Jean-Paul grunted as he tests the ties above his head, both his hands and legs were secured. He could hear a few thugs jeer at him. He kicked at one, barely landing the hit.

That didn’t go over well with one of the thugs nearby. “Who said you could look at us, bat-freak?” And then punched Jean squarely in the face. He knew Barbara was sending help. Azrael screamed in his mind, demanding that he be released so he could enact his justice—righteously.

He spat blood, gritting his teeth. The ropes irritated his wrists, biting into his skin. His breathing is labored from sheer, pent-up rage.

Jean sneered as some punk punches him in the stomach, grumbling some shit under his breath. He knew Barbara had his location so maybe it got send out to Luke? Bruce? Hopefully not? The man was less likely to save him than anything on this planet.

He notices it but the goons don’t, movement towards the top of the building, in the rafters somewhere.