Batgirl

“Lemme go!” The teenager screamed as armed men seized her.

Unfortunately for young Barbara Gordon, reports of Bane's henchmen operating in an abandoned warehouse in the waterfront district had proved both legitimate, and too enticing to mention to her more experienced mentor, Bruce Wayne, before investigating.

The Venom-addicted freak show's men were indeed inside, and lots of them, moving about a lot of cargo. It had to be his proprietary strength enhancer, but why so much of it?

Batgirl's eagerness to investigate that little conundrum had gotten her into a lot of trouble, spotted and seized by thugs almost in the blink of an eye.

“Looks like we caught a bat!” one of Bane's men remarked, keeping his gun trained on her, lest she try anything.

“Damn, I'll take this one over the Bat any day!” another responded, pulling her uncomfortably close. Barbara could have fought off his hands, which now groped the thin fabric of her suit. All it would get her was a bullet in the brain, so she did her best to withstand the invasive touching.

“The boss'll wanna see her,” the first man mentioned. Barbara gulped. If “the boss” was who she feared it was, she was well and truly fucked.

“He can wait ten minutes. I wanna have some fun with her first.” His companion grinned, his hands sliding up to squeeze Batgirl's tits.

“Thought you knew better than to disrespect the boss,” the first goon said. The way he cocked his **** rifle after speaking made it apparent he wasn't just training it on Batgirl.

“Hot vigilante bitch falls into my lap and you want me to just give her to Bane right away,” the other man sighed. “Just my luck.”

After a nervy pause, he relented, sliding his hands down to simply immobilize Batgirl's arms.

“Hey, don't sweat it, dollface. Play your cards right, and maybe we'll party after the big man's done with ya,” he whispered into the shuddering vigilante's ear.

“Y'know, I'd rather smear myself in barbecue sauce and jump naked into Croc's lair,” Barbara responded.

“Night's young, sugar,” he smiled.

As the two mooks led Barbara downstairs to meet their boss, they disarmed her. The unclipped her utility belt (the man behind her's hands lingered a second or ten longer on her hips than was neccesary to do it), removed her gauntlets and even bound her hands behind her back with her own Batrope! She bet Bruce never had his enemies use his own gadgets against him, but unlike Bruce, she couldn't afford any of those nifty biometric-sensing anti-tampering tazers he had on all his gear.

“Boss!” one of the thugs called out, as they entered the central area of the warehouse. “We just had an intruder!”

Booming footsteps heralded Bane's arrival. She had never seen him in person, not up close. Restrained and helpless, he certainly made an intimidating first impression. Even without Venom coursing through his veins, Bane was muscular enough to make Bruce look twink-like in comparison. His bicep was practically thicker than Barb's torso.

“Eh? What's this, one of the Bat's disciples?” Bane mused. His Latin-accented voice struck fear in Batgirl's heart. It was deep, growling and with a hint of an intelligence she wouldn't expect from the masked brute, had he not shown all of Gotham what he was capable of in the past. “Bueno...”

Even through the red lenses of his luchador mask, Batgirl could feel Bane's eyes boring into her. Whatever he had planned for her, she. Was. Screwed.

“What's all the commotion, lover?” A familiar, sensual voice came from behind Bane. “It'll disturb my babies...”

A curvy, green-skinned redhead wearing nothing but leaves sashayed into the room, stopping at Bane's side. She was none other than Poison Ivy, and just about any life form in Gotham that wasn't a plant could tell you how dangerous she was.

Barbara decided to revise her earlier thoughts. With Poison Ivy and Bane both on the scene, she wasn't screwed. She would have to think of a word that more accurately described just how fucked she was.

The good thing was, as Bane's men **** her onto a chair, and tied her to it, she wasn't exactly going anywhere; she would have time to think of one.