Disclaimer: I own nothing, apart from the stuff that is obviously not DC's or Chris Nolan's.

"Don't grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form" - Rumi

Chapter 2: African Aftermath

4 years later, Mali, Africa

Nights in the African bush were exceptional.

Endless expanse of clear sky painted with the galaxy's cosmos. A stupendous piece of natural artwork so bright, that all artificial light paled to its intense beauty. But this dancing star-studded performance was coming to an end. The black backdrop slowly fading into a soothing midnight blue as the nearest approaching star made its entrance.

As dawn approached, the sky began to shift into vibrant reds, vivid oranges and hazy yellows, hailing the sun's arrival as it peered over the horizon. The solar rays spread out to touch the cold, dry earth banishing the lingering shadows in its wake. Reviving the fresh green vegetation that contrasted garishly against the burnt orange sand that ascended into rocky outcrops of mountains that lay stranded on the margins of the Sahara desert.

This had been a daily sight for the young mercenary, who had for the past three weeks been on watch from the early hours till dawn. Chosen to watch out for possible hostile intruders but to keep a keen eye on new recruits still classified as undisciplined by his leader, Bane. Not that the young man minded, he was somewhat flattered that more experienced men deemed him mature and competent enough to oversee and lead others in the absence of their leader or his first lieutenant; Barsad.

A small vibration caught his attention whilst he sat in a camouflaged perch with his sniper rifle. He spared a quick glance at his wrist where his watch was silently pulsating, indicating the end of his shift, but he didn't move himself or his rifle an inch until he heard his replacement arrive. So for now, he admired the newly lit scenery while simultaneously looking for danger.

'Who said that men can't multitask?' he thought smugly, letting the sliver of arrogance suppressed deep within him to come forth for a split second.

The country was beautiful he had to admit, the beauty being in its remoteness and aridity despite the sprinkling of life in the form of widely dispersed patches of forest. He'd already seen many other marvellous places, especially since his current job required vast amounts of travel. In his mind though, nothing would beat the rough mountains bordering the blue grey sea of his home. He hadn't seen the country of his birth since he was sixteen, yet now and then he still felt the nauseating pang in his heart that was the tell-tale sign of homesickness, but he was always quick to push it away. There was no room for any sort of emotional weakness in the League of Shadows.

In an effort to turn his mind from unnecessary and troubling thoughts the mercenary scoped the terrain again, counting off the things he had yet to do once he was relieved. So far he'd determined that once he was back in his allotted tent he would disassemble his rifle, secure it, then join the rest of the army for breakfast before retiring to his tent for a nap. After his siesta, his afternoon was a little unplanned. Since the coup they'd pulled off here was a success, Bane was already having them prepare for the next step. They were way ahead of schedule but their transportation would not arrive for a while, so not many orders beyond the basic needed to be given. Regardless, he would still report to his leader for any instructions, but if there were none he hoped he could fit in at least six hours of training after he'd cleaned and checked his weaponry.

Yet with his entire schedule for the day half planned out, he couldn't shake the gut feeling that he was forgetting something and that was serious. If he'd neglected to remember an order it could cost him his life, no matter how competent a soldier.

His silent panic was interrupted, when he heard rustling from the foliage behind him. He gently gripped his handgun on his hip, only to relax at the sight of Barsad who army crawled through the undergrowth toward him.

"Another good perch, Lucan." complimented Barsad as he became level with the young man.

Lucan nodded his head in gratitude, before steadily folding his rifle's bipod so he could slip away. Barsad set his own weapon up on his stand before whispering.

"Bane says that he'll have no more orders for you until this evening at 21:00 hours."

Lucan nodded before crawling away.

By late morning Lucan was peering sleepily up at the ceiling of his tent from his bunk trying in vain to drift off. Normally after he'd had a full satisfying meal, he was off to sleep without any problems. After near two hours of being eluded by sleep, he'd deduced that his restlessness was stemming from the fact that he still couldn't help feeling that he'd forgotten something, something important.

Something very, very important.

Turning on his side huffing in frustration, he reached for his watch to check how much time he had left to sleep. Learning there was at least six and half hours left to rest, he moved to put the watch down when he caught sight of the date.

29th January 2011

He'd forgotten. He had forgotten today.

How could he have done?! This day of all days!

Shame, grief and despair filled his chest leaving him hollow except for his heaving heart pounding so hard it was if it was about to tear itself out of his rib cage. The flood of memories from eight years ago flooded his brain as he remembered why he privately grieved on this day.

It was four years ago to the day that his sister had died. His beautiful, strange sister, who had been one of the closest friends he'd ever had. She had been taken from him… from their family by her murderer.

A rich sadistic psychopath. A pure, cold-blooded twisted monster.

A monster that had the power to get away with it, not just with his sister but with other women in the past and many more since then and time and time again the higher authorities ignored it all.

Salt liquid overflowed from his tear ducts as he recalled that her birthday had been last week as well. She would have been twenty – seven. More misery filled him as he realised he had forgotten his own sister's birthday, whilst fighting in the coup.

Setting the watch down, he reached for his private bag, taking out a photograph of his sister before she was kidnapped. He felt the stinging tears in his eyes spill down his stubbled cheek while the throbbing pain in his chest threatened to send him into uncontrollable sobs. Fearing an audience to his outburst, he quickly checked his tent's entrance clasps before turning his back to the doorway, trying in vain to bring himself under control. He struggled for at least two hours before finally slipping into a deep, exhausted sleep.

Standing proudly at the entrance of one of the caves, Bane surveyed his army's camp. An army composed of men loyal to him, dedicated to any cause he ordered they follow.

Examining the campsite, Bane was pleased at the choice.

It was a strategic rocky outcrop the size of a small mountain, riddled with ancient caves and tunnels. There was enough vegetation present to provide decent cover for sentries. A tributary to supply clean water with a remote town nearby for their supplies. The location had been invaluable during the coup he had arranged, but now it was nearly time to leave. Most of the equipment had been packed and the majority of his men had moved to their next destination for the next step of the plan. In truth there was very little left to do. His men had done their jobs promptly, with expert precision and now they were ahead of schedule. He expected nothing less from them but the best.

Bane couldn't help but feel the anticipation ignite deep in his stomach. 'It won't be long now' he thought as he sauntered down the stone steps into the camp.

Soon he'd be in Gotham to execute a plan, eight years in the making. Finally they'd fulfil Ra's Al Ghul's destiny. It heartened him to know that he'd soon see Talia again before Gotham becomes nothing but ash, a blip in human history. The work of the League of Shadow's completed once and for all.

Burning grey eyes perused the camp before falling on one of three sparring rings in the training area. Within one ring he spotted a familiar figure; Lucan Owens, in the middle of a fight. Watching Bane was pleased at the young man's progress from his training.

Despite his youth, Lucan was powerful for one so young. Disciplined. Coupled with a maturity young men nowadays sorely lacked.

From the start, Lucan unquestionably gave his respect and loyalty to Bane. Always displaying genuine eagerness and tenacity to learn so as to improve, in order to better serve his leader. A trait that impressed both Bane and Barsad and after the first few years Lucan had earned both Bane's and Barsad's hard earned trust. He had also provided the army with rare but much needed skills, such as creativity and improvisation that had proved invaluable on many projects; only using it of course after seeking Bane's permission.

Making his way toward the fights, Bane reminisced to when he had first met his youngest recruit, almost eight years ago now. Lucan had been a young sixteen year old runaway, who'd caught Bane's attention in the underworld sparring rings whilst in Ukraine. These events sometimes offered opportunities to identify possible recruits.

30th September 2004, Odessa, Ukraine

It had been in the midst of the early hours of morning, deep within the underbelly of Odessa at least 50 metres below sea level. There the centuries old catacombs met the concrete foundations of the modern city. The rough, hazy orange of the sandstone moulding into the decaying soiled grey of the concrete. The concrete spread out to form a large room, which some of the frequent criminal visitors believed to have been an Old Soviet nuclear bunker.

The bunker contained two stories both littered with rotting furniture and moulding illegible paper, which were largely ignored, but the main attraction of this forsaken remnant of the cold war lay within its centre. It was octagonal opening, through which you could peer down to the first floor. Outlined by a continuous wall with cuboid pillar at each corner turned the vertical entrance into passable observing gallery for its new purpose. Since it's rediscovery by the criminal sects that ran Odessa, the bunker had hereby been converted into select place for criminals to convene for business or for the most favourite activity; competitive bare knuckle fighting. To accommodate these fights, someone had placed wire mesh within the inside of the ground floors corner pillars creating a makeshift fighting cage with only one section containing a passable rusted metal door to make it possible for one to enter and exit. It was then finished with an old fishing net stretched above to prevent objects being thrown into the fights from gambling observers watching from the balcony.

It was standing on that very balcony overlooking the ring, that Barsad and Bane had meticulously watched each combatant as they fought. Dismissing and judging different fighters based on fighting skill and perceived character. Bane had scorned everyone mainly due to their pompous personalities. Arrogance had no place with him, if you were found openly displaying it amongst his ranks you would be severely punished or worse, terminated and easily replaced.

Just as he was about to voice the order for he and his men to leave, the manager caught the last drops of his attention, as he announced the arrival of the last fighter who'd been champion for three weeks running. Bored and indifferent at this point, Bane pictured this so-called champion. He would most likely be tall for the average male with a large physique from hours of training which while the dedication was admirable, but utterly wasted on the man's ego. Bane was half tempted to go into the ring after this so-called champion had finished and properly instruct him in true combat, before ending his pathetic life.

Nothing had prepared him for when he was greeted with the sight of a young boy. This child had to have been fifteen or sixteen by Bane's reckoning and at least between 5'7" to 5'8" in height. His golden brown hair had been cut short, just over an inch of bristle. His shirtless torso bearing signs of malnutrition but it still held the unmistakable sign of muscle build up, padding his steadily broadening shoulders. He couldn't have come from a poor background as he still had a childlike roundness to his face which betrayed his youth and an obvious well fed upbringing. Nevertheless what made Bane pause in consideration was the boy's demeanour as he faced his opponent, who outmatched him in weight, height and age. He saw no fear on his face and from what he could see of his eyes from the height of his seat. Bane only observed determination and resolve. It was abnormally mature behaviour for a teenager especially from this part of the world.

A loud foghorn announced the start of the match and the rules were simple…and brutal.

The fight only ended when one had surrendered, been knocked out or declared dead. Bane watched with renewed interest as the boy raised his guard and scrutinized his challenger with calculation a sheer contrast to the primal aggression his opponent shamelessly and stupidly showed. The challenger charged believing the boy would balk, emitting unnatural hissing and spitting noises from his mouth whilst panting heavily as if the sound came from some amalgam of raging bull and a furious venomous snake. His charge quickly turned into pivotal mistake as the youngster neatly dodged and delivered hard precise blows to his abdomen. The lad's adversary fell on one knee from the unexpected efficient punches. Bane noted that the child was deceptively stronger than he looked. The competitor garbled in a high pitch and barely intelligible Russian, spitting out globules of saliva as he made to stand once again with the visible intention of murder in his glare. Unfortunately for him, he never got the chance to act on his fury, as the boy quickly took advantage delivering a hard round kick to his contender's head making it crack hard against the concrete floor, which was decorated with the dried and fresh blood of previous fights. The rival was down and out and the teenager named champion.

Bane watched, impressed, as the boy took his prize without any personal celebration before making a brisk exit, ignoring the foreign cheers for his victory or the congratulatory pats on his young back from victorious gamblers. Bane was intrigued, though Barsad was concerned with his youth, considering it a possible disadvantage to them. The only way to be sure however, required a face to face with the boy, so Bane ordered his men to tail the teenager, report his activities and ultimately where his lodgings were.

Later that night, his men recounted that the boy had used his reward to buy key essentials and afterwards had gone to an old abandoned warehouse on the most remote side of the docks, which he had clearly made his home.

His men slipped silently inside the dilapidated warehouse and watched as the boy shared his supplies and clothing with two other's; both boys. The other minors appeared to be on friendly terms with their quarry, although they were slightly younger and definitely more malnourished. Bane gave the final order to bring all three boys and their effects to him, without fuss. Putting Barsad in charge of the extraction, he executed it to the letter. The trio were firmly restrained and their belongings confiscated. They were placed in separate, windowless rooms for the night while he perused their possessions, to give him some insight into this potential recruit as well as the two others, who could become useful in time.

Normally, Bane would never even consider enlisting someone this young but he always prided himself on being an excellent judge of character and if his deductions were correct about the boy, then he could gain a valuable asset to his army. If not, it wasn't a situation that was difficult to rectify, he would just order their demise and have their bodies dumped in the Black Sea.

He had watched from an unseen vantage point, as the boys were hauled into his army's current base. He had taken the opportunity to look over the other two. They appeared to be at least a year younger than his target and obviously starving, but with proper feeding and training they could be force to be reckoned with, all depending of course on their mindset.

Assured that they were too incapacitated to escape, his men brought him their possessions. The first two he skimmed through, belonged to the other two boys. All they contained was a few coins, worn clothing, and scraps of food along with crumpled photos and strangely, both had frayed birth certificates and other official state documents. Further reading revealed both of them were from state run orphanages and that the young boys were in fact soon to be young men. Malnutrition had made them appear younger than they actually were. Quickly scanning through the rest before he was satisfied he finally turned to the property of the boy, who'd originally caught his attention.

The boys' bag was a large most likely expensive waterproof rucksack plastered with various pockets and assorted zips. Bane opened each of the surface pockets and zips, careful not to miss anything that could provide valuable insight into this potential recruit. At first, he only pulled out various banal things such as clothing, food, matches, a lighter and water. It was only when he reached the bottom of the bag's main compartment, concealed under tightly packed clothes, did any major insight into the boys history and character reveal itself. At the bottom, were an assortment of diversely sized envelopes and folded up papers.

Back in the present, Bane broke his reverie, to find himself a couple of yards away from the training ring, within which the object of his recollections was easily dispatching yet another opponent. Observing his second lieutenant, Bane noticed something was off with Lucan.

Whenever Lucan fought whether in training or in live combat, he fought with a cold and tactical demeanour, taking in everything and giving away nothing; devoid of any ferocity or anger in his facial expressions or body language. But now looking at him fight, Bane could see his eyes baring the tiniest glint of rage, his jaw set hard, no doubt grinding his teeth and his entire body tensed with carefully contained wrath. If anyone else had been looking at him they would have missed these little tells, but Bane intimately knew the men he trusted. Watching as Lucan finished off his opponent; he'd already concluded that something significant had triggered this unusual and extremely rare bout of hidden rage.

Bane knew only specific little things would provoke such ferocity from within Lucan. He knew such anger would be triggered by atrocities such as rape and the like. Bane himself upheld the same value on that subject and strictly expected the same of his men. They were to be an army of men not barbaric animals but right now he could see the pain and grief behind the rage of his second lieutenant. It swiftly dawned on him, that there could be one possible reason to incite this amount of anger. Turning on his heel, Bane advanced towards his private tent kicking up the dusty soil in his wake. His men milled past him, respectfully bowing their heads as they went about their duties. Entering his temporary living space, he turned his head to the digital alarm on his work desk that displayed the time and date.

15:43pm, 29th January 2011.

'Ah, as I suspected' Bane thought, clinically noting the date and source of his second lieutenant's anguish.

This was the day he had learnt of his sister's murder within the filthy bowls of Gotham. By one of the city's elite no less. Moving over to his desk, Bane lowered himself into his chair with unusual grace for a man of his bulk, before reaching into one of the pockets of his cargo pants, to pull out a single photograph. Gazing at the face on the slightly creased photo, Bane allowed his mind to again wander to when he'd first met the young man face to face.

Pulling out the paperwork, Bane arranged them on his desk. In all there were two envelopes; the first one contained the basics of the boys' background; a passport and birth certificate. Both documents declared him as Lucan Gruffudd Owens. Born 27th March 1988, in Wales, to Alys Siân Owens née Thomas and Marc Gwilym Owens.

Bane felt slightly stunned at some of the names that he could hardly pronounce. The language sounded so foreign, even to him! So much so, that while he quickly did a search on the location, he briefly entertained the idea that the passport and certificate were fake. But low and behold, it turned out the words he had found hard to pronounce were of an old Celtic language that was still kept alive within the country.

Bane didn't care for feeling shock, in his eyes it indicated poor planning and pathetic foresight, it irked him that something as little as an unknown language could shock him. However it wasn't something that couldn't be righted and it served as a reminder that despite being a highly educated man, he still didn't know everything even if it was only a barely used language from a corner of Europe and that when occurrences like these arise it was best to learn from them.

Bane turned to the final envelope and the heaviest, where he found various photographs of the boy and of what were obviously his family. The first few were pretty generic and predictable; pictures of the boy with his father or some with his mother. Strangely both the boy's mother and father bore little resemblance to him, only a mere feature or two between them but despite that, in all of the photographs, the two adults looked at their son with pride and love.

As Bane quickly skimmed through them, he discovered that the images of the parents only made a fraction of the total photographs, the rest all shared a common theme; a girl. One image held both her and the boy; they both looked very similar in their youth leading Bane to immediately realise that they were siblings. Unlike their parents both brother and sister looked very alike. They both had the same face and eye shape, despite the boy's eye colour being vibrant amber and hers a deep emerald green. The siblings shared the same golden brown hair though hers fell down to her elbow in curls and waves. Both were smiling at the other, blatantly revealing their close bond.

Bane looked at the girl closely with more interest than what was considered normal for him when expressing attention to the opposite sex, with the exception of Talia. The girl hadn't been the stereotyped image that western society deemed the epitome of beauty but she was a beauty. Her loveliness reminded him of the photos he had seen of the classic actresses from 'The Golden Age of Hollywood' which he had come across while studying the western world, particularly with her round cheeks, soft features and very fair skin. The images of her varied in location but she was always smiling. Her smile was always the most prominent feature especially with her eyes lit up. Though there was one photograph that particularly caught his attention.

It had been taken outside amongst the woodland, probably in late spring or early summer going by the intense green of the surrounding foliage. The girl was centre frame; sitting down, resting her back against the trunk of a tree with her knees bent upward in front of her. The first most striking aspect of that photograph was that she was encircled by colourful woodland flowers most of them bluebells. The second was for unknown reasons, the one that captured his interest the most; the expression on her face.

It was clearly taken without her knowledge as she wasn't looking toward the camera or the photographer. Instead she was gazing far off in the distance with the most peaceful and contented smile on her face. Undoubtedly taken on a sunny day, going by the golden glow of sunlight that had illuminated her face brilliantly, it almost as if her personality had now become her appearance and… she was magnificently beautiful. For reasons hardly known even to him at the time or even in future, he was entranced by her and envious of the inner contentment and peace that she radiantly gave off as if everything in the world was in balance.

Bane didn't know how long he had stared at that photograph but once he had broken himself out of his trance, he put everything back in the bag, except for that photo, which he tucked into the chest pocket of his leather jacket.

The following morning his men fed the prisoners before bringing them to him, ordering for the two other boys first, in order to leave the boy… Lucan last. Bane sat in his chair whilst the two were brought in and shoved to their knees. Their guards flanked them, weapons at the ready. Bane took the opportunity to analyse the two properly at close quarters.

When they had been brought in, Bane had noted that they were slightly taller than Lucan but a great deal skinnier. One appeared to be of Turkish background. Bane could see that that boy's steely grey eyes were warily observing him from beneath his bowed head. The other who had looked local was also adopting the same pose; deliberately showing deference while simultaneously keeping their eyes on him. Good behaviour in Bane's eyes, as they were showing him respect in their fear while remaining alert to his actions. Once deciding that the tense silence had gone on long enough, Bane spoke.

"Hasad Koval. Andriy Kukharenko. Raise your heads, look at me."

His order was met with silence, with very little movement from the boys as they remained submissively knelt before him. Bane knew perfectly well that they spoke English as that was in the report given by his men before they were taken from the warehouse.

"I advise that both you refrain from feigning ignorance with me by pretending to not understand" leaning forward in his chair its slow, quiet creaking somehow enunciating his following words. "It would be extremely unfortunate for you to decide such."

His low mechanical growl hit its mark as both boys raised their heads slowly; afraid that moving too quickly would incite an aggressive response from him, had they been wolves, Bane was sure the fur on their hackles would have been raised with their ears laying back flat.

The one that appeared to be of Turkish background, Hasad; had near shoulder length shaggy black hair, and sharp steel coloured eyes. His skin would have been a healthy bronzed hue but lack of nutrition had reduced its colouring to a grey tinge and what would have been a youthful face was now thin and hollow. The other one, Andriy had unkempt and matted blonde hair tied back at the nape of his neck and near black-brown eyes. Like Hasad beside him, Andriy was also thin from malnutrition but due to his pale skin, he looked eerily like a ghoul, than his companion.

Bane knew what he offered. It was the same proposal for every man under his command. He did not offer trivial goals such as wealth and fame that appealed to the weaker minded parasites. What he presented was far more meaningful as well as powerful; he offered purpose. The opportunity to actively maintain balance within their world. All he asked in return was complete obedience and unfailing loyalty to him, his Brotherhood and ultimately the League of Shadows. There would be no selfish hidden agenda's disguised as good intentions, there would be no deceit from him and Bane both expected and demanded that his men showed nothing but complete honesty to him in turn.

Bane didn't mince words but he did know how to speak a proposition in a way that made it appealing and inspiring, in summary he was a superb and flawless orator and that talent was impeccably used when he worded this alternative life to the two kneeling boys. Watching them, Bane saw how their postures began to steadily relax as he spoke; he noted their guarded expressions start to ever so slowly slip into disbelief and as Bane saw to his satisfaction, hope starting to spark within their sombre gaze.

That was all Bane needed to see to know that these boys were with him now. It would take a bit longer for the unquestionable loyalty to be achieved but Bane was confident that that would not be an issue. Bane finished by asking the two young men outright if they would follow him.

'As if they had an actual choice,' he mused. It should have been obvious to the boys had they not been too busy listening to him that there was only two choices and only one of them led to life but he concealed this as the boys quickly glanced at the other before turning back to him.

"I accept… sir" responded Hasad in heavily accented and broken English, clearly trying to choose the right words while Andriy gave a deep nod to confirm that his decision matched his friends.

The corner of Bane's eyes crinkled as he smiled behind his mask, he signalled the guards to untie them.

"Roberts, Hussein." Both guards stood to attention, as Bane stood, his hands clasped behind his back and feet set firmly astride. "Take the new recruits to the mess. Once fed, take them to their new bunkers in the communal quarters. Tuition will begin once I've arranged a schedule and two individuals to guide them and inform Barsad to bring in the third boy. You're dismissed".

Both men bowed their heads and Bane smirked as Hasad and Andriy tried emulating them before following them out.

Bane paced steadily as he waited for Barsad to arrive with their last prisoner. A leisurely walk or in this case relaxed pacing, had always helped him focus when he was assessing how to get the information he wanted and currently he wanted to know whether the boy had what it took to survive this life and most importantly if he held a similar of the world to the one's held by the League. In the midst of planning his cross-examination his thoughts went to the photos… and then immediately to the girl.

He abruptly stopped his unhurried walk and took out the photograph of said girl. He wondered what her name was and why most of the photos were of her. His intuition told him that for whatever reason, the boy's presence in this part of the world was intertwined with the current fate of the young woman. She would be without a doubt the boy's main pressure point and he fully intended to use it.

Hearing the approach of two sets of footsteps, one distinctly belonging Barsad. Bane walked back to his workspace and sat back down in his chair, placing the photograph face down on the desk. Crossing his large muscular arms over his barrel chest, Bane waited for them to enter. The heavy steel door swung open to reveal a stone faced Barsad, who firmly nudged the muzzle of his rifle into the back of the boy, pushing him forward. Unlike the previous two, this boy didn't lower his head or his gaze but there was no arrogance or pride in his defiance, only a quiet acceptance.

It was in identifying this solemn acceptance that Bane realised this boy expected to die; he had obviously spent the night preparing for his fate whilst the others had cowered and panicked.

'Intelligent, logical and promise of good perception. Very good' thought Bane inwardly pleased by the boy's display of favourable traits.

Confident that the boy wouldn't try something idiotic, Bane gestured to Barsad to bring another chair. Placing the chair behind the boy, Barsad firmly placed his hand on his shoulder and pressed him down. The boy obeyed and adjusted his position to accommodate his trussed up hands behind his back. No longer wishing to delay, Bane addressed the young man.

"Lucan Owens. That is your name boy?" In response Bane saw Lucan turn his gaze from him to pointedly look at the wall at his back, undoubtedly spotting his rumpled backpack resting against it.

"With all due respect, you know that's my name as you have my pack" As his indifferent stare snapped back to Bane.

"Correct" answered the mechanical purr, amused by Lucan's forwardness. It hadn't been disrespectful otherwise his neck would have been snapped before he could have fully comprehended his mistake. "But I want to have the truth from you. As you see, I am intrigued to discover why a young man… from a good upbringing would find himself brawling with the scum of the underground."

His captive remained silent but Bane could see the inner war being waged behind his tawny eyes. He was obviously conflicted about whether or not to tell him, so Bane decided to give him a push in the proper direction, finally seeing a use for the photograph he had taken.

"Perhaps if I send my men to the home of your parents or even to this young woman here" Bane held up the image of the girl in front of the boy's face, pleased to see his captive's body become perfectly still as he locked onto the image. "Maybe they'll be more co-operative."

Bane watched the boy carefully, curious to see that while he was still on edge, he could just detect flickers of relief in his eyes. But it was clear he felt threatened and Bane was satisfied at how his words provoked the boy to tense; he could practically hear the muscles in his body tautening. The boy… Lucan, finally raised his gaze from the photograph to meet his own and gave a surrendering nod. Bane placed the image back on the table and spoke.

"Wise choice, now explain"

Lucan paused before he spoke, his voice stone cold but brimming with suppressed rage.

"I'm here because some rich elitist bastard kidnapped my sister to be his fucking toy"

Raising his brows, Bane thought this inconsequential. He'd heard of many girls selling their bodies and a mockery of affection and love in exchange for money and favours.

'Strange, I would never have taken her for one of those women' he thought to himself, slightly confused by the slightest hardening in his stomach that strangely resembled disappointment. The very suggestion made Bane give an internal shake, dismissing the ridiculous notion.

"I'm sure your sister was well aware of his status and is living happily in some spacious penthouse or a secluded hideaway someplace. She'll come home when he's had enough of her" Bane nonchalantly replied. Lucan's answer was strong.

"No. You don't know my sister. She would never runaway, she wouldn't cut herself from us and she most certainly has more self-respect for herself than to stoop to that!" he scoffed before softly continuing. "Christ she's never kissed a man let alone slept with one. When someone even showed the remotest bit of interest in her, she panicked and made excuses to get away. Forgive my outburst but I've had enough corrupted bureaucrats telling me lies"

Remaining silent, Bane observed the young man now panting slightly from the released anger of his outburst. The love and loyalty he had for his sister was apparent, but it did raise more questions, as it was obvious that the story that lead to his presence in Odessa was not so simple, so he inquired further.

"Say that what you state is true, of your sister's disappearance. It raises more questions and still doesn't answer why you are here. Do so and I shall overlook your sudden outburst."

Taking a few deep breathes the boy managed to relax before leaning back into the chair. Now calm, he began his story.

"Last summer, my sister was in a work placement on a Spanish vineyard. She was doing research for her dissertation for the following year, so she could graduate. During the last month of her placement, the vineyard owner came over from the States to visit. My sister must have somehow caught his eye despite never speaking to her. So when she returned home, she received a message inviting her to receive further work experience."

Lucan paused, as he relived the memory of that day. How his sister was reluctant and very uncomfortable about going to a place so riddled with crime and so was he to begin with but she was eventually convinced by everyone… even himself that as long as she took the proper precautions she'd be fine as the opportunity was too good to miss. For months now, his thoughts kept wandering back to that day. He wished with every fibre of his being that he could go back and scream at all of them to not let her go.

"She was very hesitant about going but with combined effort, everyone encouraged her to go to the owner's city base. She arrived. Spent no more than week before disappearing off the face of the planet. The local police merely labelled it as a runaway case but I knew they were either complete idiots or lying. My sister doesn't possess the desire… or the organisational skill to disappear but before she was abducted she was on the phone… talking to me."

"I had to listen to her trying to defend herself as they dragged her off. " Reigning in his anger and despair, he took a deep calming breath and moved on. "My parents didn't believe the police either, to the point where they tried to investigate themselves. But they must have gotten too close for that bastard's liking. He threatened them to leave and never come back because if they didn't…he would kill her…slowly, painfully… record every moment and make us watch. He added more incentive for their departure, by giving twenty-four hours to get home and make me disappear then he would send his thugs after me. My parents raced back and got me equipped with enough to survive before sending me off, they haven't seen or heard from me since."

"I've spent the better part of three months travelling through Europe. At first I stayed close to public places but eventually his men caught up. I escaped time and time again, so I disappeared within the 'underground' as you call it, making my way while staying out the way. Until I was taken here." He heaved a large sigh visibly relaxing from emotional exhaustion. "I admit that when you caught us, I thought that you were working for him; I couldn't see any reason for someone take an interest in me other than him. It could have been a revenge hit from men I've beaten but they don't wear military garb as far as I'm aware, but it was clear to me once you showed me the picture of my sister that you're not with him."

As he finished, Bane observed him sink lower in the chair as if his emotional turmoil was pulling him toward the ground. The boy's story was tragic and it told only too well of how those with money abuse the imaginary power they believe it gives. It represented everything he despised against Western civilisation. It also explained the relief in the boy's eyes when he'd shown him the image of the girl. He'd believed him to be in league with a rich, corrupt murderer in the midst of his abduction. Regardless of his disgust of being assumed to be aligned with such a man, the boy's logic was sound with the evidence given at the time. Despite his story however, Bane still had to determine if he had the right attitude to be allowed into his ranks.

"Certainly a troubling recent history you have boy. Tell me, do you know the name of the man that's caused you and your family so much pain?"

"How could I not" he sighed, "His name is Howard Atwell of Atwell Manufacturing and he's holed up with my sister in Gotham… that rotten excuse of a city."

Gotham.

The name of that city resonated within the room commanding its own silence as it registered with the two other occupants of the room. Both Bane and Barsad froze, sharing a knowing glance before bringing their attention back to their captive.

'Gotham City,' thought Bane 'a fateful coincidence'. Though Bane could feel a familiar cold hatred spread, at the name of the city that had recently taken his former master from this world. Ra's al Ghul may have detested Bane but it didn't stop the gratitude he felt towards the recently deceased Demons Head for rescuing him from the Pit. Teaching and moulding him to become the efficient and feared man he was today. But now it was time to test the boy's mindset. To be sure that Bane's judgement of him had been correct.

"What is it that you want, Lucan Owens?"

Lucan's brow furrowed in confusion as he if he wasn't quite sure what he was hearing.

"Sorry?" he had obviously heard Bane clearly, as there was disbelief as well as bewilderment in his tone.

"I do not care for repeating myself, boy." The warning was clear.

Bane watched as the boy paused, considering his question. He scrutinized him as the boy's eyes moved heavenward. After what seemed like an age but in reality was only a minute or two the boy's head sank forward as he drew in a deep breath before speaking with titanium steel resolve.

"I want retribution. I want him to realize his error and make him feel the pain he inflicted not only on my sister but on the other unfortunate women he's killed. I want those in power to realise that their wealth is not a true authority or adequate protection from rightful justice. I want those that are corrupted and all symbols built on the foundations of the fraudulent to burn to the ground. And if there is any way to rescue my sister I'd devote the rest of my life to save her…and if… if I fail …then I'll make sure her death will not go unpunished even if my death is required to achieve it. I will willingly die knowing it won't be for naught. That, is what I want."

Bane rose from his seat and gradually approached the boy before bending down at eye level. Placing his hand firmly on the boy's shoulder, the boy raised his head to look at him. Bane felt proud satisfaction at his choice of recruit, this boy already had great potential along with drive and with further training he could become great. His purpose that he had decided for himself was so similar to what his Brotherhood strived for; it seemed that fate favoured him this night. Though while the events that lead to the boy's self revelation were indeed tragic it had lead to the boy's enlightenment to a world truth. The girl's face flashed briefly through his thoughts, as he once again became curious about her name.

"What is your sister's name?" his mask softly hissed.

"Rhiannon" he answered his voice soft and tender as he spoke her name, his love for his sister evident.

"Despair no longer. We will bring true reckoning to the corrupt. And then…Brother they will burn to ashes."

It had been nearly eight years since that night. The short, lean boy had grown. His young shoulders were now broad with strong muscle which now covered his now six foot four inch frame and the childish roundness in his face had melted away to reveal severe and handsome features. His smooth jaw surrendering to a man's beard, all traces of the boy lost with only his strange gold eyes remaining no longer soft honey in hue but now a near constant cold hard metallic glare matching the metal that shares its colour.

Bane himself had taken the young man under his wing and trained him diligently. The boy had proved to be an excellent student. He was quick, cunning and very intelligent. Bane had discovered early that not only was the boy an avid military historian before he left home but already had had a fascination with weapons allowing him to recognise a weapon's designation on sight as well as their brief history and track record in the field. Even now it was rare to find a weapon he didn't recognise. The boy had proven worthy to not only be a member of his army but loyal enough to be a member of his inner circle as his second lieutenant.

He had proved his loyalty through thick and thin, obeying Bane's orders, even through what had to be Lucan's lowest point; the news of his sister's murder. Obviously guilt ridden at his failure to save his sister in time, he gradually pulled through it. Bane was certain that that was the day that whatever was left of the boy, had died with his sister and he had emerged from his mourning a full grown man, in every sense.

Hasad and Andriy had proven themselves also and were now an active part of the army. Hasad as a talented mechanic, while Andriy had an aptitude for cooking. It was now their jobs to keep their equipment functional and to keep their army fed with the appropriate foods.

Tearing his eyes away from the photograph, he summoned one of his guards outside the tent. He instructed that Lucan be brought to him and told the guard his location. With him gone, Bane looked back again at the girl's…no, Rhiannon's image. He had allowed Lucan this day to grieve for the past four years as he acknowledged that he needed to expel his grief and it was preferable that happened while they were not in the middle of a mission. Nonetheless he needed to make sure that his second lieutenant was not too emotionally compromised to carry out their purpose, normally he wouldn't have been too concerned, but with the day of Gotham's Reckoning drawing ever closer. Lucan needed to prove to him that it won't compromise their goal.

Even so, Bane couldn't help but feel frustrated whenever this day came. It had taken him a while to figure out why, at first he thought it was irritation due to Lucan's grief but he realised that for reasons unknown to him, he had been annoyed that he'd never have the chance to meet her. Never have the chance to know her. To know how she achieved such peace of mind effortlessly at such a young age.

This self-realisation had baffled him for four years.

He didn't know the girl, he barely knew anything about her apart from a few basic facts that her brother had slipped over the years and from his own deductions from a single photograph. A photograph he had kept… omitting to return it to its previous owner. It was rather crumpled and dog-eared from seven and half years in his pocket but it didn't diminish the vibrancy of it in his eyes.

Hearing an approaching duo of footsteps towards his living space, Bane tucked the photograph away. He looked up to see Lucan, still sweating slightly from the combination of African heat and sparring. The guard retook his place at the entrance while Lucan entered his commander's tent and bowed his head in greeting.

"I saw you fighting just now." Bane engaged getting straight the point, as the soft hiss of his mask filled the damp air of the tent.

"Yes, sir. I was." His answer was flat, emotionless but respectful.

"I realize what day it is, Lucan. I saw the fury in your eyes as you fought." Bane stood and approached the young man slowly, clasping his shoulder firmly. "You are not becoming too emotionally compromised by our approaching assignment, are you? I know your vengeance is close but you must temper your emotions, especially your anger or it will destroy you and endanger our brothers. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir. I understand perfectly. I am aware of my rage, sir but I swear to you, I am in control for this assignment." Meeting his leader's eyes, Lucan couldn't contain the thread of growing eagerness in his voice. "But I cannot deny that my anticipation is growing. I feel so close to not only contribute to Gotham's well deserved judgement but to finally avenge my sister's murder. If this assignment takes my life in the end, I will gladly die to be sure our goal is achieved."

"I promise you Brother, that following Gotham's Reckoning, I will allow and assist you in your search for your sister's murderer, even if your life is taken before he's found I shall continue the search. He will be under your mercy and then brother, when he truly realises the depth of his mistake…"

Bane gripped his young lieutenant's shoulder tight before bending down to look him right in the eye.

"Then, he will have your permission to die"

Same day, Tashkent International Clinic, Tashkent, Uzbekistan

'White, white, white. Why does every room in this place have to be bloody white?!' she thought, studying her hospital room.

She had long since exhausted the magazines that occupied her room, being totally unintelligible to her due to them being in Uzbek… or Russian. Not that she could tell, of course. Her handler could have least brought one of her books to her room to read at least, but no he got pulled to do some conference shit back at CIA headquarters while they left her to be minded by a egotistical arsehole.

'I'll be gone for two months, I won't be there for your extraction to our new residence but I will see you there' that's what her full time guard Agent Robertson, had told her in his usual cold, indifferent tone.

Now she had a new agent for a handler, though while temporary was a lecherous twat. That, coupled with her boredom, only exacerbated her mood. She would actually have the doctors do a check up on her again, then at least something was going on, but they had already examined her half an hour ago, to see how she'd recovered from her surgery.

A surgery that was only one in the long line she'd had since she awoke in Gotham General, nearly four years today. Her monster's torture of her body had left her with severe scar tissue both internal and external. After the agency had taken rather humiliating photographs of her injuries to be used for evidence in future, she had steeled herself enduring the scrutiny of her suffering and let them proceed without fuss. Her body and mind then underwent a recovery process that was to supposedly end with this last surgery on the ligaments in her arms and legs, to regain the freedom of movement she'd had, prior to capture.

Despite the numerous surgeries, it was receiving psychiatric care for her trauma that was the most difficult to go through. To open up to everything that had fallen upon her and others in the space of four years. How could she do that… open up one of the deepest parts of herself and share something that no psychiatric doctor with all their training could ever understand. Although it took months for her to trust her accompanying traveller psychiatrist, she eventually told her of his experiences little by little, until two months ago, her shrink was called away when she'd almost finished her therapy. Thankfully her CIA doctor; Dr Chloe Rosen wasn't a complete heartless bitch or at least she didn't appear to be and seemed to have gone out of her way in the early days of her therapy to help her get better mentally.

She had to admit that Dr Rosen's therapy had helped, especially with her survivor's guilt which had plagued her horribly for the first two years. Dr Rosen also argued her case for her to receive scar removal treatment to erase or at best reduce the lasting impact on her skin. The results were amazing, though if one looked hard enough they could see their faint outlines but it was good enough for Rhian. Some philosophical people would say 'why bother getting rid of them?', that 'they're not going to erase what happened.'

Rhiannon knew this was true but to be honest her memories were enough, she didn't need the physical evidence throughout her life. There was only one thing however she had failed to get rid of… the tattoo on the inside of her right forearm. She always felt it, like the dulled phantom stinging of a brand.

He had done that.

Howard Atwell had tattooed not only her but the many other girls that had come and gone over the years. It was a brand, simply a brand without the fanfare of a superheated poker burning with vivid red and small licks of flame. A claim of ownership meant to be nothing more than a tool to demean them. Though even now, looking back she was surprised to realise that he never actually used the type of brands they used on cattle… and on slaves in the past. Strange considering all the other messed up shite he was into.

Yet despite its clear intention, it remained on her arm because she still hadn't decided in four years whether she wanted rid of it or to keep it. To remember, that she was not alone in her torment. That countless other women had been put through the same as her and died. While she survived, enduring longer than any other. She supposed in the end, the only reason she kept it was for the remembrance of those that didn't make it out… and those who were still living under his tyranny, even now.

It made her sick to her stomach that it was still going on and nothing had been done. She had been told that they had saved her to testify, to give evidence against him. She admitted that she was frightened of the prospect but realised that she'd have to get over it if any justice was to be done in the name of all those women.

But in the four years nothing had happened. No charges had been made against him. Of course, some of the CIA were on Atwell's payroll, so they obviously had to tiptoe around their own agency to make sure that the case could be put together without him knowing and through that discover that she was alive and well.

She could barely contain the shudder, racking her body at the prospect of being in his proximity again. She hoped that this new agent or even her old one weren't on his payroll; she'd honestly had enough of corrupt CIA agents dragging her back to hell.

She knew that her experience had changed her forever, she may regain some her old character back but she would never be the whole person she was before. She knew deep down she had the potential to be stronger than she ever had been before but she couldn't find the inner strength to find it. She'd often thought that maybe this strength would find her rather than her actively trying to discover it. She just needed the right circumstances for it to arise.

Reminiscing as she lay against the starch white sheets of her hospital bed, on the many changes in her behaviour caused from her imprisonment, she remembered for example, that within the first few months of freedom she had been the most short-tempered bitch. Constantly snapping at people in response to anything that sounded like a criticism, a challenge or condescension, a go-to reaction from conversing with Atwell and his goons. Although she was always quick to see her mistake and apologised immediately afterward. She had never been like that before. Would never even think of losing her temper, of being rude and hurtful to others but would instead keep it bottled up and wait for her anger to dissipate. However during her captivity, this unleashed temper had been her survival strategy, and it had worked quite well for her. Thankfully that irritability had disappeared in time and she had regained her ability to keep such thoughts and feelings bottled up with the same proficiency as before.

Along with uncontrollable rage there was her paranoia of being alone in the dark and of course being in the presence of men only. These terrors had gradually slipped away with psychological treatment which was absolutely needed as her chosen guard was male and spending four years in the company of men, who had done nothing but torture you, could well and truly put you off the opposite sex for life. She was still uncomfortable of course, about both the prospect and act of being alone in a man's company but she could endure it now, instead of her instant reaction of holing up in a cupboard for hours or attacking them with brutal and animalistic savagery.

She somewhat tolerated Agent Robertson. He was civil to an extent but a strangely possessive man, for the circumstances. She never told anyone about this for several reasons, a few of which was that she knew absolutely that Robertson wasn't one of Atwell's pawns, another was that he did provide for her needs as she was barely allowed out and he did protect her very well. So she abided his… rough outbursts and his bizarre intense staring, when he thought she wasn't paying attention, she'd survived much worse anyway.

The only thing that had persisted however, were her nightmares.

Her horrifying, realistic nightmares that wrenched her awake, screaming the roof down.

Unfortunately, these nightmares didn't go away with time but only started to become more frequent and vivid until she was prescribed drugs to finally let her sleep in peace.

Her trance was broken when she heard the door of her room squeak open, revealing her doctor and her new arsehole of a guard, wearing that same smug looking leer on his face that seemed to be tattooed there. Rhiannon opted to abandon her thoughts to listen for at least an ounce of entertainment.

"Well young Miss, we're pleased to report that you're healing beautifully and we've already established a course of physical therapy to get your limbs strong again." The doctor's voice bore a heavy accent but spoke with perfect comprehensible English as he started listing off her therapy plan before excusing himself to see to his other patients, leaving her alone with the twat. Who was again smirking at her.

"How you feeling Rhian?"

"Fine" she lied coldly, before conceding a little truth. "A little stiff though."

"Good. I've been told to inform you that there's a possibility that you won't be alone when we extract you in a few weeks time."

"Oh?" her curiosity officially piqued. She'd always been surrounded with top notch security whenever she was to be extracted from one country to another; there was never anyone else there.

"May I ask who or is it too top secret that if you told me you'd have to kill me?" she asked, rolling her eyes, her sarcasm transparent.

"You don't need to worry your pretty little head about it. But the man we may be extracting is a nuclear physicist. We going to give him an offer, it's up to him if he takes it or not." He answered the condescension clear. She detested that tone; it closely resembled someone else she knew. Someone she'd very much like to forget. Ignoring it for the time being, she continued.

"May I know his name, at least?" she ventured.

"Dr. Leonid Pavel" he replied.

"Only people who are capable of loving can also suffer great sorrow, but this same necessity of loving serves to counteract their grief and heals them." – Leo Tolstoy

"Grief can be a burden, but also an anchor. You get used to the weight, how it holds you in place." – Sarah Dessen, The Truth About Forever