AN: Hello, everyone! So, this will be the first chapter of my version of The Dark Knight Rises. Now, The Dark Knight Rises isn't the worst movie ever made or anything, but I really don't enjoy it. I find it overlong, stupid, with simultaneously too many plot points that are rushed and too many that are slow, and even more things that are flat-out pointless. So, while I may not be some story-telling genius, I do have some ideas that I wanted to share, and that's lead us to where we are now. So, hopefully you enjoy!


"...I knew Harvey Dent. I was his friend."

Gotham City's Police Commissioner James Gordon spoke the words, but couldn't make himself believe them. But here, now, at Harvey's funeral, with giant pictures of him surrounding the podium he stood at, flags waving solemnly in the wind, and hundreds of grieving, devastated Gotham citizens watching, he knew he had to pretend to. For the sake of all that he had lost, and all that he and his friend had sacrificed, he fought the urge to tell the truth.

"And it will be a very long time before someone inspires us the way he did." Gordon finished. "I believed in Harvey Dent."

Gordon grabbed the paper that his speech was written on and walked away from the podium quickly, sitting in one of the seats behind it. He hoped that people would mistake his shame for the grief of a lost friend.


8 YEARS LATER


A blue van sped across a South American wheat field, crushing plants underneath its tires as it headed towards a private airfield. It was silent inside of the van, with one of the three Eastern European militia men inside driving, while the others watched the three men in the back, holding rifles. The three had hoods over their faces and their hands bound behind their backs, while the only other passenger was Dr. Leonid Pavel, who was the real cargo for their destination.

A small, black plane was waiting at the airfield, with a small team of CIA operatives standing around it, watching all directions for any problems that might appear. Their presence was unknown to the locals, and both parties preferred it that way. Agent Gillen, the leader of the team, smiled when he saw the van come into view, glad that the mission seemed to be going off without a hitch.

"Dr. Pavel, I'm CIA." The leader of the team, Agent Gillen, greeted the Russian doctor as he and the driver exited the van and approached him. He handed the driver a silver briefcase, which was full of the CIA's compensation for bringing Pavel to them.

"He wasn't alone." The driver said.

"You don't get to bring friends." Gillen joked, gesturing to one of his men.

"They are not my friends." Pavel replied, while the soldier helped him up into the plane.

"Don't worry, no charge for them." The driver continued, while the other two militia men brought the three hooded men out from the back of the van, putting them in a kneeling line in the dirt.

"And why would I want them?" Gillen asked.

"They were trying to grab your prize." The driver answered, with the hint of a knowing smile. "They work for the mercenary. The masked man."

The description caused something to click in Gillen's head. Something that was too intriguing to pass up. "Bane?" He asked.

"Aye." The driver nodded.

"Get ready for take-off, I have to call something in." Gillen called to his men, pulling out a gun from his hip. "Just give me a couple more minutes." He walked past the driver towards the hooded men, pressing his gun against the head of the first one in the line.

"The new flight plan I'm going to file with the agency lists me, my men, Dr. Pavel, but only one of you." Gillen said, clicking the hammer back on his pistol. "So, the first one to talk gets a lovely airplane ride, and the ones who don't will get thrown out mid-trip!"

None of the hooded men said anything.

"Who paid you to grab Dr. Pavel?" Gillen asked the first man. When he didn't answer, Gillen fired his gun right next to the man's head. "Next bullet goes a few inches over."

He was once again met with silence.

Gillen rolled his eyes and gestured to his men. Two of them approached them, beating the hooded man down until he didn't move.

"Throw him in the back of the plane. We'll see how well he flies." Gillen ordered, watching his men drag the hooded man towards the jet.

"Now, who's next?" Gillen said loudly, trying to intimidate the hooded men. He pressed his gun against the head of the second man in the line. "Tell me about Bane!" He demanded, putting on a more angry tone. "Why does he wear the mask?"

The man stayed silent, irritating the CIA agent more.

"A lot of loyalty for a hired gun." Gillen commented.

"Perhaps he's holding his tongue," the last man in the line said, his voice muffled, but sounding robotic, metallic, and louder than a normal voice would be, "because he knows that the consequences of giving away that information would be far worse than anything you can do."

Gillen stepped away from the second man and moved towards the last, glad to at least have made slight progress. "At least you can talk." He said. "Who are you?"

"It doesn't matter who we are." The man replied, keeping his head bowed. "What matters is our plan."

The militia men who had been inside of the van slowly moved backwards, with nervous looks on their faces. The CIA men had started to get the same looks, and were tightening their grips on their weapons, while Gillen's bravado turned to curiosity. The CIA agent slowly knelt in front of the large, muscular man, reaching out hesitantly to grab the hood over the man's head. Gillen slowly lifted the hood off of the man's head, being greeted by a black and silver, skull-like mask that was attached around the man's head, explaining his metallic voice. The man stared with piercing eyes at Gillen, currently narrowed in anger. The masked mercenary who Gillen had heard so much about had finally been found.

"Nobody cared who I was till I put on the mask." Bane growled.

Gillen stood back up, looking down at the man who had starred in so many stories of atrocities and oppression, bound and caught before him. Caught with no effort. Gillen didn't pause to consider what that could mean.

"Get him on the plane, now!" He ordered to his men, his curiosity turning to excitement.

Bane was pulled to his feet and dragged away roughly, but not before he shared a look with the driver, which went unnoticed by the CIA men.


The plane had taken off and was now moving steadily through the air, flying by a range of mountains and passing over yet another valley covered in trees and rocks. Inside, Dr. Pavel had taken one of the plane's seats, and Bane's presence was making him visibly scared. Bane had been forced into a kneeling position in the middle of the plane's aisle, surrounded by the now extremely attentive soldiers.

"So, if I took that off," Gillen asked, kneeling in front of Bane, "what would happen?"

"It would be extremely painful." Bane answered, his dark voice overpowering the rumbling of the plane's engines.

"You're a big guy." Gillen replied.

"For you." Bane added, and no-one on the plane doubted him, even in his position.

"Was getting caught part of your plan?" Gillen asked mockingly.

"Of course." Bane answered, with a small laugh in his voice.


Outside, the small plane that they were all riding in was being approached by a considerably larger, white jet.


"Dr. Pavel refused our offer in favour of yours." Bane explained "We had to find out what he told you-"

"Nothing!" Pavel yelled, panicked. "I said nothing!"

Bane just slowly turned his head, looking at the doctor in the seats ahead of him, the shallow metallic breathing noise making everyone around him more and more unsettled.


The large jet had passed over the CIA plane, and was staying level just ahead of it. At its aft, the loading ramp slowly began to descend.


The noise of the jet was starting to become noticeable, the pilots and soldiers inside the CIA plane hearing a metallic groaning coming from above them. They had no idea what it could be, since they thought their mission was completely secret.

"Well, congratulations! You got yourself caught!" Gillen laughed, too focused on Bane to notice the noise.

"Sir?" One of the soldiers asked, starting to wonder if the noise was a problem.

"Now, what's the next step of your master plan?" Gillen asked, ignoring him.

"Crashing this plane..." Bane answered.


An armed team of four, black body armour-clad soldiers jumped out of the jet's back, slowly falling through the air, towards the CIA plane, attached to cables. They shifted in the air, pushing themselves towards the black plane.


"...with no survivors." Bane finished, standing up to tower over Gillen, and pulling his arms apart, snapping the bindings in two.

Before the CIA soldiers could react, the sound of gunfire filled the small plane, as the black-clad soldiers fired from the outside of the plane, killing one of the soldiers. Bane lunged forward, punching Gillen in the throat, which caused the agent to fall back, holding his neck in pain. The soldiers on the outside of the plane attached the thick cables they were holding into the plane's body, and exchanged masked nods with each other, letting themselves fly backwards, into the air. Once the cables went taut, the force of the jet, with the assistance of the cables, slowly caused the plane to turn to face downwards. Inside the plane, the sudden change in direction sent Gillen and the soldiers flying down to slam against the door leading to the cockpit.

"Mayday! Mayday!" The pilot's yelled, but no help was available.

Bane managed to grab the edge of the seats before he fell, leaving him hanging over the disabled CIA men, and he slowly let himself fall down, grabbing seats as he went, moving towards Pavel.

Outside, the team of soldiers attached charges around the tail of the plane, and one of them clicked the detonator, causing the charges to blow and the tail to fly off and away, leaving a large hole in the back of the plane. The soldiers slowly came back through the air towards it, climbing inside.

Bane quickly moved between one of the seats as the last conscious CIA soldier managed to pull out his pistol and fire at him. Before he could fire more than two, a burst of gunfire killed him, as Bane's soldiers descended inside of the plane, along with a large black body bag. Bane and his men quickly opened the bag, revealing a man that slightly resembled Pavel. Bane grabbed the doctor as he pulled a long, clear tube out of the bag, sticking a small needle into Pavel's arm.

"Let me go! Please!" Pavel pleaded.

Bane ignored him, aided by the deafening noise of the wind blowing around them, watching as his men pumped the chest of the dead man, and Pavel's blood slowly flowed into the tube, and into the corpse. Bane then pulled out a large red harness, attaching it around Pavel's body, locking it in place. The last of the soldiers started to ensure that his harness was ready for their escape, but Bane put a hand on his shoulder.

"No!" Bane said. "They expect one of us in the wreckage, brother."

The soldier pulled off his mask and helmet, looking up at Bane with admiration. "Have we started the fire?' He asked with a smile.

"Yes, the fire rises." Bane answered, pulling himself back over to Pavel. Below him, the soldier had begun to detach his harness and pull off his flight uniform, ready to die for his cause without hesitation. Bane was always grateful for this trait, even if it was essential for his men. He then reached down and pulled the screaming Pavel to him, holding him tight.

"Calm down, doctor." Bane admonished. "Now is not the time for fear."

Pavel stopped his yelling, but held Bane as tightly as he could when the masked man pulled out a small switch.

"That comes later." Bane added, clicking the switch. The plane dropped out from around them, plummeting towards the ground, where it would no doubt be found by the CIA, and quickly. But that was also part of Bane's plan, and they would find only what he wanted them to. Now the first part of his plan was complete.

Bane and the doctor were pulled slowly up to the jet as it flew forwards, now free of any suspicion.

Towards Gotham City.


Night had fallen over Gotham, and where that had once been a time of danger and fear, and then one of hope, it was now at peace.

"Harvey Dent Day may not be our oldest public holiday, but we're here tonight because it's one of the most important."

Mayor Anthony Garcia gave his annual speech at its annual location, in front of Wayne Manor. Bruce Wayne offered up his home as a venue for all of Gotham who wished to attend, though usually only the wealthy and powerful managed to get in. In the past, Wayne had been out and about during the parties, but over the past couple of years, he had slowly slipped away into reclusion. Garcia was surrounded by flower wreaths and pictures of Dent, all of them showing the same smiling, reassuring face that Gotham had once looked up to.

"Harvey Dent's uncompromising stand against organized crime had made Gotham a safer place than it was at the time of his death, eight years ago." Garcia went on. "This city has seen a historic turnaround. No city is without crime, but this city is without organized crime since the Dent Act gave law enforcement teeth in its fight against the mob."

The event attendants nodded in agreement, all of them knowing that the city's current, almost unknown lack of criminal activity was a result of the Act. While they were listening politely, some were also distracted by the trays of food being walked by Wayne servants.

"Now, people are talking about repealing the Dent Act, and I say, "Not on my watch."" Garcia said, smiling at the smattering of applause he received. "I want to thank the Wayne Foundation for hosting this event again. I'm told Mr. Wayne couldn't be here tonight, though I'm sure he's with us in spirit. And now, I'm going to give way to an important voice..."


Commissioner Gordon was looking over the speech he had written, the mayor's words being drowned out underneath his internal debate of whether he should read it or not.

"You ever lay eyes on Wayne at one of these things anymore?" Congressman Gilly asked Gordon, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"No one has. Not for the last couple of years." Deputy Commissioner Foley answered, standing a couple of feet away, facing the mayor.


"...people put their faith in a murderous thug in a mask and cape." The mayor was saying.

Above him, on the roof of Wayne Manor, a figure shrouded in darkness watched over the party, listening carefully to the mayor's words.

"A thug who showed his true nature when he betrayed the trust of this great man..." Garcia continued, gesturing to one of the portraits of Harvey. "...and murdered him in cold blood."


"Hey, hey." Gilly said, lightly grabbing the arm of one of the maids, a pretty, young brunette carrying a tray of seafood. "Not so fast with the chow, sweetheart."

"Shrimp balls?" The servant asked, holding up the tray and looking down nervously.

"Thank you." Gilly smiled and winked at her, taking two of the finger food snacks from the tray.

The waitress nodded, walking away more quickly than she had been before, Cullen watching after her.


"...Jim Gordon can tell you the truth about Harvey Dent." Garcia said. "In fact, I'll let him tell you himself." He gestured over to where Gordon was standing, again examining the papers in his hand. "Commissioner Gordon."

The crowd clapped enthusiastically as Gordon walked up to the podium, shaking hands with the mayor as he stepped aside. Gordon represented the last of the "old guard" that the Gotham citizens had known, and he had been looked to over the last eight years as a figure of leadership, sometimes more than the mayor. But there was no arguing that lately, Gordon had started to seem tired with his job, and that apathy had started to leak into the rest of Gotham.

"The truth?" Gordon mused, looking down at his speech. He looked up at the crowd, but all he saw was a memory.


Gordon held out his arm in panic, pleading and panicking.

Harvey Dent, half of his face burned away, the other half twisted in a maniacal grin, holding Gordon's son in one hand and a gun in the other.


"I have...written a speech..." Gordon said, almost too quietly, even with the podium's microphone. "...telling the truth about Harvey Dent."


Harvey screamed in anger, and Gordon stared into his scarred eye, not even recognizing his friend anymore.


Gordon looked into the faces of everyone who, just like him, had believed in Harvey. And, in that moment, he knew he couldn't destroy that belief.

"Maybe the time isn't right." Gordon decided, tucking the papers into his coat. "Maybe right now..." He said, trying to pick a new topic, "...all you need to know is that there are one thousand inmates in Blackgate Prison as a direct result of the Dent Act. These are violent criminals, essential cogs in the organized-crime machine. Maybe, for now, all I should say about the death of Harvey Dent is this..." Gordon trailed off, trying to justify the words he was saying, no matter how strong the urge to speak the truth was.

"...it has not been not for nothing." Gordon finished, nodding nervously.

On top of Wayne Manor's roof, the silhouetted figure walked away, disappearing from view as the audience applauded again.


"You see the guy who owns the house?" One of the kitchen maids asked her co-worker.

"No, I heard he never leaves the east wing." The second maid answered, as the brunette maid who had given the congressman his shrimp balls, Selina, walked near them, placing more food onto her platter.

"I heard he had an accident." One of the maids said, adding the brunette to the conversation.

"Yeah, that he's disfigured. He has to wear a-"

"Mr. Till?" The aged British accent cut through the theorizing, and every member of the kitchen staff turned to face Alfred Pennyworth, who was overseeing all of the night's festivities. "Why are your people using the main staircase?" Alfred asked, gesturing at the mads with the key in his hand.

Mr. Till looked around nervously, with no answer.

"And where's Mrs. Bolton?" Alfred continued.

The kitchen staff responded immediately, moving in all directions, looking around for the missing guest.

"She's at the bar, sir." Selina said, walking across the kitchen. "Can I help?"

"The east drawing room." Alfred instructed, handing her the key. "Unlock the door, put the tray on the table, lock the door again. Nothing more."


Selina walked alone through the empty halls, her footsteps echoing on the stairs, the enormous tray of food in her hand.


"I'm sorry, Mr. Daggett. I tried, but he won't see you." Alfred explained to the Wayne Enterprises board member standing before him.

"I suppose I shouldn't take it personally." Daggett shrugged. "I mean, everyone knows that Wayne's holed up in there with 8-inch nails, peeing in Mason jars." He let out a small chuckle to let Alfred know he was joking, but got no reaction from the butler.


Selina entered the east drawing room slowly, looking around for any sign of the elusive owner of the house. She walked across the marble floor, still scanning over the ornate wall decorations. She set the tray down on a large, round, wooden table, but before she followed the third step Alfred had given her, she noticed door across the room, which was slightly ajar. It was then that she decided to ignore the third step.


"I just feel like I'm wasting my time." Daggett shrugged. "I mean, I should be furious with him, but I just want to...I don't know, figure this whole situation out, you know? It's extremely important."

"I do wish I could help you, Mr. Daggett." Alfred replied. "But he's been...disagreeable lately, as you know."


"Second shift reports in?" Gordon asked Foley, trying to avoid any conversations from party guests.

"You should spend some more time with the mayor." Foley suggested, chuckling.

"Well, that's your department." Gordon smiled, patting Foley's arm with a smile, and walking away into the crowd. He was happy to leave the party now that his part was done, as he had done consistently for the past few years.

Foley nodded curtly, but his friendly face turned to annoyance when the Commissioner was out of view.

"Anyone showed him the crime stats?" Congressman Gilly asked him.

"He goes by his gut and it bothers him, no matter what the numbers." Foley answered.

"Must be popular with his wife." Gilly noted.

"Not really." Foley shrugged. "She took the kids and left for Cleveland."

"He'll have plenty of time for visits." Gilly said. "The mayor's going to dump him in the spring."

"Really?" Foley asked, surprised.

"Mmm-hmm." Gilly answered, taking a drink.

"But he's a hero." Foley said, trying to figure out the mayor's reasoning.

"A war hero." Gilly corrected. "This is peacetime."


Selina had entered the other room, which was just as large and spacious as the last, with almost all of the furniture and decorations removed or covered in plastic sheets. She slowly approached a wooden table, picking up a framed picture of a couple smiling. It had been torn in two and burned around the edges, but someone had taken a lot of time to preserve it. She set it down next to a picture of a young, pretty brunette woman smiling up at the sky. Selina thought she recognized the woman, but couldn't place exactly where from, most likely some sort of political or law enforcement job.


In the room where she had left the tray of food, a robed figure slowly slinked out of the shadows. The figure lifted the tray's lid, but paused when he heard the sound of footsteps echoing through the room ahead, past the open door.


Selina slowly walked towards a target practice sheet had been hung in front of a large wooden dresser, with what seemed like hundreds of puncture marks in it, as well as a few arrows still stuck in the wood. Just as she slowly reached up to touch one of the arrows, another one slammed into the wood, inches away from her face.

Selina screamed and recoiled away from the sheet, slapping a hand to her mouth as she turned in the direction that the arrow had come from. She saw, standing there, slowly lowering a bow, Bruce Wayne, though more bearded and tired-looking than the last time he had been seen in public.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so terribly sorry, Mr. Wayne." She said, her voice a quiet, fearful whisper.

Bruce didn't answer, leaning the bow against a dresser and slowly walking towards her. As he moved, he had a slight limp, only adding to the look of tiredness he had.

"It is Mr. Wayne, isn't it?" Selina asked, now with a nervous smile. "I mean, you don't have the long nails, or the...the facial scars, sir..." She trailed off awkwardly, her smile fading away as she looked at the ground.

"Is that what they say about me?" Bruce asked.

"It's just that...no-one ever sees you." Selina answered, shrugging.

Bruce nodded, stopping. "That's a beautiful necklace." He noted, staring at the string of pearls around her neck.

Selina's nervous look didn't fade away.

"It reminds me of one that belonged to my mother." Bruce went on, walking towards the table that Selina had been near a few moments before. "But it couldn't be the same one, because her pearls were in a safe." As he spoke, he opened the doors underneath the table, revealing the door of a small metal safe.

"Which the manufacturer clearly explained is uncrackable." Bruce finished, slightly moving the safe's door, which slid open freely.

Selina, realizing she had been caught, let go of the nervous, meek act, and set herself in her default mode. The unassuming waitress disappeared under a sly smile, playful eyes, which rose to meet his, now exuding confidence.

"Oops." She smirked. "Nobody told me it was uncrackable."

"I'm afraid I can't let you take those." Bruce smiled, but there was an underlying threat to his words.

"Look," Selina said, walking towards him "You wouldn't beat up a woman, any more than I'd beat up a cripple, so-" Before Bruce could react, Selina delivered a sharp kick to what she had assessed as his hurt leg, adding a punch to his stomach.

Bruce let out a weak groan and toppled to the floor, letting out a loud thud.

"Of course, sometimes exceptions have to be made." Selina added, walking away from him and towards one of the room's large windows. She pulled it open, crawling on top of the ledge and squatted, still facing Bruce.

Bruce looked up, seeming confused that she had gotten the drop on him.

"Goodnight, Mr. Wayne." Selina said, before flipping backwards off of the window, falling out of sight.

Bruce pulled himself to his feet, but didn't go after her. He just stopped, processing what had happened.


Selina walked quickly away from Wayne Manor, seeing that the party was starting to die down. She pulled the white accessorizing pieces from her clothes, removing the look of a waitress and leaving a plain black dress. She tossed them to the ground, smiling when she saw Congressman Gilly's car, which was doubling as an unwitting getaway vehicle. Her plan had gone exactly as she had meant it to. Cullen looked surprised when she sat next to him, but it faded away to a smile when his bodyguard closed the door behind her.

"Can I have a ride?" Selina asked, putting a sultry layer over her words, knowing that she already had him.

"You read my mind." Gilly, already a little tipsy, tapped the glass partition in front of them. "Let's go."

Selina's fake smile remained, but for a reason the Congressman had no idea about. As much as she wished it could be this easy, she wasn't done yet.


"Mr. Daggett was asking for you again." Alfred told Bruce, as he approached him.

Bruce was kneeling, looking inside of the safe. "He's very persistent." Bruce replied, trying to remember the phone number of the manufacturer.

"But you've come to expect that at this point." Alfred said. "What are you doing?"

"We've been robbed." Bruce answered.

"And this is your idea of sounding the alarm, is it?" Alfred smiled.

"She took the pearls, tracking device and all." Bruce added.

"She?" Alfred asked.

"One of the maids." Bruce clarified. "Perhaps you should stop letting them in this side of the house."

"Perhaps you should start learning to make your own bed." Alfred replied.

Bruce nodded, but didn't answer, and started to slowly walk out of the room. He had already dusted some of the prints on the safe, but to properly analyze them, he would have to return to a section of the house that he hadn't been to in a very long time.


AN: So guys, that's the beginning of my version of The Dark Knight Rises. As you can see, not too many changes, but in future chapters you'll see many more, I promise. For now, hopefully you like what you've read, and hopefully you'll want to read some more.