He was a good soldier. He did as he was told, and fought admirably. For a boy of just eleven, he fought fearlessly, beating off goons and henchmen. Three henchmen. With his specialised training, he could very much handle three henchmen. But unknown to the boy wonder, there was a fourth. A fourth that neither him nor Bruce saw as Bruce was preoccupied with his fight on the other side of the warehouse. A fourth henchmen, armed with a lead pipe that struck the unsuspecting boy of just eleven.

"Daaaad!"

He choked out, barely able to breathe. It was an instinct from the fear and pain that suddenly washed over him, but he wasn't calling for his father, the trapesiest. No, he was calling for Bruce.