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Bruce Wayne was having a terrible day.
Not because he was zip-tied to a chair in an abandoned warehouse. Not because heavily armed mercenaries were threatening him and the other hostages.
Not even because they'd somehow managed to incapacitate both Superman and Wonder Woman with specialized weapons that spoke of careful planning and inside knowledge.
No, Bruce was having a terrible day because Green Lantern had just crashed through the ceiling in what had to be the most obvious rescue attempt in history, completely ruining Bruce's careful orchestration of events.
"Oh! Green Lantern!" Bruce called out with perfectly practiced enthusiasm, watching the hero's dramatic entrance while mentally calculating how many of his backup plans had just been demolished along with the ceiling, "I was starting to think we'd been forgotten.
Though I suppose a fashionably late entrance is always in style..."
Several hostages shot him looks that suggested they questioned his survival instincts. The mercenaries seemed equally baffled by his apparent lack of concern for the situation.
Bruce watched the energy-dampening field take Hal down with brutal efficiency, maintaining his carefully crafted mask of harmless confusion even as he catalogued each weapon and tactic being employed against his teammate.
Bruce closed his eyes and counted to ten. When he opened them, Hal Jordan was being zip-tied next to him, looking slightly dazed.
"Don't worry, Mr. Wayne," Hal whispered with what he probably thought was a reassuring smile, "Flash and Cyborg are right behind me."
"More heroes? Wonderful." Bruce smiled, even as he internally cursed the complete lack of coordination, "Though I do hope they have a better plan than redecorating the ceiling. The property insurance rates in Gotham are already ridiculous..."
A better plan would be good. Because apparently the Justice League had forgotten everything he'd ever taught them about coordinated attacks and proper reconnaissance.
Flash arrived exactly two minutes later. Through the front door. At least he'd had the sense to try to evacuate some of the hostages first, but the mercenaries had been ready for him too.
The speedster went down hard, caught in some kind of temporal disruption field that left him moving in slow motion.
Cyborg didn't even make it inside. The EMP blast caught him mid-transformation.
Bruce watched his teammates - his friends - being systematically taken down by weapons and tactics that he himself had designed.
Contingency plans created to protect the world from compromised heroes, now being used against them.
Someone had accessed his files. Someone had studied his protocols and found ways to reproduce his failsafes.
And now his team was paying the price for his paranoia.
He could see the fear growing in the civilians' eyes as hero after hero fell. Could feel their hope fading with each failed rescue attempt.
The mercenary leader was gloating now, going on about how he'd finally outsmarted the Justice League. About how he'd proved they weren't gods, just people who could be beaten with the right preparation.
Bruce almost appreciated the irony.
Then he saw one of the mercenaries press his gun against Diana's temple, finger tightening on the trigger.
"Apparently," Bruce said loudly, letting his voice carry across the warehouse, "I have to do everything myself."
Every head turned toward him. He could see the confusion on his teammates' faces, the dismissive amusement from the mercenaries.
Bruce Wayne, useless billionaire playboy, about to get himself killed.
"Sir," one of the mercenaries said, clearly trying not to laugh, "I suggest you sit quietly and-"
Bruce moved.
The zip ties snapped - he'd been slowly working his thumb out of joint - and he was across the room before anyone could react.
The first mercenary went down to a precise strike to the throat. The second lost his kneecap to a kick that made several hostages wince.
"Holy shit," he heard Hal whisper, "Is anyone else seeing this?"
Bruce didn't slow down. Every movement was efficient, brutal. No wasted energy, no flashy moves. Just pure precision violence that dropped mercenaries before they could bring their weapons to bear.
"Did Bruce Wayne just break that guy's arm?" Flash's voice was filled with disbelief, even through the temporal field's distortion.
"He's going to get himself killed," Diana said, struggling against her restraints, "Mr Wayne, stop!"
But Bruce was already moving to the next target, his hands finding pressure points and weak spots with practiced ease. He'd trained these moves into muscle memory decades ago.
A mercenary rushed him with a knife. Bruce caught the blade between his palms, twisted, and sent both weapon and wielder flying.
Bruce reached into his sock and pulled out a batarang.
The silence in the warehouse was deafening.
"Wait," Flash said slowly, "Is that..."
The batarang found its mark, shorting out the dampening field holding Superman. Bruce was already moving, retrieving a familiar green ring from an unconscious mercenary's pocket.
He turned to Hal, holding up the ring with an expression that made several Justice League members flinch.
"Jordan," he said, his voice dropping into a familiar growl, "I cannot believe you let them take your ring."
"How do you know my name?" Hal demanded, then his eyes widened.
"Of course I know your name." Bruce's voice held decades of exasperation, "I'm Batman."
The silence stretched for exactly three seconds.
"WHAT?" The collective shout from his teammates would have been amusing if Bruce wasn't so irritated.
"We can discuss this later," he said, already moving to free Diana, "After we deal with the leak in our security protocols."
"But... but you're Bruce Wayne!" Flash spluttered. "You're..."
"A useless billionaire playboy?" Bruce's smile held no humor, "Yes, that was rather the point."
He helped Diana to her feet, steadfastly ignoring the way she was looking at him - like she was seeing him for the first time.
"Now," he said, retrieving several more batarangs from various hidden pockets, "shall we clean up this mess? Or would you all like to stand there gaping for a few more minutes?"
The warehouse erupted into chaos once more, but this time Bruce didn't have to hide his skills. Didn't have to pretend to be anything other than what he was.
And if his teammates kept shooting him disbelieving looks as they fought side by side?
Well, that was a problem for tomorrow.
Right now, he had work to do.