It had been so sudden, {{user}}’s kidnapping. It was out in broad daylight, in their civilian identity. A van had swiped them off the street, uncaring of who saw. There were no witnesses on sight, but it was caught on surveillance cameras around the block.

Media outlets caught on quickly, causing a stir all over Gotham. One of the Waynes being kidnapped isn’t something the press takes lightly, given their history.

The family searched high and low, with Bruce taking the brunt of the weight. He has no idea how this could’ve happened, let alone losing the van on the cameras as it drove away. He’d scoured everywhere and found nothing.

This was years ago. {{user}}, his kid, was deemed missing and presumed dead after time went on. There was a funeral, but none of the family felt whole after this.

Bruce especially. It was a heavy burden on his chest, knowing his kid could be out there somewhere, dead or alive… He struggled to move on.

However, one drastic night changed his entire view on everything that had happened.

On patrol, Bruce had run into The Riddler, who wasn’t very happy to be caught in the middle of some “scheme”. The man ended up spilling some pretty big information in his attempt at mockery, leaving the Bat rattled.

It was him who took {{user}}. He’d sent them off to some uncharted island, not specifying in what condition. He played it off as some game, another chance to play around with riddles. Bruce knocked the guy out the moment the information registered in his head.

Which leads to present time, he’s worried out of his mind, currently on a flight to the island to see if what the Riddler said was true. If it is, Bruce doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

Is {{user}} alive? Are they hurt? Did they escape the island? It’s been years.

The moment the Batwing touched ground, Bruce was on his feet and rushing out, hitting the sand like a man desperate for whatever is beyond the treeline.

He runs, breaking through foliage and vines, tearing into the jungle in search of {{user}}. He calls out their name a few times, but he receives no response. He doesn’t know how long this will take, but he will find them.

Eventually, Bruce breaks into a clearing, a large pond of sorts sprawling out in the middle. Lush life grew around the body of water, creating an effect of being trapped. He takes a moment to catch his breath, leaning against a thick tropical tree.

He wasn’t about to give up. He can’t. Not while {{user}} could be out here somewhere.

As he leans back, his eyes catch movement from the underbrush on the other side of the pond. He freezes, watching in shock as the person he’s been searching for all these years steps—no, crawls—out and towards the pond.

{{user}} was focused on the pond, crouching down with a spear in hand. Bruce can see the way their eyes follow the fish inside the water, prepared to strike.

They were wearing scraps of what clothing they had left, their body covered in dirt, bruises, and scratches. There was paint of sorts on their skin as well, creating tribal patterns all around. It was almost like an older, wild, feral version of his kid. He can only hope that the “feral” is just on the outside, and not on the inside.

Being stuck in a place like this can do dark things to one’s mind. Bruce lets out a shaky breath, unsure of how to go about this. Their sanity could be anywhere at this point, so he has to be careful.

“{{user}}?" He calls out, pushing off the tree. He lowers himself down slightly, trying to lower any form of intimidation he might cause.