Disclaimer: I do not own any Batman characters. They are the property of DC Comics. Please don't sue me. I only really own the character I made up, Patricia.
The airport was quiet, Patricia had never seen an airport that quiet. Still filled with people, they were huddled around televisions watching Bane's latest statement. Patricia and Wilson paused.
"Behind you stands a symbol of oppression; Blackgate Prison, where a thousand men have languished under the name of this man..." He was holding up a picture. The man had blonde hair and a kind smile. "Harvey Dent, who has been held up to you as the shining example of justice."
"Who is Harvey Dent sir?" Patricia asked.
"The old DA. He was said to have been killed by Batman." Wilson replied.
"You have been supplied with a false idol to stop you from tearing down this corrupt city. Let me tell you the truth about Harvey Dent from the words of Gotham's police commissioner, James Gordon." Bane continued. Patricia saw a woman in the airport crying. Her dirty blonde hair was hanging at her face and two kids were sitting on either side of her. A teenage girl, blue streaks in her naturally blonde hair, had her head in her mothers shoulder. The teenage boy, however, the same blonde hair as his mom's was staring intently at the television. The mention of Commissioner Gordon's name catching his attention and causing his knuckles to turn white. "'The Batman didn't murder Harvey Dent, he saved my boy then took the blame for Harvey's appalling crimes so that I could, to my shame, build a lie around this fallen idol. I praised the mad man who tried to murder my own child but I can no longer live with my lie. It is time to trust the people of Gotham with the truth and it is time for me to resign.' " The woman cried harder.
"This is going to turn into a shit storm." Wilson said, his hand was tapping his belt. A nervous twitch he had adopted when he was promoted to director.
"And do you accept this man's resignation? Do you accept the resignation of all these liars? Of all the corrupt?"
"What's he getting at?" Wilson asked. Patricia felt her arms shaking.
"What ever it is, sir. It's nothing good."
"We take Gotham from the corrupt! The rich! The oppressors of generations who have kept you down with myths of opportunity, and we give it back to you... the people. Gotham is yours. None shall interfere. Do as you please. Start by storming Blackgate, and freeing the oppressed!" Bane continued. "Step forward those who would serve. For and army will be raised. The powerful will be ripped from their decadent nests, and cast out into the cold world that we know and endure. Courts will be convened. Spoils will be enjoyed. Blood will be shed. The police will survive, as they learn to serve true justice. This great city... it will endure. Gotham will survive!" As he finished his speech, the cameras quickly moved. A tank had a gun pointed at them. The camera dropped and there was a moment of static as a loud bang sounded through it's microphones.
"My God!" The cameraman must have been the one talking. The camera pointed at a now gaping hole in the side of a wall. For a moment there was just dust settling, but then men, by the dozens, wearing orange jumpsuits came storming through. The camera cut off and a reporter came quickly into view. Sitting in a studio, she was claiming technical difficulties.
"At least we know the police are safe for right now." Patricia commented. "Down in those sewers, they might not be able to help, but the prisoners can't get to them either."
"We should be going." Wilson stated and Patricia followed them to get their luggage.
The sunlight was almost painful after being in the artificial light of the airport. A young man walked up to them, he couldn't have been more than 21. He looked like how television and movies think FBI agents should look. He was dressed in a black suit, black tie, and dark sunglasses. His light blonde hair almost looked out of place.
"Mr. Wilson? Miss. Robertson?" He asked.
"Mr. Tiller?" Wilson replied and the kid nodded before smiling. Patricia could tell he was wearing a gun on his hip and another on his ankle. He graciously picked up Patricia's bag and lead them to a black SUV. Patricia climbed in the back and rested her elbows on her knees. She cocked her head to the side once the vehicle started moving through the city. DC looked normal, despite the crisis in Gotham. People went in and out of grocery shops, moms took their children into daycare, and college kids went into bars for an early drunk. She couldn't imagine what the people of Gotham were experiencing. As far as she knew no one had left the city, the military wasn't letting anyone across the only bridge left and the tunnels out of the city had been blocked. The SUV they were in came to a standstill and Patricia sat up.
"I'm sorry." Tiller said quickly. "It's about that time. Traffic can come to a crawl or worse sometimes. I'll have us there as soon as I can." Patricia let her body fall against the comfortable seats. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Bane. The current Bane, cold, heartless. She closed her eyes anyway. Nightmares had stopped her normal sleep pattern. Well, what she called a normal sleep pattern. Going from 4 hours a night to 1 was just unhealthy. A thought popped into her head as she felt the seat behind her, a memory.
"How long have we been running for?" Patricia asked. She was sitting in a chair in a very small hotel room in Berlin, Germany.
"2 years?" Dominic replied. "You were 14 when we left."
"Then two years." Patricia commented.
"You should have stayed to finish school." Dominic's voice sounded sad. He was laying on the hotel room bed. He body was tired, they had been in China the previous morning, and his belt had been taken off. As long as he didn't move the pain would stay at bay.
"What happened to you?" Patricia asked. She could see a flash of pain cloud his eyes. Not physical pain, mental. "You've never told me."
"I didn't want to scare you." He said quietly. Patricia stood up and moved to the opposite side of the bed, trying her best not to move the matress very much she laid down beside him. She heard him sigh.
"I was three or four. My mom woke me up late one night. I remember my room was so dark. She told me to hide under the bed. Men had broken into our home. I could hear stomping, a-and shouting. The men burst into the room. They found me, quickly. When they pulled me out from under the bed my mom began fighting." He took a ragged breath and Patricia felt his hand softly grasp hers. "She was so strong. She attacked the guy who was holding me. I think she stabbed him with something, but he was strong. He pulled me to the window. My room was on the second floor. He shouted something down, in a language I didn't understand. Then he dropped me." Patricia inhaled sharply. Her eyes were wide and she squeezed his hand, urging him to continue. "I felt an excruciating pain shoot down my back and I cried out, but as soon as I screamed a boot was put on my face. Someone trying to keep me quiet. I felt like I was suffocating and I tried kicking and pushing, but whenever I moved the pain was horrible. I saw my mom sneaking around the side of the house. The man holding me didn't." His eyes looked as if he was in a far off place. "I could feel warm blood running down my face mixing with tears. My mom jumped on the man. They fell into the darkness of the back yard and I tried to get up, call after her but all that came out was a scream. It hurt so bad that I passed out. When I woke up I was in a living room I didn't recognize and my mom was sitting a chair next to me. I felt so weak that I couldn't move. Mom told me not to."
"Where were you?" Patricia asked.
"A doctor friend of my moms. He told her my back was severely broken and would never be the same. The only thing they could do is keep giving me pain killers. I would never get better. The anesthetic they were using just made me tired. It was the only time I wasn't in pain. We stayed there until I was healed enough to move then we were on the run."
"Why?" Patricia asked. "Why are these men after you?"
"My father owes a debt." Dominic said with a sarcastic smile. "He offered me. That I be put in a prison instead of him."
"He can't do that!"
"Where he's from, he can. I am suppose to rot in prison for him." Patricia moved closer to him and rested her forehead against his shoulder. "They started catching up to us when I was eight. My mom knew we couldn't keep running."
"That's when you guys came to us." Patricia remembered. "You were about 8 then."
"My mom knew your parents from a long time ago. When she left me there I was barely coherent. I remember the news story your dad brought into me saying she was found dead."
"I'm sorry Dominic." Patricia said softly.
"You saved me." He was looking at her.
"Not yet." She replied seriously. I am going to get you out of this. In one way or another." She felt his hand squeeze hers as he closed his eyes.
Patricia's door opened and the bright light was almost blinding.
"Sorry if I woke you." Tiller said shyly.
"I wasn't sleeping." Patricia replied stepping out of the car. She fixed her blazer and followed Wilson into a back entrance to the white house. She was immediately searched. They were led into the heart of the famous residence and down toward a basement. The situation room there was white and very well lit, a stark contrast MI6. FBI director Parsons was there to greet them and they took two seats around a large table. The secretary of defense as well as the president were among the people chosen to decide what to do about Bane.
"Wilson, you seemed to have an idea over the phone. What was it?" Parsons asked.
"I think we should send men in with the food. Workers will have to drive the food in to the city. It should be special forces, a chosen few. We take their badges, give them different ID's, and send them in."
"The first rations will go in next week." Parsons commented.
"With all do respect sir." Patricia started. "We should not make a move that quickly."
"What do you mean?" He asked.
"I mean that Bane's men will be weary of any workers coming into the city. They'll expect cops. They need to be the same rotations of workers. The special forces and myself-"
"You think you're going in there?" Parsons asked.
"I know I'm going in there." Patricia answered. "I know Bane better than any of you. I've studied him. I'm also trained in the field." No one said anything. "Now, the special forces soldiers and myself should go every time for a few months. We need the men checking out the trucks to recognize us. Think that we're normal civilians who won't do anything."
"Alright, Robertson." The President said carefully. "Then you start your mission next week."
"Yes, sir." Patricia replied.
The days and planning ticked away slowly. Patricia's ID read 'Megan O'Reilly' and their first trip into Gotham was rapidly approaching. She guessed they figured she could pass for Irish with her red hair. They had picked several special forces officers that would rotate in and out. Communications with the saved commissioner Gordon as well as his detective had been made. They grocery shop they were going to had a back room where they would meet.
The ride across the bridge was slow and nerve racking. Patricia's driver was nervous and they were stopped before crossing completely. Men dressed for gorilla warfare checked their ID's. One eyed Patricia suspiciously.
"Ireland?" He asked, looking at her ID.
"Ey." she answered quickly.
"Why are you here?" He asked. She took notice of the machine gun hanging off of his shoulder.
"I came for the American dream." Her Irish accent flowed. She had practiced for weeks. "Didn't turn out as I expected." He laughed and Patricia felt her body slightly relax as he handed her ID back and let them pass. The shop was half stocked when they arrived. As the truck began unloading the man at the counter signaled Patricia to head to the back. She was unnaturally nervous and could hear her heart beating. He was somewhere in this city. Somewhere closer than they'd been in a long time. The first person she saw had dark hair and matching eyes. He was younger but his eyes looked hardened. Immediately he walked up to her.
"John Blake." He said while shaking her hand.
"Gordon's detective." Patricia said returning the handshake. "Patricia Robertson, MI6."
"Good to meet you." He said hurried.
"You'll see me every time a delivery is made. We're trying to get the guards use to us, to trust us. Eventually we'll come in with more power and some of us will start to stay, build up as many men as possible."
"We need all the help we can get."
"Try to keep people calm." Patricia said softly. "Hopefully people won't fall for Bane's ploy. Stay hidden and get as many high standing members of Gotham society to hide as well. You'll see me soon."
"Thank you."
"Good luck, Blake."