cleaning her face and hair while wearing her mask and red wig would, of course, be practically impossible. Besides, she longed to at least be able to rinse out her bra and underpants.
The polished glass she noticed before inspired the Dark Knight Damsel. Quickly she opened the shower stall door and turned the hot water spigot on all the way. In seconds, a satisfying spray of steamy hot water emerged from the shower head.
Batgirl repeated the strategy with the sink "H" tap. Before long, the bathroom was full of water vapor. The large mirror was soon completely fogged up.
The Dominoed Daredoll suppressed a shudder as her surroundings triggered the memory of The Riddler's Steam Room. Batgirl consoled herself with the thought that whoever her jailer was, he or she would have quite a hot water bill!
Barbara gratefully removed her cowl, wig and underwear. Cautiously she washed her undergarments in the red hot water, trying to avoid scalding her hands in the process. She then added just enough cold water to the flow in the shower to make it tolerable and enjoyed a quick shower.
Replacing her wig and cowl, Barbara concluded her business in the bathroom. She wrapped herself in the large bath towel and carried her bra and underpants back to her room.
When she returned, she discovered that, as promised, her empty utility belt had been returned, draped over the chair. Not only that, but her costumed was neatly folded and laid out on the seat of the chair. It appeared to have been washed. No doubt, in more of that kinetically resistant solution!' Batgirl thought wryly to herself.
On the nightstand was also a tray of food. Batgirl laid her underwear over the back of the chair to dry, then sat on the bed, facing the food tray. She was careful to keep the towel securely tied around her.
Lifting the metal cover off a plate, she was disappointed at what she found. Apparently, she was going to be fed a bland, high-protein, low fiber diet, consisting of many vitamin pills. A single glass of tepid water completed her meal.
Barbara downed the unappetizing repast, then slid her towel-covered body under the sheet. She then removed the slightly damp material and settled in, nude under the covers.
Almost simultaneously the lights in the room went out. Someone is watching over me,'was Batgirl's ironic mental response.
She closed her eyes, but sleep was a long time coming. Batgirl analyzed her predicament from every possible angle. Somehow, she had to discover a means of escape. Otherwise, she might be here for a very long time . . .
The lights snapped on. "Time to get up, Batgirl," the ubiquitous voice commanded.
Batgirl had no idea how long she slept. Without windows or clocks, keeping track of the passage of time would be almost impossible.
"You may now pick up your breakfast through the bottom of the door that leads to your pedestal. After you've finished, the bathroom will be available."
Batgirl reached over and grabbed the towel off the nightstand. She wrapped it around her body under the sheet, got out of bed and collected her now-dry underwear. Back under the sheet she put on her underpants and bra. Then she made her way out the door and to the left, to the end of the corridor.
The one thing Batgirl had decided was that she was not going to put her costume back on again. If her enemy wanted to starve her to death, there might not be anything Barbara could do about it, but she resolved she wasn't going to willingly subject herself to the torture she had experienced the previous night.
She picked up her tray from the lazy Susan and returned to her room. She was a bit self-conscious walking around clad only in her cowl and bikini briefs, but resigned herself to the fact there wasn't anything she could do about it.
Babs finished her breakfast, such as it was. She supposed that one of the vitamins was packed with potassium to ward off cramps. Then the voice said, "The bathroom is yours . . . but put on your costume first."
This is it,' Batgirl thought. Rather than engage in a debate, she simply assumed a full Lotus position on the bed, as if entering a meditative state.
"Ahh, so that's your plan, is it?" the voice asked. "Passive resistance? Robin thought of the same thing."
Batgirl became immediately concerned. The voice sounded quite confident, as if this had been anticipated.
Calmly, without histrionics, but full of menace, her captor said, "If you don't do exactly as I say, I will fill your room with hydrocyanic acid gas."
Hydrocyanic acid gas!' Batgirl thought. Cyanide mixed with sulfuric acid - that's what's used in the gas chamber! I'd lose consciousness in seconds and die within five minutes!'
. . . but, after going to all this trouble to capture me, would this person just kill me? Is it a bluff?'
Then the villain(ess) let the other shoe drop. "Then, I'll do the same to Robin's and Dick Grayson's rooms."
Defeated, Batgirl undid her Lotus and began to put on her doctored costume. The high pitched whine once again filled the air. Batgirl might risk her own life - perhaps even take the chance that the sadist wouldn't really kill Robin - but she could not put Dick Grayson in jeopardy.
Batgirl made her way to the bathroom. It was exactly as she had left it. Evidently, today, and perhaps, from now on, she was going to be first in, last out, into the room of enforced motionlessness.
Batgirl finished her business and then was directed back to the right through the door at the end of the corridor. Her every step was accompanied by the unnatural whine that kept her costume pliant. Soon she was once again climbing onto "her" pedestal.
"Make yourself comfortable," the voice mocked, "but you must remain standing." Barbara decided to let her arms hang limply at her side. The sonic signal went off and Batgirl was bound by the knowledge that the slightest move could prove fatal.
Her keeper had on last surprise in store. "Hang on, Batgirl." With a gentle start, the platform on which the Caped Crimefightress stood began to rotate. Batgirl's eyes darted from side to side, re-examining the room, as her perspective was changed 180 degrees. The rotation then stopped so that she was facing away from the door that led to the corridor to her cell.
The librarian estimated some thirty minutes or so passed before she heard the door open behind her. Batgirl once again heard the high-pitched screech, although much more softly than before. She recognized the soft patter of Robin's green-booted feet on the plush carpet. In her mind's eye she saw Robin mounting his pedestal, to begin another period of torment.
Shortly after the electronic squeal stopped, Batgirl's pedestal returned to its original alignment. Their capturer was taking no chances that the Dynamite Duo had some sort of silent means of communication worked out between them. It had become obvious that they would never be allowed to look at each other's face.
How long can I stand here without moving?' Batgirl wondered. She tried to recall how long the guide had said the Tower of Londinium guards were on duty at a time. They were famous for standing like statues, no matter what happened. Was it three hours? Four?'
That was just a little longer than how long Batgirl had been displayed yesterday, the day she had been snared. How many hours had Robin stood there before she was caught? and now, how long were they to be kept unmoving?
Trying to fight down a rising tide of panic, Batgirl considered ever-increasing periods of time: Eight hours? Twelve?! Sixteen?!!' She tried to imagine how her well-developed leg muscles would feel after standing her straight for that long.
Although the work her muscles would be called upon to perform would not be hard, the muscular action would be repetitious over a very long period. The skeletal muscles in her legs would be asked to hold her steady for hour after hour. Batgirl worried if she could remain motionless if faced by painful, uncontrolled contractions of her muscles.
She remembered how in the Siamese Human Knot single spasms in her legs were followed by more intense cramping that began quickly and abruptly. Batgirl hoped the involuntary contractions themselves would not trigger the kinetically resistant and strengthened material of her costume.
Another thought then passed through her mind, What if Robin or I cough or sneeze?! Such an event would surely crush the life out of us!'
As time crawled by, though, Batgirl soon realized the true nature of this torture. She came to believe that both she and Robin, outstanding physical specimens that they were, would be able to withstand the demands being living exhibits put upon their bodies. In fact, it was clear their torturer intend them to be able to do so. Otherwise, they would be left on the pedestals until they collapsed from fatigue, thirst and hunger, to then die in their costumes' deadly embrace.
With horror, Batgirl came to understand what this was all about. This was mental torture, refined to a satanic purity. With nothing to do but to stare silently off into space, hour after hour, day after day, how long could they stay sane? The boredom would be absolutely mind-numbing.
Every day would be like yesterday and the day before . . . and tomorrow. Endless weeks of nothing but standing here, eating bland food and sleeping would render their existence practically meaningless. They would be prizes for a madman's amusement, nothing more.
Would one of them eventually move, to end it all? Or would their spirits be irretrievable broken? Would they become good for nothing but being beautiful bodies on display?
These thoughts haunted Batgirl as the second day dragged on . . .
Batgirl and Robin lost all track of time. Some periods on display seemed shorter than others, while some seemed much longer. Without access to timepieces or natural light, they had no idea how long they had been held captive. The Dynamite Duo independently suspected that the length of their sleep periods was often altered as well.
The only relief to the unending boredom was that from time to time they were allowed, alone, to work out in the gymnasium. They surmised that this was permitted so that they could keep their bodies in peak physical condition. Their androgynous admirer didn't want flabby muscles to appear upon the specimens.
Then, one "morning," Robin noticed a different tone in the voice as it awakened him. "Robin, get up!"
The Boy Wonder sleepily opened his eyes as the lights flared on. This time, however, the voice continued, "Put your costume on immediately!"
This was a change from the routine. Since this person already knew that Dick Grayson was Robin, the teen felt no compunction against conversing with his unseen adversary. "That's different. What's up?"
"Batgirl has collapsed." Robin wondered if that was a note of genuine concern in the voice.
The Wonder Boy threw on his clothes. His door clicked unlocked and he burst out into the hall. There, on the floor to his right, sprawled Batgirl.
Robin was a momentarily taken aback by the vision laid out before him. Batgirl was wearing only her cowl, athletic bra and panties. Despite his best intentions, Dick couldn't help himself from noticing the shape of Batgirl's breasts under the bra and admiring the pronounced indenture of her abdomen centered upon her naval.
"Is she alright?" the voice demanded.
Robin knelt down next to his friend. It was a joy to see her face again, although mitigated by the circumstances.
Suddenly, Batgirl's eyes snapped open! "Quick, take off your costume!"
Instantly Robin caught on, unbuckling his utility belt, unclasping his cape and starting to loosen the strings on his red vest. Their nemesis, however, reacted almost as fast.
"No! Stop!!" the voice screamed. The electronic whine ceased. Robin's costume began to shrink around him.
"Robin! Don't move!" Batgirl ordered.
Midway through the act of removing his left glove, Robin froze. Batgirl pulled off both of his gloves, then pulled frantically at the Boy Wonder's vest strings with her short fingernails. Then she worked her fingertips under his green tunic and pulled the whole lot up over his head.
"Stop immediately or I'll release the gas!" threatened the voice.
Batgirl ignored it. Embarrassed, but determined, she finally put her fingers underneath the waistband of Robin's shorts. She was relieved to feel that Robin had something on under his trunks. She hoped that, like her underwear, his mask, boots and underpants had not been treated by the kinetically resistant chemical.
Suddenly, they both heard a hissing sound. Looking at each other, they cried, "Gas!" in unison.
Now stripped to the waist except for his mask, Robin helped Batgirl quickly pull the rapidly shrinking material of his short pants down his legs and off over his boots. He blushed when he realized he was in the presence of his female friend wearing only his mask, green elf-wing boots and an athletic supporter.
"Now what?" Robin yelled as the poisonous fumes began to fill the corridor.
"Follow me!" Batgirl ran to the end of the corridor toward the living room where they had spent so many tedious hours. Robin - and their captor - were astonished when she was able to simply push the door open!
Robin slammed the door behind them as they both breathed deeply of the uncontaminated air in the "trophy" room. "Holy Barn Door! How did you know it was unlocked?"
"I'll explain later," she said dismissingly. "Let's find our host first! Come on!"
Batgirl led the charge to the door to the right. This was the door their tormentor had emerged from to stand triumphantly at the beginning of each of their display periods.
They entered just in time to see the blonde figure of their captor departing through a door at the end of a long corridor. Beyond the door was daylight! - their first view outside since their ordeal had began they knew not how long ago.
The Dynamite Duo bolted out into the sunshine. Less than a hundred yards away, their androgynous quarry was fumbling with the keys to an old Chevy. Robin immediately recognized the vehicle as Chris Thomson's!
Their previously cool-headed antagonist was now in full panic. Abandoning attempts to get into the car, the sadist foolishly ran off into the woods.
Robin and Batgirl crashed into the forest after their prey. In short order, the fleet-footed Boy Wonder had almost caught up to his prey, with the high-heeled Batgirl not too far behind.
The fiend skidded to a stop mere feet from the edge of a cliff. The precipice was sheer. The height was sufficient that any leap off of it would prove fatal. In a blind rush to get away, the young mastermind had become trapped in a dead end.
"Stay back or I'll jump!" squeaked the voice Robin and Batgirl had come to loathe, even though now it was a bit higher than usual.
"Go ahead," said Robin coldly. If this person did commit suicide, it would solve the problem of the discovery of Batman and Robin's secret identities . . .
"What!?" said Batgirl as she ran up to join the stand-off.
"Oh, don't worry, Batgirl," the Boy Wonder began smugly. "I don't think Chris Thomson is going to kill her- or him- self."
Now it was another person's turn to exclaim, "What!?" Blubbering, the blonde declared, "I'm not Chris Thomson!"
Parroting his captor from a season ago, Robin stated, "Don't bother to deny it. All the times you were standing there, gazing at me, I was comparing the shape of your ears, your eyes and all your features to Chris's. There's no doubt."
Thomson slumped as Chris realized that secret was out. The plan had gone perfectly since the sale of Batman's and Robin's true identities to Bane for ten million dollars and Robin. Chris had hoped that Batgirl would join Robin as a living statue. She had, but now the grand design was in ruins . . . and there was worse yet to come.
"I've also realized that you were King Tut's last Chief Torturer!" the Boy Wonder revealed. "Don't you see it, Batgirl?"
Batgirl still couldn't remember anything that happened to her during the Theban Pebble Torture. "Whatever you say, Robin," she answered noncommittally.
Robin gave Batgirl a questioning glance, but then returned his attention to their cornered tormentor. Robin rubbed his green-gloved hands together as he slowly advanced. "Now, Batgirl, why don't we find out if Chris is a boy or a girl!"
"NO!" Thomson screamed, terrified. For one brief moment, jumping off the cliff seemed like a viable option.
Thinking furiously, Chris realized there was one last card to play. "Robin, I still have Dick Grayson captive! Let me go and I'll release him and promise never to bother Gotham City again!!"
Robin paused. If Chris was put in jail, the secret identities of Batman and Robin would surely be revealed. The Boy Wonder understood the offer Thomson was making by protecting Dick's secret from Batgirl. Robin also saw the abject fear in Chris's eyes at the prospect of having his or her gender known.
With more than a tinge of resignation, Robin said, "All right."
For the third time an unbelieving "What!?" rang out in the forest. "We're letting this person go?! You believe Grayson will be set free??!!" Batgirl asked incredulously.
"Yes, I do. It's the only way, Batgirl," Robin explained.
Then Robin whirled upon Thomson, with a savage look and a threat in his voice that Batgirl had rarely seen emanating from the normally good-natured teenaged hero. "But if you ever bother any of us again, so help me I'll-"
"Don't worry, Robin!" Chris quickly interrupted. "You've seen the last of me! . . . and by the time you get back to the Batcave, Dick Grayson will have returned to Wayne Manor!" Then Chris Thomson, the Chief Torturer, scampered off back into the forest, to release the hostage.
Batgirl couldn't help but think that something was going on she didn't know about, but decided to defer to Robin's greater crime-fighting experience. Besides, she had her own problems. Who was she going to blame for kidnaping Barbara Gordon this time? She didn't think she could get away with pinning it on The Penguin again . . .
Robin wondered if he had missed any school. Would it be too late to get enrolled at Gotham State University? Then a more pressing question came to mind. "Batgirl?"
"Yes, Robin?"
"Now, tell me. How did you know that door was unlocked?"
Batgirl relished the opportunity to explain how she had engineered their escape. "Simple, Robin. Each time before we went on display, when I brushed my teeth, I put a little dab of toothpaste on the tip of my gloved right index finger. When I went through that door, I secretly rubbed the paste into the lock! It took a while, but after our last period as statues, I discovered that finally it had worked. The door was no longer locking!"
"Holy Houdini!" Robin said with great admiration. Batgirl smiled.
"Do you need a ride back into the city?" Batgirl asked. Robin nodded his assent. "Then let's go find my Batgirlcycle. I'm sure there are several people who've been looking for us . . ."
The Dynamite Duo looked forward to their homecoming on this sunny day.
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