Gotham City – Present Night
Bane blinked, pulling himself from memory as Bird approached with the final equipment check. Twenty-five years had passed since his emergence from the pit, fifteen since his escape from Peña Duro. He had built his reputation methodically during that time – selecting contracts that challenged his abilities, declining those that offered mere financial reward without strategic value.
His path had crossed the League of Shadows briefly – a period of additional training under Ra's al Ghul, who had recognized Bane's potential if not his equal status. That relationship had ended predictably, with neither man willing to fully submit to the other's authority. But Bane had gained valuable knowledge during his time with the League – techniques, strategies, and most importantly, information about the Bat of Gotham.
"Final preparations complete," Bird reported, his perpetually bloodshot eyes surveying the equipment laid out with professional assessment. "Team leaders have confirmed readiness. We move on your command."
Bane nodded, reaching for the reinforced tactical vest designed to accommodate his enhanced physiology. The material stretched over his massive shoulders, securing with specialized clasps that wouldn't fail under extreme stress.
"The primary objective remains the evidence destruction," he reiterated as his team gathered around the tactical display. "Secondary objective is accessing the digital case files on their internal network. Gordon is to be neutralized but not eliminated – he has value as leverage against both the GCPD and Batman."
His men nodded understanding. Unlike many in their profession, Bane's team operated with military discipline, each member selected for specific skills rather than mere brutality. They had trained together for years, developing the synchronized efficiency that distinguished professionals from common mercenaries.
"What if the Bat appears?" Trogg asked, voicing the question they had all considered. "Copperhead's toxin should have incapacitated him, but reports suggest he recovered more quickly than anticipated."
Bane secured his gauntlets, the reinforced material creaking slightly as it adjusted to his hands. "If Batman appears, I will engage him personally. The rest of you continue with assigned objectives regardless of that confrontation." He paused, surveying the assembled team. "He is formidable, but not invincible. Understand your roles, maintain operational discipline, and success is assured."
They moved out precisely on schedule, vehicles departing at staggered intervals to avoid drawing attention. Bane traveled separately, his specialized transport accommodating his size and equipment while maintaining the low profile essential for urban infiltration.
As the vehicle navigated Gotham's labyrinthine streets, Bane studied the city through tinted windows. Rain had begun to fall, casting everything in reflective sheen that transformed mundane urban scenes into something more portentous. Streetlights created halos in the mist, neon signs bled color across wet sidewalks, shadows deepened in alleys and doorways.
Gotham suited the Bat, Bane acknowledged. The city itself seemed designed for his particular methodology – gothic architecture providing countless perches, antiquated infrastructure creating shadows and blind spots, the pervasive atmosphere of decay and redemption mirroring Batman's own psychological duality.
The GCPD headquarters came into view – an art deco monstrosity wedged between more modern structures, its stone facade weathered by decades of acid rain and urban pollution. Floodlights illuminated the building's upper levels, including the roof where the infamous signal projector stood ready to cast the Bat's silhouette across the clouds.
The bat-demon of his childhood nightmares, transformed into a symbol that inspired hope in some, fear in others.
Bane's team had already initiated the first phase of the operation – a coordinated series of false alarms across the East End that would draw police resources away from headquarters. Secondary teams were positioned to disrupt communication systems and transportation corridors, ensuring delayed response when the primary assault began.
His vehicle stopped precisely two blocks from the target, in the pre-designated blind spot between security cameras. Bane emerged into the rain, his massive frame somehow blending into the urban landscape despite its distinctive proportions. He moved with the silent efficiency that had unnerved opponents throughout his career – a big man who defied the physical limitations such size typically imposed.
The mask that covered the lower half of his face regulated his breathing with mechanical precision, delivering carefully calibrated doses of the refined Venom compound that maintained his enhanced state. Unlike the original formula, this version produced no visible physical changes – no bulging veins, no unnatural muscle growth, no loss of cognitive function. The power remained contained, controlled, deployed with surgical precision rather than berserker abandon.
Bane's advance team had already secured the subterranean entrance they would use – a maintenance tunnel connecting to the building's outdated steam system. They waited at the designated rendezvous point, confirmation lights blinking green on their tactical gear. No words were exchanged as Bane joined them, their operations conducted with the silent efficiency that had become their trademark.
As they prepared to enter the tunnel, Bane paused, his attention drawn to the sky above where the Bat-signal had just illuminated against the storm clouds. Commissioner Gordon, it seemed, anticipated trouble – or had already detected their preliminary incursions.
The sight stirred something primal in Bane's consciousness – the bat-demon of his childhood nightmares projected onto the very heavens, a challenge and an invitation simultaneously. For a moment, he was that terrified child again, facing incomprehensible darkness at the bottom of the pit. But only for a moment. The fear had been transformed decades ago, reshaped into power through discipline and determination.
"He will come," Bird observed, following Bane's gaze to the signal above.
"Yes," Bane agreed, his modulated voice betraying no emotion despite the anticipation building within him. "And we will be ready."
He turned away from the signal, from the sky, from the childhood terror now transformed into professional assessment. Batman was merely a man – exceptional, certainly, but bound by the same limitations that constrained all flesh. Bane had studied him thoroughly, analyzed his techniques, identified his psychological and physical vulnerabilities.
Tonight would provide the opportunity to test that analysis against reality – to determine whether the Bat of Gotham was truly worthy of the demonic mantle Bane's childhood visions had bestowed upon him.
"Proceed," Bane commanded, and his team moved as one into the darkness below, toward confrontation with both Gotham's official justice system and its shadowy protector.
The bat-demon waited in that darkness, as it always had – a figment of Bane's traumatized childhood imagination transformed into tactical objective. Find him. Test him. Break him if unworthy.
Tonight, the prophecy of the pit would finally be fulfilled. And Bane would discover whether Batman was truly the demon of his nightmares, or merely a man hiding behind a symbol that he had not truly earned.
—
GCPD Headquarters, Gotham City - Late Evening
Commissioner James Gordon stood at his office window, watching sheets of rain assault the glass. The storm that had threatened all day had finally unleashed its fury, transforming Gotham's skyline into a blur of smeared lights and ominous shadows. His reflection stared back at him, a man with shoulders hunched beneath the weight of responsibility and too many sleepless nights.
The past week had been hell, even by Gotham standards. Deadshot's assassination of Councilman Grogan. Kraven's rampage through the Botanical Gardens. Taskmaster's attack on Wayne Enterprises. And just yesterday, Copperhead's failed attempt on Judge Hargrove at the safe house. All of it connected to Carmine Falcone's upcoming trial, a fact made painfully obvious by the evidence they'd recovered from Dixon Docks after Batman rescued Rachel Dawes.
Alberto Falcone. The name left a bitter taste in Gordon's mouth. Like father, like son, though Alberto seemed to lack Carmine's restraint, if not his ambition. The case they'd built against the elder Falcone had been rock-solid until Alberto started dismantling it one piece at a time.
"You're still here." Detective Renee Montoya's voice pulled Gordon from his thoughts. She stood in the doorway, offering a cup of coffee that promised to be as bitter as his mood. "Thought you might need this. The extra units Batman requested are in position. Two plain-clothes teams monitoring the evidence lockup, tactical squads standing by on floors three and five."
Gordon accepted the coffee with a grateful nod. "Any word from our friend?"
"Nothing since the preparation meeting this afternoon." Montoya moved to the evidence board where photographs and notes mapped out the connections between the recent attacks. "He seemed convinced something would happen tonight. Said Loeb couldn't be trusted."
"Loeb's been on Falcone's payroll for years," Gordon said, taking a sip of the acrid liquid. "But actively facilitating an attack on GCPD? That's a new level, even for him."
"The evidence we recovered from Dixon Docks suggests he's been more deeply involved than we thought. Those financial transfers—"
"Were routed through shell companies we still can't definitively connect to him," Gordon finished. "We need more than circumstantial evidence if we're going to take down the Chief of Police."
Montoya crossed her arms, leaning against his desk. "You think Batman's right about tonight?"
Gordon glanced at the darkened Bat-signal visible through his window. The device remained unused beneath its protective tarpaulin, a precaution against both the weather and unwanted attention. Batman had insisted they maintain normal operational appearances while quietly implementing heightened security measures.
"Batman's information has been solid so far. If he says Alberto's planning something big to destroy the evidence against his father before the trial, I'm inclined to believe him."
He moved to the security monitor on his desk, cycling through camera feeds showing the building's key areas. Evidence lockup, prisoner detention level, main entrances, all under increased but subtle surveillance following Batman's warning. The four assassins they'd managed to apprehend were being held in specialized cells in the high-security wing, each requiring different containment protocols.
"How are our guests doing?" Gordon asked, pausing on the detention level feed.
"Quiet, for the most part. Kraven's been talking to himself, something about unfinished business with worthy prey. Copperhead hasn't moved in hours, just stares at the camera. Deadshot's been model prisoner since we confiscated his prosthetic arm. And Taskmaster..."
"What about him?"
Montoya frowned. "He seems almost amused by the whole situation. Keeps telling the guards to check the structural integrity of the old prohibition tunnels. Like he knows something we don't."
Gordon's instincts flared at that. "Have we done a sweep of the sublevel access points?"
"Twice, after Batman's warning. Nothing unusual reported, though Officer Chen mentioned the storm's causing flooding in some of the lower maintenance areas. Apparently water's seeping through cracks in the foundation."
"This building's over eighty years old," Gordon muttered. "Parts of it date back to prohibition. There could be access points we don't even know about."
The phone on Gordon's desk rang, interrupting their conversation. He reached for it, keeping his eyes on the security feed.
"Gordon."
"Commissioner, this is Officer Chen at the front desk. We've got some strange readings from the sublevel sensors. Maintenance thinks it might be storm-related flooding, but the pattern seems odd—like systematic pressure against multiple access points simultaneously."
Gordon straightened, every instinct suddenly on alert. "Deploy teams to check all sublevel entry points. Full tactical gear, approach with extreme caution. And Chen—make sure they use radio communication only. I don't trust our internal systems right now."
As he hung up, Montoya was already checking her weapon. "Trouble?"
"Maybe. Unusual activity in the sublevel tunnels." Gordon moved to his filing cabinet, entering a code to unlock the bottom drawer. He retrieved a heavy-duty flashlight and his backup service weapon. "Alert the tactical teams. Tell them to maintain positions but be ready to move on my command."
The lights flickered once, twice, then stabilized as the building's backup generators engaged with a distant hum. Gordon checked his watch—9:47 PM. Almost exactly when Batman had predicted potential infiltration might begin.
"Where's Loeb?" he asked, strapping on his shoulder holster.
"Central Command. Said he wanted to review deployment protocols for the night shift. Bullock's keeping an eye on him."
"Good. I want to know if he makes any unusual moves." Gordon paused, considering Montoya for a moment. "Your family still in town?"
The unexpected personal question caught her off guard. "My sister and niece, yeah. They're staying with me while her apartment's being renovated. Why?"
Gordon thought of his own son, James Jr., and the night seven years ago when Falcone's men had taken him. The fear in the boy's eyes when Gordon finally found him. The subtle but unmistakable changes in his son afterward—quieter, watching the world with wary eyes that sometimes held something Gordon didn't want to examine too closely.
"No reason," he said finally. "Just... be careful tonight, Detective. If Batman's right about what's coming, this won't be a standard operation."
The look Montoya gave him suggested she understood more than he'd said. "Always am, Commissioner. You should worry more about yourself. If someone's targeting the evidence against Falcone, they'll have to go through you to get it."
A knock at the door interrupted them. Officer Rodriguez entered, his expression tense.
"Sir, Chief Loeb is requesting all senior officers report to Central Command immediately. Says there's a situation developing that requires coordinated response."
Gordon and Montoya exchanged glances. "What situation specifically?" Gordon asked.
"He didn't say, sir. Just that it was urgent."
Gordon considered this, suspicion crystallizing in his gut. "Tell the Chief I'll be there shortly. I need to check something first."
As Rodriguez departed, Montoya lowered her voice. "You think it's happening now?"
"I think Loeb's trying to get key personnel away from critical areas." Gordon moved toward the door. "You check on our prisoners. I'm going to take a look at the evidence lockup. If Loeb or anyone else tries to access those areas without me present, shut them down. Hard."
"What about Batman?"
Gordon paused at the threshold. "He'll be here when we need him. For now, we follow the plan—maintain normal operations while being ready for anything."
The corridors of GCPD headquarters hummed with the controlled energy of night shift operations. Officers moved with practiced efficiency, most unaware of the heightened security measures implemented over the past hours. Gordon acknowledged greetings with nods as he made his way toward the evidence storage section on the third floor.
The two plainclothes officers stationed at the entrance straightened as he approached. "Commissioner," one greeted. "All quiet so far. No unauthorized access attempts."
"Good. Any word from—"
The lights went out suddenly, plunging the corridor into darkness. Emergency lighting activated seconds later, casting everything in an eerie red glow. Gordon's radio crackled to life immediately.
"All units, this is Central Command. We have a power failure affecting the main building. Backup generators engaged. Standard protocol Alpha-3 until systems stabilize."
Gordon recognized Loeb's voice delivering the standard emergency instructions. Nothing overtly suspicious, but the timing raised every red flag in Gordon's mental checklist.
"Stay alert," he told the officers guarding the evidence room. "This could be—"
A powerful explosion rocked the building from below, cutting Gordon off mid-sentence. The floor beneath them trembled as dust sifted down from the ceiling. The officers braced against the walls as Gordon grabbed his radio.
"This is Gordon! Report! What was that?"
Static answered him for three agonizing seconds before voices began shouting over each other:
"Explosion in the sublevel tunnels—"
"Multiple hostiles breaching through maintenance access—"
"Officer down, we need medical—"
"They're moving toward detention level—"
Gordon fought to make sense of the chaotic reports, picking out key details through the radio chatter. "All available tactical units converge on detention level! Security team Bravo maintain position at evidence lockup! This is not a drill!"
He turned to the officers with him. "Lock this down. No one enters without my direct authorization."
Without waiting for acknowledgment, Gordon sprinted toward the stairwell. The elevators would be deactivated during emergency protocols, and he needed to get to the detention level immediately. As he descended, his radio continued broadcasting the sounds of a building under attack—gunfire, shouting, the controlled chaos of officers responding to a threat they'd been quietly preparing for but hoping wouldn't materialize.
The detention level corridor was a scene from a war zone. Emergency lighting cast harsh shadows across walls marked by bullet impacts and explosive residue. Two officers lay injured but alive near the security checkpoint, being tended to by a third officer applying pressure bandages. The reinforced doors leading to the high-security cells had been breached—twisted metal and shattered control panels testifying to the force applied.
"Report!" Gordon demanded, kneeling beside the wounded officers.
"Eight of them, maybe more," one gasped through pain. "Professional gear, military tactics. They knew exactly where to hit us."
"Led by a big guy," the other added. "Biggest man I've ever seen. Wore some kind of mask connected to his suit by tubes. Bullets barely slowed him down."
Bane. Batman's warning echoed in Gordon's mind. An enhanced mercenary with tactical genius and strength beyond human norm. Virtually bulletproof against standard police weapons.
"Where's Detective Montoya?" Gordon asked, scanning the corridor.
"Inside, sir. She was checking on the prisoners when they hit us. Tried to coordinate defense, but..." The officer gestured helplessly at the destruction around them.
Gordon checked his weapon and moved toward the breach, staying low and alert. The high-security detention area beyond was designed as a square hub with specialized cells radiating outward like spokes, each cell isolated from the others to prevent prisoner communication. Under normal circumstances, it was one of the most secure facilities in Gotham short of Arkham's maximum-security wing.
Now it was a battleground.
The moment Gordon entered, automatic fire erupted from the far end of the hub. He dove behind an overturned equipment locker as bullets chewed into the wall where his head had been seconds before. The sharp crack of assault rifles mixed with the deeper boom of tactical shotguns, creating a deafening symphony of violence in the enclosed space.
"Commissioner!" Montoya's voice cut through the chaos. She was positioned behind a reinforced desk twenty feet to his left, her service weapon drawn but held at ready rather than firing. "Eight hostiles confirmed! They've got military-grade weapons and tactical gear!"
Gordon quickly assessed the situation. His officers had managed to establish defensive positions using overturned desks, file cabinets, and equipment lockers as makeshift barricades. But they were pinned down by superior firepower from Bane's mercenaries, who had taken control of the far end of the detention hub.
"Martinez, covering fire!" Montoya shouted to an officer crouched behind a metal filing cabinet. "Chen, try to flank left!"
Officer Chen nodded, checking his shotgun before beginning a careful advance along the left wall. He'd barely made it ten feet when a controlled burst of rifle fire forced him back, sparks flying as rounds impacted the reinforced concrete mere inches from his position.
"No good!" Chen reported, breathing hard. "They've got overlapping fields of fire!"
Gordon peered around his cover, trying to identify weak points in the mercenaries' formation. They moved with military precision, each man covering his teammates' movements, maintaining disciplined fire control. These weren't typical Gotham muscle—these were trained operators.
His radio crackled: "All units, this is Sergeant Willis! Multiple breach points confirmed—hostiles in sublevels two and three! Need backup at evidence storage!"
The situation was deteriorating rapidly. Gordon keyed his radio: "Tactical Unit Alpha, redeploy to detention level. Approach from service corridor B-7. We need crossfire!"
"Copy that, Commissioner. ETA three minutes."
Three minutes might as well have been three hours. Gordon spotted movement—one of the mercenaries advancing under covering fire. He lined up his shot, exhaled, and squeezed the trigger. The round caught the mercenary center mass, but his tactical vest absorbed the impact. The man stumbled back but remained combat effective.
"These vests are military grade!" Montoya called out. "Standard rounds won't penetrate!"
Suddenly, one of Bane's men stepped out with an M249 SAW light machine gun. The weapon opened up with devastating effect, heavy rounds punching through their cover like it was cardboard. Officers scrambled for better protection as their barricades disintegrated.
"Stay down!" Gordon shouted as the machine gun systematically worked across their position.
Officer Martinez tried to return fire, but the machine gun immediately shifted toward him. A burst caught him in the shoulder, spinning him around before he dropped.
"Martinez is hit!" Chen yelled, already moving.
"Negative! Hold position!" Gordon commanded, but Chen was already sprinting across open ground toward his fallen comrade. The machine gunner tracked him, rounds stitching across the floor behind his feet. Chen dove the last few yards, landing hard beside Martinez.
"Covering fire!" Montoya rose from her position, emptying her magazine toward the machine gunner. Her shots forced him to duck momentarily.
Gordon seized the opportunity. "Wilson, Ramirez—concentrate fire on that gunner!"
The combined fire from three positions finally forced the machine gunner to cease his barrage. In the brief respite, Chen dragged Martinez behind better cover.
"He's losing blood!" Chen reported, hands already slick red. "We need medics!"
But their situation only worsened. Another mercenary stepped out with an M32 grenade launcher. Gordon's blood ran cold—that weapon could obliterate their entire position.
"GRENADE LAUNCHER!" he shouted in warning.
The first 40mm grenade arced through the air, detonating against the back wall. The concussion wave hit them like a physical force, concrete fragments filling the air. The emergency lighting flickered dangerously.
A second grenade exploded in a brilliant flash—a stun grenade. Even with his eyes closed, Gordon felt the disorienting effects. His vision swam, ears ringing painfully.
Through the smoke and confusion, he heard boots on concrete—Bane's men were advancing. Gordon forced his eyes open, firing toward the approaching shadows. Controlled bursts answered him, forcing him back down.
Wilson rose with his shotgun, catching an advancing mercenary center mass. The buckshot staggered the man but didn't drop him. Return fire was immediate—a three-round burst caught Wilson in the chest. His vest stopped the rounds but the impact drove him to the ground gasping.
"Fall back!" Gordon ordered, recognizing they were about to be overrun. "Fighting withdrawal to the security checkpoint!"
Montoya began coordinating the retreat. "Ramirez, help Chen with Martinez! I'll cover!"
The withdrawal was chaos. Gordon and Montoya alternated firing and moving, trying to suppress the advancing mercenaries. But Bane's men pressed forward relentlessly, their tactical discipline evident in every movement.