Too long. Too long I have wasted, festering like an open wound in this accursed dungeon. This asylum has held me within its confines, and assaulted my mind with its disease. This insidious place, with its decadence and insanity.
My mind was clouded. Now it is clear. No longer am I dominated by the bleak stone walls, the hopeless waters. Never again shall I know the shame of defeat. The Batman's victory is a thorn in my side, but I shall not let it bleed me dry.
Like him, I shall rise from my own ashes. After all, am I not Bane? Am I not power made manifest? Am I not strength incarnate? My mind is sharp, my body tempered, my will indomitable. Through those bars, under that skyline, there is only weakness.
I am not bound by these walls. Memories are my torment. Failure haunts me. After all I accomplished, it would seem I am alone, disgraced, with nothing to show for my genius. My plan was flawless, my strategy sound, the execution perfect. Every contingency was considered. What other have only dreamed of, I accomplished.
He was outsmarted. He was outmatched. He was outcast. And by who? Me! Against the odds, I overcame. I won. I did what no other could. No other will again. Nothing and no one can ever change that fact.
It is I who broke the Bat.
Why, then, does he yet stalk the night? Why does he rule Gotham from the shadows, protecting the innocent, while I rot? He has his family, his friends, and most importantly his freedom. He spreads his leather wings while I remain caged.
Defeat. Humiliation. These are of little consequence to him. As long as there is a city in need, nothing will end his crusade. I broke his back and with it, his spirit. But he recovered. He rose again. Stronger, perhaps. More focused.
Not even death can take that from him.
There is no sense in continuing this feud. I must find for myself a new purpose. It is not enough that I will be known and respected. I will have followers, as he is followed. I will have fame, as he is famed. And I will have a city, as he has Gotham.
And he is welcome to it.
I have no use for these streets. The citizens of this stain upon the world, they hold no interest to me. Generations will pass and this urban hell will decay. But I shall prosper. I shall thrive. My name will resound with the undeniable power it represents. People will not dare speak of me, lest they find themselves a victim of my wrath.
Guided, of course, by my code. The angels will watch over me. In their name, I will bring sinners to their knees. Dictators and warlords shall tremble at the sound of my voice. My shadow will strike terror into the hearts of ungodly men. The way his shadow inspires fear.
I will not stop at a single city, however. No. I will have all of Santa Prisca bow before me. I will have a whole country to praise and give thanks to me. I will take all that I deserve, until my legend is uttered with as much awe and wonder as his myth. I will be likened unto a God.
And then…only then, will I return to Gotham. And then I shall watch his city burn. He will live to see it. Killing him will make me the victor. First, he must lose everything he holds dear. I will watch him tear himself apart, unable to save those he cares for. His suffering will be sweet. And when there is nothing and no one to save, then the Bat will break.
Not his spine, not his will, but his mind.
These shackles amuse me. The chains snap like paperclips. I will tear down these walls and I will walk from this place. I will leave this broken city and make my way across the ocean. I will return at last to Santa Prisca.
I am going home.