Too Much of a Good Thing

By Adrian Tullberg.

Superman was heading to the living quarters of the Watchtower when the Flash materialised next to him, with his ever present iced mocha. He decided to skip a lecture of the effects of too much caffine on an already hyper-accellerated metabolism on the grounds that it would be completely ignored.

"What's up, big guy?"

"Batman wanted this data on metahuman crime figures for his report."

"He does reports?"

"Every month. We're supposed to read them to find out trends in supervillain crime activity, locations, possible future projections ..."

"You know, that's great. Whatever makes him happy."

"We're supposed to read them."

The two approached the door to Batman's living quarters, primarily used as an office. "He worries too much."

Superman and Flash were just about to ring the 'doorbell' on Batman's Watchtower quarters when the door slid open.

Diana, wearing a red silk robe, smiled in greeting, then walked demurely away. Flash didn't know that you could walk demurely, but hey, you learn something every day.

"What's she so happy abou ..."

Flash saw what Superman had noticed before him. The Dark Knight had been tied to the four corners of his bed with his own cape. The rest of his uniform had been shredded. Bruce was gagged, dark shadows under his bloodshot eyes, and his left leg was twitching.

The silence as the two regarded the scene was only broken by Flash's slurping of the last dregs of iced mocha. Superman was the first to speak.

"You know, there's playing hard to get ... then there's suicide."

The Flash shrugged. "It's the way I'd want to go."

Even in his dehydrated state, Batman managed a pretty good glare. But it's hard to be intimidating while a pair of star spangled panties were shoved in your mouth.