The Devil's Command

by batmanbane

Chapter 3

An early morning operation was in play at the 43rd Precinct, where streams of uniformed police officers were being herded into police vans for transport into Gotham's system of underground tunnels. Although the action was officially designated as a training operation, the officers were well aware of the real aim of the deployment, which was to force Bane and his men to the surface.

Winslow slammed her locker door shut, preparing to join the throng of officers, when she was suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling of being watched.

"Are you Gordon's daughter?" An accented male voice sounded behind her and she turned to find a pale-faced officer she didn't recognize.

Frowning at his disrespectful assumption she replied, "It's Officer Gordon. Who are you?"

"Officer Pollock, just transferred over from the 59th Precinct along with Captain Costello. He wants to see you in his office. Now."

"I'm on my way to the tunnels. They're loading us into vans now, and my partner is waiting for me. Why would he choose now to -"

Pollock cut her off rudely. "He says you're not to go into the tunnels with the rest of us. Says he needs you on the ground, not underground."

Frustrated, Winslow headed for the office of the grim new captain. It was obvious that her father had interfered and pulled her from the operation.

The ten minutes she waited in the captain's empty office felt like an hour, until an ominous figure filled the doorway, pointing a high-powered weapon at her.

It was Pollock again, now dressed in cargo pants, khaki jacket, heavy boots and a red scarf.

The police commissioner's daughter rose slowly from her chair, realizing she'd been duped.

"Allow me to properly introduce myself. I'm Thomas Pollock of Belfast, and I'll be your minder for the next little while." Pollock strode into the office, followed by two other gunmen who quietly took their places in the room.

Turning to address the other men, Pollock shouted, "Feast your eyes, boys! She's a regular Charlie's Angel, isn't she? Is it any wonder Bane wants her?"

At Pollock's invitation, the mercenaries grabbed their crotches, and made various other obscene gestures. Although her expression remained stoic, she was sickened by the level of sexual harassment in the room, and gulped back the bile that had risen in her throat. It was bad enough that she was being ogled by these men, but she was also deeply disturbed by Pollock's words.

Is it any wonder Bane wants her?

It seemed Bane had gone to a great deal of trouble, all because he wanted her. She thought again of the night of the charity ball and the feel of his fingers between her thighs, and she shivered involuntarily.

Pollock spoke again. "Better put the gun down on the desk over there, along with everything else on that belt of yours. Slowly now, and when you're done, sit over by the window. The show's about to begin."

"What show?" Winslow asked, frowning.

"Just be patient, miss. It'll all start soon. We're about to bring Gotham to its knees."

A man's foot poked out from underneath the desk, and she guessed it belonged to the body of Captain Costello. Her mouth tensed into a straight line as she laid her gun on the desk and emptied her belt.

"And don't bother lookin' for a way out, miss. I'm afraid there isn't one." Pollock zip-cuffed her wrists and winked at her as he gestured for her to sit in a chair placed near the windows.

A half hour passed, during which time Pollock goaded her with sexual suggestions, but Winslow refused to look at him, instead peering down at the busy city of Gotham, and waiting.

A low, deep rumble shook the precinct, and Winslow saw black smoke billowing in the distance. Despite her handcuffs, she leapt from her chair and pressed herself against the rattling sixth floor windows. At first she thought the city had been hit with an earthquake, until she realized the explosions were timed and the damage too precise.

Smoke and rubble shot into the air in tandem above the field at Gotham stadium. In the distance, a section of the Midtown Bridge creaked and groaned, until it broke away and collapsed into the bay below.

It was a disaster like nothing Winslow had ever seen. A slow motion bad dream. Gasping, she rounded on Pollock. "What's happening? What the hell are you people doing?"

"Ah now, don't be frightened, miss. The explosives are controlled. They won't penetrate anywhere near us. See, we planned it that way."

"I'm not frightened, you idiot." She yelled. "I'm angry! There were people on that bridge as well as in the stadium."

"That's the idea, miss. So let's see how they're coverin' it on the news." He pulled a remote out of his pocket and switched on the 52" flatscreen on the wall opposite the late captain's desk.

By now Winslow was filled with dread. Her father was recovering at Gotham General from wounds incurred when he was attacked by Bane's men in the sewers, and she feared that the hospital might have been targeted in the explosions, and that he might be dead.

She forced herself to focus on the situation at hand and turned to face the tv. Gotham News Network cameras were broadcasting live at the scene of the bombed-out stadium, surveying a mass of displaced astro turf and broken concrete where explosives had ripped across the field. Above the seating, the cameras revealed a private box that had been blown to pieces. Legions of gunmen travelled up and down the stadium stairs like ants, trapping helpless spectators in their seats.

With every mercenary in his place, the man responsible for the mayhem made a dramatic appearance. Dressed in a high collared shearling coat, the masked man calmly strolled along the sidelines with a satisfied, self-reverential air. An entourage of mercenaries with high powered weapons protected him as they surveyed the crowd.

Winslow frowned at the sight of him. He was the man her father had seen while he was briefly held by the underground army. He was the same man who attacked the Stock Exchange, and the same man who assaulted her the night of the charity ball.

"Smug bastard!" Winslow's whispered observation wasn't as quiet as she had intended it to be.

"That he is, miss," Pollock responded. "He does think well of himself, and with good reason. He gets the job done."

The masked mercenary retrieved a headset from a downed umpire and began to speak to the terrified crowd. His artificially enhanced speech was slightly muffled at times, but Winslow recognized the same musical cadence of the unmasked voice that she had previously heard.

A large weapon was rolled onto the field - a bomb - which Bane introduced as "the instrument of your liberation". Shortly afterwards, a shackled hostage was pushed to his knees. The hapless prisoner identified himself as Dr. Leonid Pavel, the only scientist who could disable the fully primed neutron device.

Bane made short work of the man, viciously twisting his neck. The horrified crowd screamed as the scientist's lifeless body dropped to the ground.

Appalled, Winslow turned and gave Pollock an accusing stare.

Bane announced that he and his men had come as liberators, and yet he enacted martial law. He promised the people they would claim what was rightfully theirs, but warned that the detonator was held by a citizen of Gotham, who would detonate the bomb should anyone try to flee. It was a speech laced with disturbing contradiction.

In short, Gotham had been seized by a dictator.

Winslow did the math. The bomb was armed. The only person who could disarm it was dead, so why threaten to detonate it when it was only going to blow anyway?

What did this man want?

Ignoring the voracious gaze of Pollock, she studied replays of the stadium speech over and over.

Her concentration was eventually broken by the arrival of another mercenary, one that she recognized from the stadium coverage. He was short, bearded, and wearing a vest stocked with ammunition.

"You're relieved, Pollock." He announced.

Ignoring the fact that the bearded man outranked him, Pollock addressed the men once again.

"I don't know about you boys, but I'm sick of the boss takin' all the best of Gotham's women, leavin' us with the dregs!"

"Pollock!" The bearded man cast a warning glance at the Irishman.

As he turned to leave, Pollock grabbed Winslow by the jaw and shoved his thumb deep into her mouth. "I'll have my chance with you, miss. You can count on that." There was a tone in his voice and a gleam in his eye that turned her stomach.

When the Irishman stepped away, the furious Winslow swung her bound wrists. The butt of her hands connected violently against his face, and blood sprayed from his nose as he howled in pain. When he raised his tremulous hands to stem the crimson tide, she slammed her foot into his crotch.

Pollock's screams echoed throughout the precinct, as he dropped to his knees, his bloody hands now gripping his throbbing crotch.

"You bitch! I'll f*ck you on the steps of City Hall!"

"Suck it up, Irish." The bearded man taunted. "I warned you not to touch Bane's things."

"Don't get your damn knickers in a twist, Barsad!" Pollock spat blood. "I meant no harm."

"Yea, well, good luck convincing the boss what you meant!"

Winslow closed her eyes and swallowed hard against her lurching stomach. Taking a deep breath, she told herself that all was not lost. Handcuffed and without a weapon, she was still a police officer who had managed to disable Pollock.

The man who Pollock had addressed as 'Barsad' took her by the arm, leading her into the elevator in the hall.

"Nice moves, ma'am." He nodded at her in admiration. "Better not try that with me, though."

She took note of his assault weapon and the ammunition covered vest. He was a soldier primed for combat.

"Behave yourself and I won't have to." She said, sending him a sharp look.

A confiscated police van awaited at the rear doors of the building. Barsad pushed her inside and sat on the bench opposite her. As the vehicle pulled away from the station, he made a long show of lighting the bent cigarette he'd retrieved from the pack of Camels in his pocket.

Winslow's eyebrow rose. "Bylaw 53a states that smoking is not permitted in any public building or vehicle, sir."

Exhaling a ring of smoke, Barsad chuckled and watched its progress carefully as it curled silently above him and dissipated in the air.

"We don't pay any mind to Gotham's bylaws, rookie."

"Obviously not, but there is a $500 fine, if you're caught."

Barsad straightened in his seat, examining her curiously.

"Uh-huh. And how are you going to write me up while you're wearing those handcuffs?" He teased.

"I'll let you off with a warning for now, sir." She was slightly unnerved by the bright blue colour of his deep-set eyes.

Barsad laughed again. He had a soft voice that sounded slightly sandpapered.

"Name's Barsad, in case you haven't heard." He said amiably.

"That's a first or last name?"

"Just Barsad. Speaking of which, how did you ever end up with a name like Winslow Arizona Gordon?"

"I really don't think you'd understand."

"We got a few minutes. Try me."

She remained silent for a moment, before deciding that it was a good idea to engage the man in polite conversation. She might earn his confidence, or have the opportunity to disarm him, as she had done with Pollock. So why not tell the story once again?

"If you insist." She sighed. "My parents attended one of those big summer music festivals where there are lots of bands on the bill. The Eagles were the headliners at this one, and even though my mother was eight months pregnant at the time, she and my father both thought it would be safe enough to go to the show. It was a very hot day, however, and mom began to feel uncomfortable. Halfway through the band's set, her water broke and she started hard labour. She gave birth to me in an ambulance parked behind the stage."

Barsad burst into high-pitched laughter. "You're serious? Was the band playing that tune when you popped out?"

Winslow tried not to roll her eyes. Always the same question.

"Honestly, my parents don't remember. They were too worried and excited at the same time. They discussed it overnight at the hospital, and the next day I had my name."

Barsad nodded his approval, while Winslow took the opportunity to change the subject.

"You're the same men who hit the Stock Exchange." She observed.

"Not me. I had other duties that afternoon. Watched it on the news, though. Thought the boys did a great job."

"How about telling me what the masked man is really up to?"

"Patience, Officer Gordon." He flicked an ash to floor of the van. "I can tell you that the explosions trapped three thousand of your fellow officers in the tunnels."

"Are... are they dead?" Winslow's complexion grew very pale, and she wondered how the mercenaries learned about the training operation. "My partner's down there!"

"Don't you worry about them, ma'am. They're alive, they can breathe and they'll be fed."

The vehicle came to a stop, and the door opened to the back entrance of a another building. Barsad guided her to a freight elevator, which rose to the 30th floor.

"This is City Hall." She guessed.

"That's right, rookie." Barsad replied. "I'll bet you never knew there were residences above the offices." He led her through double doors and into the foyer of a large suite.

"This suite belonged to the late Mayor Anthony Garcia. He used to bring girls up here!"

Winslow stopped in her tracks. "The mayor's dead?"

"Afraid he was one of the fatalities down at the stadium today, ma'am – a real tragedy for the city if you ask me." Barsad's disturbing smile gave lie to his words as he herded her through another long hallway.

"Have a seat over there." He indicated an enormous sectional sofa.

"I'll stand, thanks. I'm on duty." She said stubbornly.

Barsad sighed. "Now look, ma'am – we started off on the right foot. I guarantee you don't wanna get on my bad side…"

Taking another good look at his assault weapon, she silently agreed and sat down.

She observed her surroundings carefully, noting that the suite was an open plan decorated in modern design. The large sectional was positioned along the north and east walls. One side faced the suite's magnificent floating fireplace. The opposite side faced floor to ceiling windows that afforded spectacular southwestern views of the bay. Beyond the fireplace she glimpsed a dining room with seating for twelve. She assumed the kitchen adjoined the dining room, and that the long hall to her left led to sleeping quarters.

A crew had just finished cleaning the suite, and was removing the mayor's personal belongings.

In the distance there came the sound of heavy footfalls and male voices in the hall of the suite. Then, large as life, the mercenary Bane burst into the main room with a small entourage of soldiers.

His eyes immediately trained on Winslow, and his chest heaved with an emotion that raised her goosebumps. He peeled off his sheepskin coat and tossed it aside, casually approaching her with the same smug satisfaction she'd seen in the stadium coverage.

As the strange mask sucked in oxygen and exhaled ominously, Winslow wondered why he wore such a thing. It's arachnid-like jaws were surely intended to terrify, but the mask was also beautifully designed - a work of art. Gotham had seen its fare share of masked criminals, but this particular mask served up more than mere intimidation. It appeared to be some kind of breathing apparatus for whatever affliction he might be suffering.

Wary of him as both a killer and a rapist, she defied Barsad and stood up from her seat as he came near. She was determined not to show the fear inside her. Bane was even bigger than she remembered.

The mercenary reached behind her head, grabbed the chignon that confined her hair and roughly yanked her head back. The unsteady sounds of the mask only amplified her unease.

He examined her carefully from top to bottom. There wasn't anything remotely feminine about her attire. She was dressed like a man, in a blue-black uniform; a lightweight jacket, a button-down shirt, a dickie that identified her as one of GCPD's finest, trousers and men's shoes. She couldn't have been less like the vision he had encountered the night of the charity ball.

And yet it was she. Bereft of Miranda Tate's styling, Bane noted that Winslow Gordon was an unassuming beauty.

"I believe we've met before, sir." Her gaze was direct despite her anxiety.

Bane released her, amusement dancing in his dark eyes as his fingers twitched maniacally at his sides.

"So you have found me out!" His raspy, enhanced voice reverberated loudly in the room, and Winslow felt the goosebumps rise again. His good humour unsettled her even more. He had been very civil to the scientist, until the moment he broke the man's neck.

"I recognized the knee pads."

Bane's brow rose. "Really? Then I expect you will be making detective quite soon." He scanned the room, suddenly annoyed by the presence of his soldiers in the room, and the smile beneath the mask faded.

"Leave us!" It was an order that almost always excluded Barsad, who made no move to depart. Instead, he pulled up a chair at the windows and rested his boot as he surveyed the fallen city below. Mindful that Bane didn't tolerate smoking, he had replaced his cigarette with a toothpick.

"Do you approve of my choice, brother?" Bane asked as the men filed out of the suite.

Barsad nodded and grinned. "I couldn't have done better myself, boss, but she's gonna be a handful. Pollock got fresh with her, so she busted his nose and kicked him in the balls, all while handcuffed."

"Indeed? I do not think handcuffs will be necessary now, do you?"

"Suit yourself." Barsad shrugged as he handed Bane a pair of clippers.

"I believe Officer Gordon will behave herself while she is with us." He cut the plastic cuffs and removed them from her wrists, smiling again when he felt her shiver as his fingertips brushed against the sweaty palms of her hands.

He had studied Commissioner James Gordon carefully in preparation for the invasion of Gotham, and he knew everything about the man as a police officer, friend of the Batman, husband and father. He had obtained and watched hours of Gordon's interrogations of criminals, especially that of Joker, and had observed the man's character. He was unfailingly decent, committed to justice, but as Bane had recently learned, not above deceit when it became necessary. The man was soft-spoken most of the time, but had a tendency to launch into frustrated tirades.

Physically, there was not a trace of James Gordon in his daughter.

"Your father is a rather owlish looking man." He observed bluntly. "You look nothing like him. Please extend my compliments to your mother."

Winslow blinked. "I'm sure she'll be thrilled to hear, sir."

"Now then, Winslow Arizona Gordon. Explain the significance of your name."

Barsad looked up, with no fear of interrupting. "It's a long story, boss. I'll tell you later."

Bane observed Barsad curiously, and then returned his gaze to Winslow.

"Very well." His pace was deliberate as he circled the rookie officer. "You are the child of Police Commissioner James Gordon and his ex-wife, Barbara. You are educated, with degrees in Psychology and Criminology. You are a police officer, age 26 and unmarried…" Bane breathed deeply, feeling his manhood lift in his pants. His robotic voice deepened significantly at his next words. "...and you have no steady beau."

Shattered, Winslow finally found words. "You've been stalking me."

"Not until after our post-charity ball encounter. I am fortunate that a dear friend took notice of you at the event – someone who knew your identity, otherwise I only had one clue." He pulled her missing diamond-encrusted sandal out of his pocket and held it out to her.

"I assume the shoe fits?"

Humiliated by the obvious reference, Winslow snatched the sandal from him and shoved it into her own pocket.

"Thank you." She said sourly, unable to prevent herself from blushing. Today was her day to be objectified by the male of the species.

"What is it you want from me, sir?" She asked guardedly.

Bane paused for a moment. "I am a man. You are a woman. I would think what I want is obvious."

"You want to finish the job you started the other night. You want to rape me."

Bane's eyes darkened with sudden rage as his brow wrinkled. "I would never commit such a barbarous act. I am a gentleman."

"Really, sir? What kind of 'gentleman' grabs a woman in a dark parking lot?"

It was rare that Bane found himself at a loss for words, but there was no doubt about it – her question had startled him. He stared at her for a long moment, before speaking again.

"Allow me to defend myself, Winslow. I grew to manhood in a prison where the strong rose to the top on the backs of the weak. Indeed, it was the survival of the fittest every day, and thus I became the protector of a woman prisoner and her child. One day they were attacked by a group of inmates. I could not save them both, so I made a choice, cradling the child while I listened to the men gang-rape and murder the mother. I have never tolerated rape since."

Winslow remained unconvinced, and didn't respond.

Suddenly Bane found himself hovering even closer to her. He needed Winslow to understand him.

"My fortunes changed and I eventually left that place. I acquired an education, and a gentleman's manners. But sometimes, old instincts rise to the surface."

"That's all very well, but how long do you plan to keep me here? I have a job to do out there. Or are you afraid of the damage a female police officer can do?" Winslow's words were strained with fear of the unknown. It was unlikely that he was going to allow her to leave.

Bane stood his ground and continued his defence.

"It was thoughtless of me, Winslow, to approach you the way I did that night. I fully understand how my behaviour made you feel threatened, and I assure you that I had no intentions of violating you. A man in my position is lonely at times. I merely wished to relieve you of your weapon and speak to you."

"Speak to me? About what?"

"When does a man need an excuse to talk to a lovely woman? I admit to feeling quite breathless at the sight of you."

What Bane deliberately didn't say was that he'd had every intention of seducing her.

The rookie narrowed her eyes, peering suspiciously at him.

"Look, sir. You can't do this. You can't just arbitrarily grab a woman off the streets, even if you are lonely. Women in this part of the world are threatened by that type of behavior. They deserve to be treated as equals and with respect. Understand?"

"I am regretful." Bane insisted, smiling broadly behind the mask. He liked Winslow Gordon very, very much. "I hope you will forgive me."

"You'll find that some women know how to fight back, as I did when I incapacitated you."

"But my dear - I'm afraid you did not disable me. Your knee caused me no pain at all. I allowed the gun to fly into your hands, and I allowed you to get the upper hand."

Astounded by his revelation she asked, "Why? Why on earth would you do something like that?"

Bane lifted her chin with the knuckle of his forefinger. "I simply enjoy the thrill of a chase."

Fearful of where his fingers would go next, she pulled away from him.

"All of this is irrelevant, okay? Instead, let's talk about what you did out there today. What kind of monster blows up a bridge full of cars and pedestrians? What kind of savage terrorizes a stadium full of families? What kind of a animal traps three thousand men and women underground?" Her questions were spiked by a rising fury that she knew well.

"Ah yes." He observed calmly. "Now you remind me of your father."

"You murdered Dr. Pavel, Mayor Garcia, and countless other citizens of Gotham today. You're going to be held accountable."

Bane crossed his arms and glowered at her. "Angry words coming from a woman who is soon to get to know me better."

There was no doubt about the meaning of his words, and Winslow blinked nervously.

Is it any wonder Bane wants her? They were Pollock's words.

"That's not going to happen, sir. The only way I'm going to get to know you is as a mass murderer."

"You will not deny me, Winslow."

"Then you'll just have to force me! That should prove difficult for a 'gentleman' like yourself."

Bane cocked his head in fascination, and then calmly began to undo the clasps of his mask.

"When the time comes, it will be a mutual decision based upon shared desire. You will want me as much as I want you…"

"Not before I see you tried, convicted and put away for a thousand years for what you've done. I only wish this state had the death penalty so they could hang you from what's left of the bridge!"

The mask was off now, and the face before Winslow held her utterly spellbound. It was the same face she had seen on the night of the charity ball, but in the light of day there was so much more...

Bane was a staggeringly attractive man! Between the quivering brow, the soul penetrating eyes, and the deliciously forbidden mouth, she barely noticed the faded scars that crossed his nose. He also had the most magnificent male body she had ever seen – one not sculpted by targeted workouts but forged by the gods.

"It is useless to resist me, Winslow." Bane said. "Already it is too late. I have started a fire in your womanhood that cannot be extinguished."

Unfortunately for Winslow, she couldn't help but be enthralled by his beauty, and she searched his face, her fluttering eyelashes communicating the vulnerability she suddenly felt.

Bane towered above her. His eyes now fixated on her mouth, very much intent on a kiss. He leaned in and his lips briefly grazed hers, before he moved to whisper in her ear.

"And the flame will soon become a raging fire of desire that will consume us both." His lips travelled tantalizingly along her cheek to her mouth.

"Don't!" She could no longer hide her alarm, and she jerked away from him.

But the ardent Bane was only aroused by her hesitance. He grabbed her wrist and yanked her against his vest. Darkness fell between them as his soft lips collided with hers. He dominated her, trapping her arms behind her back with his powerful hands.

She wanted to resist him, but the lure of his mouth proved far greater that she could have possibly imagined. Bane had released a hunger within her, and she found herself returning his kiss with a fervour that both thrilled and terrified her.

At the windows, Barsad shook his head and turned away from a situation that he'd seen too many times before.

Common sense eventually prevailed, and she broke away from Bane's grip. Tearing her mouth from his, she gasped for breath as she blushed all over, lips tingling. She had never before experienced a kiss quite like his.

"You stay away from me!" She warned shakily, her blue eyes flashing confusion.

Bane took one look at her lips, red and swollen, and demanded more.

He groaned, pulling her deeper and deeper into another heated kiss.

Against all her better judgment, she slid her palms up his armoured vest, eagerly kissing him back. Bane's hands explored her body, sliding from her waist to her breasts, to her buttocks and back to her waist again. She knew she had no resistance to what might happen next, because the effect of his hands was intoxicating

They were the same hands that broke the neck of Dr. Pavel.

It was that thought that snapped Winslow out of his spell. She pushed him away as forcefully as she could manage, trying to ignore the tingle in her belly and the dampness in her underwear.

Bane's eyes danced with sly triumph as he returned the mask to his face. "I assume you will no longer address me as 'sir'." The mercenary closed the complicated clasps of the mask.

Winslow was panting, her voice raw with passion and determination. "I told you I have a job to do out there. Let…me…go!"

It was an absurd demand to be sure, given the circumstances.

Bane considered her words for a moment, and then directed his words to Barsad.

"Very well. Escort Officer Gordon back to her quarters, brother, and inform our people. If any man harms a hair on her head he will answer to me, and I will be merciless."

"Are you sure you want to let her go, Bane?" Barsad complained. "Our guys went to a lot of trouble to pick her up. I thought you wanted her?"

"Do not fret, brother." Bane said thoughtfully as he observed Winslow's rush to the foyer.

"She will return to me."


Author's Note: It's been a while since I updated this story so I hope you enjoyed the extra-long chapter. Winslow is, of course, named for lyrics from The Eagles' song, 'Take it Easy'. Thanks for all your favourites and follows. Reviews are welcome. ;) :)