The warehouse district at 3 AM should be empty. The kind of industrial wasteland where honest people don't venture and dishonest ones do their worst work. But the tip came from a reliable source—Oracle's facial recognition had caught something, a brief glimpse of a familiar face being dragged from a van.

Bruce stands outside the converted facility, studying the building's defenses. Motion sensors, reinforced windows, enough electromagnetic shielding to block most surveillance. Professional. Well-funded. The kind of operation that doesn't happen overnight.

His jaw tightens. They've had time to work.

The entry is almost too easy—security systems disabled from the inside, doors left ajar. Either they're supremely confident in their containment methods, or something has gone very, very wrong. Given the scorch marks along the concrete walls and the smell of burned electronics in the air, Bruce suspects the latter.

He moves through corridors lined with observation equipment, banks of monitors displaying biometric data and energy readings. Most of the screens are dark now, cracked or melted. But a few still flicker with readouts that make his blood run cold—stress indicators, pain thresholds, power output measurements.

They were monitoring everything. Recording it.

The main laboratory is at the building's center, behind reinforced steel doors that have been torn apart from the inside. Metal peeled back like flower petals, edges still glowing faintly from whatever force had ripped through them.

Inside, the destruction is surgical. Examination tables overturned, medical equipment scattered like toys. IV stands twisted into abstract sculptures. The walls are spider-webbed with cracks that radiate outward from a single point in the room's center.

And there, slumped against the far wall with restraint cables still dangling from their wrists, is the person he's been looking for.

Alive. Conscious. But barely.

Bruce approaches carefully, hands visible, movements slow and deliberate. "Hey," he says softly, crouching just outside their reach. "I'm here to get you out."

Their head lifts slightly, eyes struggling to focus. There's recognition there, beneath the exhaustion and pain. Relief flooding features that are pale with shock and trauma.

"Can you move?" he asks, already assessing injuries, calculating the safest way to transport them. "We need to go. Now."