“You're in the midst of a war: a battle between the limits of a crowd seeking the surrender of your dreams, and the power of your true vision to create and contribute. It is a fight between those who will tell you what you cannot do, and that part of you that knows / and has always known / that we are more than our environment; and that a dream, backed by an unrelenting will to attain it, is truly a reality with an imminent arrival.”Anthony Robbins
“We all carry within us our places of exile, our crimes, and our ravages. But our task is not to unleash them on the world; it is to fight them in ourselves and in others.”Albert Camus
* * * * *
Batman stared at the monstrous specimen of muscle before him. He noted immediately the tubes and wires plugged into him, as part of some performance enhancing chemical system. Bane noted his gaze. “Do not mistake my venom system for weakness. It is impossible to remove. Believe me, I know. I have tried.”
Batman crouched low on his knees. He was grateful that this hulking brute was wasting time talking to him. It had given him time to recover from the initial strike, and study him for weakness. He was sure the criminal believed the tubes to be unbreakable, but that didn’t make it so. He calmed his breathing and focused, ready to move, ready to spring, ready to strike.
“I am Bane,” he said. “I will break you before you die. Your death is—“
With one convulsive movement, Batman lunged and grabbed the tube on the side of his head, and yanked, hard.
Bane’s head listed to one side, and he stopped talking. His face couldn’t be seen through his mask, but his body language displayed no surprise.
Batman kept yanking, and Bane kept letting him, head listing to the side. He latched on with both hands and pulled with all his strength.
The tubes didn’t so much as budge.
“You don’t listen very well, do you?” Bane asked patiently.
Batman didn’t waste time answering, he simply flashed a kick at Bane’s head. Bane effortlessly caught his foot before it could connect, and threw Batman spinning into the air.
He landed hard, bruising the right deltoid muscle, and then wincing as his lower back slammed down too. He rolled, trying to avoid further injury, and came up panting.
Bane took three long strides toward him, then stopped when he came up to his feet. Batman realized with a chill that Bane was going to let him wear himself out. That he would absorb attack after attack until Batman was weak. Not that Bane couldn’t overpower him; certainly he could. But he, in turn, must know how good the criminal elite of Gotham thought he was. He was, in fact, better than that; but the point was, Bane was taking him seriously. The brute would stand tall, absorb what he had, until he wore himself out.
Batman understood that in terms of physicality, he was to Bane what most criminals were to him. Fortunately, he was smarter than any criminal. The question was, how smart was Bane? At least in terms of tactics and combat, which where what mattered here? Certainly he was no fool.
Bane expected him to wear himself out. Time to change that equation.
He reached into his utility belt and pulled three concussion pellets out; “flash-bangs” they were called, with good reason. Bane started forward in earnest. Batman threw the three pellets, and they exploded right in Bane’s face.
Bane stumbled but kept coming. Batman flipped aside. Bane turned awkwardly, stumbled and fell, but immediately righted himself, coughing.
That should have put him down. Batman had already figured that Bane would be far tougher than an ordinary man; but he hadn’t expected Bane to get right back up.
Quickly he threw another flash-bang, still backing away. This time, Bane ducked, and the explosion went off behind his head. Not close enough to stun him, but enough to continue to unsettle him.
Of all his regrets of that particular moment, the one that Batman worried about the most was the fact that he didn’t have another taser.
Batman backed away, but only a little; as Bane closed, he lashed out with his right foot. The kick connected, even as it staggered him, Bane grabbed his foot again. This time he did not try to throw Batman. Instead he began to squeeze.
Feeling the pain beginning to build in his ankle, Batman kicked with his other foot, his hands flashing downwards to support him. The kick connected once…twice….then Bane grabbed the other foot.
So Batman stopped using his hands to hold himself off the ground, and instead used Bane’s own hold on him to lunge forward with both hands, thumbs extended.
Into Bane’s eyes.
Bane screamed and let go of both feet, stumbling back. Batman wanted to get up and press his advantage. But first of all his ankles still throbbed, especially the right one; and second of all such approaches didn’t seem to be working too well for him so far.
So he hurled batrangs at Bane as he recovered. One….two….three.
One of them glanced off Bane’s head. The other two buried themselves in his massive shoulders. Bane didn’t scream this time. Instead he roared with rage.
Still half blind, he began to charge at Batman. Batman threw another pellet from his utility belt; this time it was sleeping gas. Bane ran right through the resultant cloud. It affected him a little, but not nearly enough.
He closed with Batman again. Batman by this time had risen on sore ankles and, with some awkwardness and pain, leaped up and over Bane’s shoulders. Bane anticipated this and whirled to catch Batman on the way down, but was a little slow and disoriented from the sleep gas and other damage Batman had already done to him. So Batman was able to grab his head and yank down, bringing Bane down with him. Bane’s head connected with the ground as Batman landed on his rump.
For a moment Bane lay still. Then he started to get up. Batman stumbled away, angry with himself. He was reacting to Bane from a purely defensive posture, and that wouldn’t do. Of course, it was clear that direct strikes wouldn’t do either. But he had to think of something. For years he had trained with all kinds of martial artists around the world for moments such as this.
Even a hulking steroid case like Bane had a nervous system that responded to outside pressure. He might not feel pain in the same way as a normal person anymore, but he was still vulnerable, still had weak spots.
So Batman slowly stood, calmly, mastering his breathing and his heart rate, waiting.
Bane came for him, and lashed out with a left handed punch. Powerful, but slow. Batman sidestepped and pinched his wrist. Bane grunted, the swung with the other hand, trying to grab Batman by the throat. So Batman ducked and struck with two fingers just behind Bane’s elbow.
The hulking bear of a man let out a mewl of pain…..then raised one foot and stomped down hard on Batman’s cape. Batman did not panic. He feigned another strike at the eyes, and as Bane went to grab his hands, flicked downward and struck the throat. It was not enough to kill….but certainly enough to put a man down.
But Bane coughed, spluttered, and stumbled back enough for Batman to get is cape free and stand just out of striking range.
Big and slow….but also resilient. This could be a serious problem.
Bane paused, thinking, then kicked. Batman was moderately surprised, but still managed to both sidestep and catch the massive foot. He twisted and wrenched, trying to break the ankle.
Unfortunately, this allowed Bane to counter by getting one hand around Batman’s throat. He began to squeeze. Batman torqued the foot harder. Bane came in with his other hand, delivering a clubbing blow, making Batman’s nose bleed. Batman twisted the foot even harder…and finally there was a grisly, resounding snap. Bane shouted in pain and rage and went down.
Batman gasped for breath and staggered back as Bane let him go. He took a moment to draw a rasping breath into burning lungs.
Bane was already trying to get up. The pain was slowing him down, no doubt, but still he was trying to stand.
Batman felt his first flare of genuine panic. He charged in and started delivering kicks to Bane’s ribcage as he struggled to rise. After the third kick, Bane grabbed the foot and threw him away again. The throw was much weaker and lower to the ground, and Batman was able to roll with it, avoiding further damage. Briefly he wondered why Bane didn’t try to break his foot in turn, the realized Bane was simply trying to buy time.
Bane worked the controls on his belt, and a fresh dose of venom surged into him. Not, Batman realized, to become stronger, though it would have that effect; his concern was being able to get past the pain of the broken foot.
And it was working. Batman stared as Bane got up and started hobbling towards him at chilling speed.
Batman stepped aside and tripped him up. Bane snagged his cape on the way down with one hand, Batman let him do it, disengaging it from the base of the cowl with two simple, almost invisible snaps.
Then he stepped in and stomped on Bane’s head. And again. And again.
When Bane reached to grab his foot, he backflipped, and landed unsteadily, wobbling on his own ankles.
Bane got up a little more slowly. But get up he still did. Batman threw another batarang, but Bane must have heard it; he caught it with one hand, and broke it. Batman was out of batarangs, and down one less offensive option.
For a moment he considered taking off his utility belt and whipping Bane with it, but suspected that would only irritate the behemoth. But he did remove two other objects from the belt; a gas mask and another gas pellet. Tear gas, to be precise.
He backed away a few steps as Bane rose.
“Why do you not press your advantage?” Bane said, voice still surprisingly calm and certain. “Or do you fear me breaking your feet? That would be cowardly, but wise.”
“There are other ways to press the advantage,” Batman said, as he affixed the mask. He threw the pellet at Bane, who caught it with his other hand. That was just fine. The gas billowed out of his clenched fist and into his face. He coughed and spluttered, and clumsily threw a shard of batarang back at him. Batman sidestepped once more, but it still managed to rip across his right calf. He sucked in a painful breath, then picked up the shard of batarang and returned it to his belt.
The pain of the injuries Batman had sustained, not only during the fight with Bane but with the gang members before hand, were beginning to take their toll, and made themselves felt as they had not done before. Batman’s primary hope was that the gas and sustained attacks he had made against Bane would continue to wear down the behemoth as well.
Hacking and fuming under his mask, Bane stumbled towards him. Batman backed away from two clumsy swipes. It seemed Bane had lost some coordination and focus. As Bane recovered, he threw a straight ahead punch. Batman narrowly dodged and pinched the wrist. Bane grunted. Batman briefly considered trying an aikido flip, then discarded the notion, as Bane was too unwieldy. So instead he followed up with a strategic kick to the collarbone. Bane grunted again, and tried to grab the foot as Batman stepped back, but Batman’s boot slipped free.
Ducking another blow, Batman tried to enrage the larger man with a callous, backhanded slap. Bane didn’t seem troubled by the affront to his machismo pride, but did grunt in surprise and pain with the slap connected with his nose.
Bane grabbed for him, but Batman ducked back in time. Another callous, calculated backhanded slap. Bane grunted in irritation and frustration, and grabbed for him again. As Batman tried another slap, Bane simply let it connect, while pumping more venom into his system.
Batman realized he’d pushed that particular gambit too far, and started backing away again, but Bane lunged forward and dug his fingers into Batman’s left bicep in a grip like a vice.
“Amusing and intelligent,” Bane said, “But now, the game is over.” He lifted Batman up over his head.
Batman struggled to keep calm; he had made a mistake, and now Bane meant to tear him in half. Frantically his free hand skittered over his utility belt, trying to find something to use. More gas or concussion pellets wouldn’t help…
Bane was increasing the pressure, slowly bending him. Soon his spine would reach the breaking point.
His flailing hand found the broken batarang, scoring a line of dim and distant pain across his thumb. He focused his breathing, his will, and pulled it free. This was the last chance he was going to get…..
He stabbed downwards with the jagged edge of the broken batarang, and finally did something Bane had thought impossible. One of the venom feeder tubes connected to Bane’s head broke open, and began spurting the chemical.
The venom began to drain out of Bane’s system.
“No!” he gasped, dropping Batman and staggering back. “What…”
Batman landed on his side, and despite the agony he was in rolled into a sitting position. He watched Bane stumble for a moment, then nodded in satisfaction. He maneuvered behind Bane and kicked him in the backs of the knees.
Bane went to his knees and began to scream. “This cannot be! This cannot….” His words faded into a crazed, indistinct mumbling, and he pitched forward onto his face.
Slowly and painfully, Batman got up. The thug was too dependent on the chemical. Without it withdrawal kicked in almost immediately. It had been even better than Batman had hoped. He had merely hoped to distract Bane, break free of his grip, and begin to wear him down without venom to assist his strength and stamina. He had never expected such a total collapse; but he was far from complaining.
There was a click of a revolver hammer being pulled back. Batman turned, a little slower than he would have liked due to the agony he was in.
Gordon had him in his sights.
“Very impressive,” Gordon said grudgingly.
“Are you going to try to arrest me?” Batman asked.
Gordon raised an eyebrow, gun not wavering for a second. “He wore you down. I think it would be easy enough to shoot you in the leg.”
“Assuming you could even manage to stop me,” Batman asked, “What do you think would happen then, with me in police custody?”
Gordon continued to aim at him for another long moment. Then he lowered the gun.
“My squad is only minutes behind me,” he said. “Go. But if I ever do clean up this city, I'll be coming after you next."
Batman was grimly amused. "If that day ever comes, when Gotham doesn't need me anymore, I would welcome it."
“What Gotham needs—“ Gordon began angrily, but Batman was already limping away into the shadows of the construction site.
He blew out a frustrated sigh, then moved his weapon to cover Bane.
The SWAT team arrived less than five minutes later.
“Pick up this piece of trash,” Gordon indicated Bane, “And use the special cuffs. Call backup to take in the bikers.”
Devin looked around, amazed. “And probably some meat wagons too, huh?”
Reluctantly, almost painfully, Gordon smiled. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.”
Bullock slouched out of the armored van. “Looks like the Bat has been busy tonight.”
Gordon’s reluctant grin became a grimace. “Certainly does….”
* * * * *
Bruce slipped off the cowl and sagged back in a chair by the computers in the cave.
“I think you should rest upstairs,” Alfred fussed over him.
“Soon,” Bruce agreed. “First…do what patch ups you can….”
Alfred shook his head. “If you’re to make a habit of this, we might need to bring a surgeon into our confidence!”
Batman gave a noncommittal grunt, then lapsed into silence.
Alfred, however, knew that silence as a thoughtful one. “What’s on your mind, besides the severe beating you have just taken?”
“This…..Bane. The fellow I fought. The Consortium is not afraid of me. But they do take me seriously. They will keep coming. Originally I was just going to take on the street crime, at least to start with. Now I understand I have to take the fight to the Consortium directly. Not just their operations, but the men themselves.”
“Even those who hold public office?” Alfred asked mildly.
“Especially those. Though I’ll have to be very careful how I go about it.”
Alfred nodded. “You’ll figure something out. Though, if I might suggest it? You should rest up tomorrow night.”
Bruce sighed. “I understand what you mean, old friend. And I wish I could. But I’ll have to be out there. The battle is just beginning.”
---
Bane was a mass of pain, sitting hunched over in his cell.
He cursed himself for his weakness. He had thought it impossible for anyone to destroy the venom injection system; he’d tried it himself often enough. Now he was weak, and trembling from withdrawal. And he knew it would only get worse as time went on.
The tubes were still in him, even though they were empty of fluid. Every surgeon he’d ever been to had said it was impossible to remove. He had two choices; either find a better, smarter surgeon to remove it, or get it repaired and find some alternative chemical to venom. Either path was fraught with problems.
But first, he had to get out of here alive.
He had no illusions about what the Consortium would do to him for his failure. What he had to do was hold on, fight off the effects of withdrawal long enough to kill whomever they sent for him.
Sure enough, the door to his cell opened and a pair of grim faced men stood there in dark suits. One of them had already drawn his gun.
Bane wasted no time in talking, he simply lunged forward, knocking the gun downward. The weapon discharged in a roar in the enclosed space; the bullet slammed into the floor. Bane punched the first man in the face so hard his skull fractured.
The other was drawing his own weapon; Bane broke his neck in a single fluid movement.
Three police were waiting in the corridor. The fight had given them time to draw their own weapons. Two of them fired; one missed clean, the other one put a bullet in Bane’s massive right shoulder. The behemoth grunted in pain, then threw one cop into another. The third, panicking, fired his gun unsteadily; the bullet ripped open Bane’s mask on the left side, burning the skin as it flew past.
Almost contemptuously, he shoved the cop into the wall hard enough to break his spine in three places.
Bane ran, moving quickly, hobbling fast despite his broken foot, knocking down two more police in his flight before he made it to the street.
He disappeared into the night, determined to find a safe place to hide before his withdrawal symptoms overwhelmed him completely.
He would be back. In the fullness of time, he would return, and have his revenge on Batman, on the Consortium, on the Police, on all of them.
Gotham would come to fear his name.
