HAPPY BELATED 4TH of July to all my American friends and all others who celebrate it with us!

A few happy notes to declare for you all before I hand over the newest chapter:

1: Guess who is finally a licensed driver?

2: Guess who will be eighteen in a good week or so?

3: Guess who gets to be at the grand opening of DIAGON ALLEY in UNIVERSAL ORLANDO next week?!

Thank you for all the reviews (though they were few) and new follows and favorites. Thank you for believing in this story, you make my heart all warm and fuzzy:)

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the Nolan depiction of Batman or anything akin to the DC Comics. Anything recognized from the movie does not belong to me at all.

Song used: The Star Spangled Banner by Francis Scott Key

Onwards!

Chapter 25:

"Set course for Gotham. Tomorrow, my brothers…the fire will rise."

Lucy awoke with start, her eyes wide and her chest gasping for air as though she had just outran a nightmare; but as her bleary gaze cleared, she realized just how far from true that was. She was laying stiffly on her side on a row of all too familiar stiff white leather seats in all too familiar private plane.

Lucy didn't move quite yet—not that she could anyways. Her entire body throbbed and ached and something as simple as trying to shift her arms out from under her side prompted a sharp pang in the muscles of her back. Instead, she navigated her eyes downwards to see what kind of state she was in.

She jolted up once her eyes grazed over nothing more than her own bare skin and thick layers of cotton gauze wrapped across her chest. Her arms shot up in an immediate attempt to preserve her modesty, but Lucy quickly became acquainted with the pounding against her temples and the piercing pains coming from just below her left shoulder. Groaning quietly, Lucy reached up one hand to massage her temple, while the other hand lightly prodded around the tender muscles of her back.

"Best not to touch it, for now."

Slowly letting her arms sink back to her sides, Lucy looked across the aisle, where she spotted Bane, Barsad and few other mercenaries poring over some maps and plans. However, it seemed Bane was the only one really interested in her waking. Everyone else seemed…on edge for something else.

"What?" Lucy asked, her throat feeling raw and scratchy.

"Your back." Bane repeated, getting up from his seat and coming over to eye the wrappings on her upper body. "Hm. Best not touch the burn so there is little chance of irritating it."

Burn. Her stomach did a sickening roll and she bolted out of her seat as she felt something start climb up her throat.

"Ah, breathe, my dear." Bane said, catching her before she could have a fit in the compressed space. Squeezing her upper arms, he leaned down and murmured coaxingly in her ear. "Go to the bathroom. Clean yourself. Compose yourself, then I will change your bandages."

He stepped out of her way and nudged her in the direction of the plane's bathroom standing just two rows from where she was. She steadily made her way over, but faltered as she noticed a man sitting in the window-seat of the last row. He was a thin, weathered man, whose otherwise scholarly suit and bearing were easily marred by the fretful look on his face. His hands and feet seemed to have gained a permanent stutter as they shook incessantly up and down, and his dark eyes flitted restlessly out the plane window. He was nowhere near the caliber or design of Bane and his men and if anything was clear from his demeanor, it was that he was not there willingly.

She heard Bane clear his throat from behind her, reminding her that she had been dawdling too long for his liking. The man had also taken notice of her now, but the look he shot at her was distressing, to say the least. Flinching, Lucy took a step back and escaped to the bathroom.

Slamming the small door behind her, Lucy flipped on the lights and stared at her face in the mirror.

Why did he look at me like that? She ran a shaky hand all over her features, seeking out what apparently made her so odious to look at. She tried to identify what had made him curl his lip so offensively, what made him narrow his eyes condemningly.

I am not a monster.

"Monster…" The word became lodged in her throat and for a second, Lucy thought she caught a glimpse of something else in the mirror. A smear of red wiped over her eyes for a moment and a loud 'pop' suddenly erupted in her ears. Shoving away from the sink, Lucy covered her ears and tried to blink away the red, a sickening image of a writhing body flashing before her eyes. And slowly, but surely, it went away but only to be replaced by the sensation of something clawing up her throat again. She dove for the toilet in time as she began to retch, vague recollections of a tall glass of strong liquor tipping between her lips coming back to her.

"Never drinking again," Lucy swore, wiping the spittle from her chin. She flushed the toilet and sat up against the wall of the bathroom, folding her knees up and setting her forehead against them.

"God," She murmured, shaking her head, "What happened…what happened to me?"

Monster.

"No."

MONSTER.

"No." She growled to the empty air. Trembling, she got to her feet and stood in front of the mirror, swearing in a tight, albeit childlike, voice, "No. Not a monster. No."

Yes.

"Shut up." She whispered through gritted teeth. She turned the sink, letting the sound of running water drown out the persistent voice in her head till it was nothing more than an almost muted hum in the back of her thoughts.

Breathing in relief, she busied herself with getting herself cleaned up and more presentable. She washed up using a damp rag and some complimentary soap, careful to not disturb the wrappings on her back, which, when she took a look at it, were stained red-brown with dried blood and indeed in need of changing. Deeming herself clean and as collected as she could be, she reached out to open the door.. But again, she was drawn to a pause as she cracked the bathroom door open a mere inch or so and heard Bane speaking.

"Once we retrieve the necessary board members from Wayne Enterprises, Dr. Pavel will present us with a weapon that will bring Gotham to its knees."

"Sir, what about the police force?"

"By now, I suspect Commissioner Gordon has already told the police of our underground system, but they have not taken his words very seriously. Therefore, once we kidnap the board members, Commissioner Gordon's words are no longer babblings of a crazy man. The police will flood the tunnels seeking to smoke us out."

"How do we know if the entire force will be there?"

"Gotham is a city of quantity not quality."

Laughter rang out.

"So you can be assured that the Gotham's finest will be in position before the explosives go off."

"And they'll be trapped like rats."

Cue more laughter.

Promptly, but quietly, Lucy shut the door, muffling the laughter, and pressed her back up against it, ignoring the ache in her back, utterly bewildered by what she had just heard. But as bewildered as she felt, Lucy quickly remembered that she couldn't dwell on this in a plane lavatory. So taking in a deep breath, Lucy re-composed herself, wiping her face of any telling looks, and stepped out of the bathroom.

"Bane," Lucy called to him, nothing hesitant or shaky, but sounding positively unruffled. "Can you change my bandages?"

"Of course," He answered, reaching across the table for the first aid kit. Standing up, he gestured toward the curtained off area of the plane, "To preserve your modesty."

She slipped through the curtain and sat down at a window seat while Bane situated himself behind her. He gently combed his fingers through her hair a few times before taking the full length of it and laying it out of the way over her right shoulder. His thick fingers began to pull at the gauze and a second later the entire roll of material came loose. Together, they slowly unraveled the gauze till Lucy was completely bare from her hips up. Immediately, her arm went to cover up her small chest, but was stopped short as she heard some shuffling behind her and a large, military jacket was draped over her front.

"Thank you," She murmured, unconsciously burrowing her nose into the material, smelling its smokiness and earthiness.

He merely hummed in response as he opened the first aid kit.

"How long was I out?" Lucy asked, breaching the almost companionable silence.

"18 hours at the least, I believe." Bane replied, taking a damp cloth and lightly dabbing at the raw, burned skin of her back.

Lucy hissed a bit at the sudden touch, "Oh."

"You are not the first to grow faint at the stench of burning flesh. In fact, being a girl your size, you held more than your own." He assured her, carefully picking at little bits of cotton that had gotten stuck in the wound. "You must know how proud I am of you, little bird."

"I am," Lucy said, sounding wholehearted, yet her eyes did not translate the same sentiment. "Without you, I hardly think I could have done half the things I did."

"Ah, I have said it before," Bane replied, uncapping a tube of ointment and began slathering a bit over the warm, tender skin, the coolness actually soothing her, as opposed to his words. "I did not need to teach you anything you didn't already know. It was embedded in your thoughts. It was in your blood. Ever since you were a child, you have held something special in you. Something so precious that needed refinement, having laid untapped for too long."

"And now that I am," Lucy swallowed, "…so primed…It's time, isn't it? For us to return to Gotham?"

"The city has been living on borrowed time. Gotham's days are beyond numbered."

"And before a new world order is reborn from the ashes, ashes must first exist." Lucy murmured, before pressing her lips together. She hadn't meant to say that. For a moment, she was far from herself and the words just…pulled themselves out.

"Exactly." Bane affirmed. He capped the ointment and began unrolling a long strip of gauze, starting one end over the burn and handing the rest to Lucy to start wrapping it about her chest.

As she handed off the wrap to Bane, Lucy played with her chances and frankly asked, "And what about my brother?"

"What about him? He is no exception to judgment." Bane replied shortly, tugging too tightly on the gauze as he brought it back around to her front. "The League is your family now. You do not need your brother. I am here."

Lucy was thankful her back was to him. She doubted she would find much sympathy with him should he see the despairing look on her face. Much to her own credit, Lucy was able to pass off any resistance in her with a mild bob of her head and remained quiet while he finished bandaging her up.

"There, all better now," He said, patting her on the shoulder to get her to face him. When she did, he traded her the jacket for a loose black long sleeve and helped her slip it on. Lucy hoped this was an indication that she was done and stood up, making to leave. But she was quickly proved wrong as Bane's beefy arm cut into her path.

"Stay. Sit." Lucy scowled at the floor, hating how the two words made her feel like a defiant puppy. Yet, she knew what sort of show she was putting up and sat her behind back in the seat, "I have something very important to request of you."

"What is it?"

"When we arrive in Gotham, there are many things that will take its course. There are things that my men and I must do and there are things that you must do—alone."

"I'm not going to be helping you?" Lucy asked confusedly.

"No, you will be helping me, but you simply will not always be by my side to do so. I have a very specific mission for you that I trust you will execute without hesitation."

The way he plainly spoke to her made Lucy regard his request in puzzlement. What exactly was this mission of hers? "Alright. What…what do you need me to do?"

Leaning closer, he said, no nonsense or ambiguity in his voice. "Listen very carefully to what I require of you."

Grabbing her chin in his thumb and forefinger, Bane angled her head to the side and whispered very short string of words in her ear, but had anyone else been near them, they would have been able to see how quick the color rushed from her face. They would have seen the dismay flashing in her eyes.

When Bane drew away, he instantly noticed how bristled his little bird appeared and asked seriously, "Can you do this, Lucy?"

Shaking her head out of its short daze, Lucy swallowed and slowly began to nod her head, as if coming around to what he had whispered to her. "I…I will do what is necessary.

The crinkle at the corner of Bane's steely eyes told Lucy that he was very pleased at how she had quickly stepped back into her place. "Good. Now, you may go ahead and get something to eat and rest. I doubt there will be much time for that once we land."

Lucy numbly nodded and made a quiet exit through the curtain partition. Her feet took her on a slow trek through plane, moving without much awareness of anything or anyone else around her. At moment, her mind was struggling to wrap itself around what she had just agreed to. A shudder broke down her back, briefly making her steps falter, feeling as though she could still hear Bane's whisper in her ear, seeping under her skin and stirring her bones. Eventually, she shook off the eerie sensation and made it to the front of the plane, decently far away and quiet. Looking around, Lucy spotted a familiar ratty old bag sitting in one of the aisle seats and planted herself beside it.

She absently let her hand run over the front of her bag, a warm sense of familiarity blooming in her chest. She sifted around inside and felt the rub of leather on her skin, the corners of her lips quirked up in almost knowing smile. Almost. Right now, she needed to think, not reminisce.

Still… Lucy thought, her finger idly floating toward the journal again. Still, I brought it for a reason. I always did think better when I was…

"Writing." She finished aloud.

After scrounging up a pen, Lucy flipped to a clean page and began jotting stuff down as she carefully unlocked certain trunks of memories and numerous note-to-selves. At first, her thoughts flowed rather seamlessly. She wrote about the Batman and Bane confrontation, then came the flight by private jet (thanks to their mysterious benefactor of the initials 'M.T.'). It was when she arrived at the Pit that the writing became a bit more difficult as the recollections became more choppy as she went along. Describing the prison was fine. Talking about the old caretaker and the things he said to her was alright. Recounting the current location, plan, and state of Bruce Wayne and the oaths he had taken to return was…okay, to say the least. But after that...Lucy found herself smacking face first into a metaphorical wall, her hand halting harshly on the page, nearly dragging a hole through the paper. She knew what was behind that wall, but she deluded herself to think that if she didn't write about it…it wasn't true, letting her believe that there was a hole in her memory.

I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. Lucy thought pathetically. She knew she was being a fool, but no matter how hard she squeezed the pen, she just couldn't put it on paper. For whatever mentally unsound reason that was, Lucy wasn't willing to dwell on now. For now, it would have to stay behind that wall, no matter how it may be cracking. She would have to pray that it would all hold together until they arrived in Gotham and she was long out of Bane's grasp. How she would do the latter depended on how she approached Bane's special assignment for her.

Biting on the cap of the pen thoughtfully, Lucy went over Bane's distressing hushed command again and again, until it became just words to her. To rule language, as she once heard, you had to break words down, convincing them they meant nothing, until they didn't scare you anymore. Perhaps it was hypocritical of her, but Lucy couldn't be scared, not after all this false parading and struggling. She had promised to do what she could to make it home.

"I will do what is necessary." The swear took on a whole new meaning for her then.

And so, without a glint of fear in her eyes, but rather a look of intense concentration, Lucy finally wrote down what Bane required of her.

Kill Commissioner Gordon.

"We're locking her up in here?" The guard asked the Warden uncertainly.

Blackgate Prison was noisy with shameless catcalls and whistles. Selina Kyle, her lithe form now donning an ill-fitting orange prison uniform, strolled down the cell block completely unperturbed. But, in spite of her impassive expression, there was certain darkness in her eyes that went undetected by the men around her, all of which were focused on the scope of her more feminine qualities. Deep down she was afraid—not of prison (this wasn't exactly her first lock up), but of something much bigger than herself.

There's a storm coming, Mr. Wayne. You and your friends better batten down the hatches…

Well, look at me now. She should be far from this godforsaken city, making a new life for herself. Get away before the worst hit. She didn't owe this dump or its people anymore.

"The Dent Act allows for non-segregation based on extraordinary need. First time she broke out of women's correctional she was sixteen." The Warden explained, nodding his head in toward Selina just as a particularly bullish inmate tried to sweet talk her.

"Little closer, baby…"

Selina coyly peered at him and asked mockingly, "Why, honey, you wanna hold my hand?" Without breaking step, she edged closer to the inmate, took his outstretched hands in her handcuffed ones and cartwheeled, snapping his arms with a sickening crack, before sauntering off as if nothing had happened.

"She'll be just fine." The Warden declared.

If only they knew, she was the last thing they should be worrying about.

Leaning forward, jaw slightly slack, Lucy took a deep breath and blew on the window, her warm breath instantly fogging up the glass. Then, with her finger, she drew a snowflake.

Winter has always been Lucy's favorite part of the year. Even with the changing of the season, there was always its constants. For example, she always knew that she would come home with a pink nose from the cold, or that the front hallway of their apartment would always be tracked with melted snow. There was also the tree decorated to the nines with the cheapest ornaments from the grocery store, John's very sad attempt at a Christmas dinner, which always went forgotten in favor of his hot chocolate, and finally, spending Christmas Eve under piles of blankets with John watching the best and worst of the 80's.

There was always something to go home to; always a promise of warmth.

Promises, promises. A voice sang tauntingly in her head.

Lucy grimaced and banished the voice to the back of her mind, even though she knew it was right. There was no more warmth left to depend on. There was only the bitter cold nipping at her from every direction.

Glancing back at the window, she saw that her snowflake had melted away, showing wet streaky semblances of downtown Gotham as they sped past. Lucy wished to herself that the truck would slow down, let her take it all back in, but…they were on a tight schedule.

It was clear from the minute they touched ground that there was little time open for conversation Everyone seemed to have clear knowledge of what they must accomplish and immediately set to it, loading themselves into a number of inconspicuous black trucks and speeding off in all directions. Much to her own surprise, Bane never questioned her again on her capability for her assignment. As a matter of fact, he said nothing at all. Instead, he handed her a jacket to stay warm, a gun subtly nestled in its pocket, ruffled her hair a bit, and then sent her off with a pair of mercenaries to aid her in whatever way she needed.

Both of which seemed none too excited about having to escort her. She could hear them muttering something about 'babysitting' and it being a 'waste of their time'. However, Lucy went unmoved by them, not really caring much for their presence either, and turned her gaze back toward the window, where she thought about drawing on the glass again.

Sometime ago, she had actually considered writing 'HELP', but quickly realized how little attention it would garner at this point. Actually, she had spent some time thinking of how she could manipulate the end of this trip. After all, nothing was ever set. Things can change. So she came to the conclusion that there was only one way she could get out of this that would ensure little chance for Bane to get ahold of her again. She only had to hold on a bit longer, but in the mean time…

"So let me get this straight," One of the mercenaries piped up from the front seat, "We get to Gotham General and what—just off the commissioner?"

"No." Lucy interjected, still looking out the window, "I off the commissioner. You two, however, get to stand at the door and look pretty."

"Right, like we are goin' to let you have the honors." He countered, turning around to look at Lucy, "Did you know, girly, that it's because of Commissioner Gordon and Harvey Dent that my younger brother ain't ever getting' out of Blackgate? Nineteen years old, got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time and now he ain't got a chance."

"And you killing the commissioner will surely buy his freedom, won't it?" Lucy asked cynically. "Listen to me. Bane is a very precise man and he detests those who stray from simple instructions and indulge in their own wants and beliefs." She turned a cold eye toward the front seat, "He doesn't care if you have a bone to pick with the commissioner. He handed me the mission. I have the bullet that will end this assignment and both of you need only remain Bane's blunt little instruments until I need something from you. Clear?"

"Blunt little instrument?!" The mercenary growled angrily, jerking against his seatbelt as he tried to reach Lucy in the back seat. "I'll show you—"

"Yes, yes, you'll show me just how 'blunt' you are," Lucy finished, waving her hand condescendingly in the mercenary's red face. "Granted of course, you are willing to explain to Bane why you deviated from his orders and laid an uninvited hand on his Little Bird."

Her words instantly sobered up the mercenary and calmly, albeit reluctantly, turned around in his seat, setting his angry gaze out the windshield. The driver, who had been eyeing her through the rear view mirror, remained quiet, but there was still a slow burn of offense taken at her words.

"Are we clear, boys?" Lucy asked, sprinkling salt over there injured egos.

Grumbling, they replied, "Clear."

If Gordon had ever seen a more haggard and dismal looking young man, John Blake would certainly top the list, and from what he was hearing, he's not at all surprised.

"Crane is off his rocker, Blake. We all know that."

"I know, but am I just supposed ignore the facts…ignore the possibility—"

"Oh, let the facts hang, Blake. Lucy has a shadow, but you know what, so does everyone else. But not everyone has someone who will love their darkness as much as they love their light," Gordon pointed out, trying to remind Blake of the love he held for Lucy, "You gave that little girl another chance and when she is found, she is going to need someone to remind her of who she really is."

Blake slowly nodded, but confessed under his breath, "Commissioner, I'm scared for her."

"I know you are. We have to believe that she is ok. She is much smarter than people think." Gordon reminded him, before turning the discussion into a different topic, not a much happier topic, but different nonetheless. "So you think our friend is gone again?"

"This time…he might not be coming back." Blake replied gravely.

Silence blanketed the room as Gordon struggled to take this in. Though he would likely be the first man to offer words of hope, he is not unfamiliar with feelings of dread.

Just then, the quiet was broken as Foley suddenly burst through the door, agitation clear on his face. "Okay, Commissioner, you were right."

"What's happened?" Gordon asked, steeling himself for the worst of news.

"Your masked man kidnapped the Wayne Enterprise board. He let most of them go, but took three of them down into the sewers."

"Alright. No more patrols. No more hide and seek." Gordon was shaking underneath his hospital sheets, as if his aged bones were trying to snap back into active duty. "Send every available cop down there to smoke him out!"

"The Mayor won't want panic—" Foley reasoned.

"So say that it's a training exercise." Blake provided.

Foley glanced skeptically at Blake, then looked at Gordon for his go. He nodded.

"I'm sorry for not taking you seriously." Foley apologized, looking shamefacedly at his friend and comrade in arms.

"Don't apologize for believing the world's in better shape than it is…just fight to make it true."

Foley nodded, accepting his words as motivation, then took his leave. Blake stood up to follow, thinking he was going down there with the rest of the force, but was stopped by Gordon.

"Not you. You're telling me that the Batman's gone. So you chase up whatever you got left on your Dagget leads, even old ones, any way you can. Don't miss anything. Anything and everything could be important."

"Yes, sir."

What was left of Bruce Wayne lay awake in agony, weak and feverish. Though his gaze was hazy, he could make out the form of an elderly man leaning over him and soon felt the touch of cool water on his parched lips. He drank as eagerly as his body would allow him, only stopping when the water was drawn away from him at the sound of a gruff voice rasping something out in a foreign language. Maneuvering his eyes around the small cell, he spotted an old, blind man squatting by the wall in the next cell.

"He asks if you would pay us to let you die. I told him you have nothing." The elderly prisoner translated for him.

"Do it for the pleasure." Bruce provided, as the prisoner began to feed him pieces of bread.

"They pay me more than that to keep you alive," The prisoner replied, sounding almost apologetic.

Bruce groaned agonizingly and began to shut his eyes, wanting to recede into the painless depths of sleep, but a rhythmic chanting from outside the cell, seeming to echo from all over the prison, caught his attention.

Deshi deshi basara basara. Deshi deshi, basara….

Painfully, he rolled his head to look out of his cell to watch a tattooed prisoner hand a thick rope to another strong-looking prisoner, who tied it tightly about his torso.

"He will try the climb." The prisoner explained to him. The chanting began to increase as more prisoners began to gather round and watch.

Deshi,basara, basara…. Deshi deshi basara basara!

The prisoner began to scale the wall, climbing closer and closer to the light. Halfway there, he stopped and hoisted himself onto a ledge jutting out from the wall. Across from the ledge, there was a roughly twelve-foot leap to another ledge that led to the rest of the climb.

DESHI BASARA BASARA! DESHI DESHI BASARA BASARA! DESHI DESHI BASARA!

The chanting grew deafening.

The prisoner sprinted. He jumped. He missed.

His screams as he descended were painfully punctuated by the snapping of the rope as it caught the fallen prisoner and swung him straight into the rock face. The chant grew silent and the prisoners began to return to their cells, disinterested and disheartened. The fallen prisoner was lowered to the ground, broken and bloody, and likely to not take the climb again anytime soon.

"Has anyone ever made it?" Bruce asked, eyes drawn longingly to the light at the top of the Pit.

"Of course not."

The blind prisoner snapped at him.

"What does he say?" Bruce asked, rolling his head back around.

The prisoner sighed, reluctant to share with him the old legend, "He says there is one who did. A child. A child who had been born into this hell."

"Bane." Bruce offered.

The prisoner shook his head, "An old legend. Nothing more." He began to shuffle around the cell, remembering that the time was drawing near for Bane's mental torture to commence. As instructed, he went to retrieve the television remote, but paused when he caught something glimmering underneath the Bruce's cot. Picking it up, he rubbed it clean of dirt with his shirt before holding it up to the light. It was a long-chained necklace holding a coin-shaped pendant. After a moment of thought, he remembered where it came from.

"I believe this belongs to you." He said, placing the necklace into Bruce's dirty palm.

"The girl who gave this to me…" Bruce rasped, clutching the necklace tightly, "Where is she? What's he done with her?"

The prisoner pursed his lips and turned away from the question, wondering why no one had the sense to just leave well enough alone.

"I heard screaming." Bruce tried again. "Don't pretend that nothing happened. What did he do to her?"

Shaking his head, the prisoner gave no reply and instead, went to turn on the television.

"Don't." pleaded Bruce, a look of anguish in his eyes.

"Whatever they want you to see…it's happening soon.

Oh, say!

Can you see by the dawn's early light?

What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming;

"I've been to more than half of Daggett's cement plants, logged locations they've poured for underground construction…" Blake sighed through the phone. He had decided to call Gordon just as it started to feel like he was circling around a broken track again. This was not an unfamiliar feeling, but it was highly exacerbated by the fact that he beginning to think that he was wasting his time and could be of much better use elsewhere.

"Anything strange about the pourings?" Gordon asked.

Blake takes a moment to glance over at the large map laying sprawled across the passenger seat, a series of dots denoting each pouring location. But all the same, it was all Greek to him.

"Honestly, Commissioner, I didn't know anything about civil engineering before, and its possible that I know even less now." He admitted.

"Ah, but you do know about patterns," Gordon pointed out, "Keep looking."

With those departing words, Blake pulled up to the next cement plant on the map and found a worker that let him inside for a closer look. Straightaway, he scanned the open yard for anything that would constitute something of the patterns Gordon mentioned, or something simply off-kilter. He walked past some cement-mixing trucks when another worker crossed ahead of their path. Coming closer, Blake realized there was something oddly familiar about the worker.

"Hey!" Blake called out, hurrying over, "Hey!"

The worker turned, a look of boredom on his scruffy face.

"That was you outside the stock exchange, right?" Blake questioned

"When?"

"When?" Blake echoed incredulously, "When half the city's cops were trying to pull onto Castle Street and your truck shut them out."

Blake remembered. He had asked him to move his truck, but by some chance, he ended up blocking out an entire street. He wouldn't ever forget that day. Bane got away that day…and with Lucy.

"Oh, yeah," The worker said, feigning thoughtfulness, "You're that cop—"

"Detective, now," Blake corrected, falling quiet for moment as he heard a slight rustling behind him that immediately raised the hairs on the back of his neck. "And as a detective…I'm not allowed to believe in coincidences—"

Catching a blur of movement in the corner of his eye, Blake spun around, smacking away the other worker's arm as he wildly swung a knife at him. Instinctively, he drew his gun and shot the worker before he could go in for another lunge. With little time to breathe or process, the other worker suddenly grabbed him in a tight hold from behind. With his arms crushed to his chest, Blake wrestled to get free, even trying to throw his own body weight back against him, but the worker was strong and only held on tighter. Without thinking, Blake looked over his shoulder, blindly aimed his gun, and pulled the trigger. There was a loud clang as the bullet ricocheted off the steel mixer and suddenly, the worker loosened his hold on Blake, falling to the ground.

Gasping, Blake scrambled towards the man and kneeled beside him. Shaking him, he frantically shouted, "What were you doing here?! What were you working on?!"

But he was unresponsive, already dead. Finally grasping what had transpired, Blake looked disgustedly down at his gun and tossed it far away from him. Quickly, he scrambled up from the ground and pulled out his phone, dialing Gordon's number.

"Commissioner," Blake started, sounding far more flustered than he would have liked, "I'm at the Fourteenth Street plant with two dead witnesses and whole lot of questions…Call me—" He stopped short as he spotted some dodgy looking barrels stacked up behind the cement truck.

Looking closer, he read off the contents on the barrels, "Commissioner, they've got polyisobutylene here…And," He squinted, unsure if he was reading the label right, "Motor oil? That's not…" His eyes widened as realization struck him, "They weren't making cement. They were making explosives."

Shoving his phone back into his pocket, Blake booked it back to his cruiser, briefly stooping to pick up his gun and holster it. Jumping inside the car, he grabbed the map off the passenger seat and traced the pattern of the dots, watching it form a perfect ring.

"Oh God."

Terror ripped through Blake, as he fired up the cruiser and tore out of the cement plant, setting a furious course for the tunnels.

He wouldn't make it in time, but he needed to try something. He needed to warn them.

Going for his police radio, Blake called in, "Patch me into Foley!"

There was a small buzz before dispatch lazily replied, "Foley's overseeing the operation—"

"They're heading into a trap!"

Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight,

O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?

And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,

Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there:

By the time Lucy felt their truck shudder to stop outside of Gotham General, a large dry lump had grown in her throat and her stomach had been stirred into a tight coil of nerves. Peering out the window, she saw the building that has seen its fair share of death and disaster, knowing that in a few short minutes more was to be added to the hospital's record…and that she would be responsible.

This was it. The time had finally come for action.

Steadying her breathing, Lucy took a second to detach herself from what was about to pass—an action that was shockingly easy for her. However, she thought little on that fact, instead renaming her indifference as strictly focus and objectivity.

It has to be done. Lucy thought, trying to satisfy her severely broken moral compass, as she forcefully tugged the hood of her jacket over her face and jumped out of the truck, her hand firmly wrapped around her gun.

"Ready?"

When the mercenaries bobbed their heads in readiness, Lucy nodded towards the hospital doors. Together, like good little soldiers, they rushed through the doors, effectively shattering the monotonous hum of Gotham General by thrusting their rifles into the air and loosing bullets over everyone's head. Seconds later, Lucy trailed in, her head hung low, shadowed by her hood. To the panicked civilians, she seemed like another menacing soldier, apathetic and dangerous. But, in truth, she didn't want anyone to see her face, nor did she want to see the fear in theirs.

"ICU. Room 304." Lucy intervened just as the mercenaries leveled their guns with the nurses at the front desk, looking pointedly towards the stairs. They gave her a not too subtle fish eye before lowering their guns and following her directions.

Up three floors, they climbed, keeping a high pace that left Lucy working to keep her beating heart in a schooled rhythm. Things were running much quicker than she had anticipated and Lucy began to feel a clamminess take over her grip on her gun.

Once they hit the third floor and any staff was easily subdued, Lucy began to drop behind a few steps, letting the mercenaries race ahead of her. Quietly, but quickly, they padded down the ICU hallway, stopping briefly to sweep rooms as they passed by. The room numbers flashed blurrily in front of Lucy's eyes until they arrived at a familiar corridor.

300

She remembered…

302

The last time she was here…it was a friendly visit.

304

The room number seemed to scowl angrily at her and she went stone still a few mere feet from the completion from this assignment. Her expression was tight and otherwise unreadable to the mercenaries, but her brow had gone unexpectedly cold from sweat.

Suddenly, she became highly aware of the mercenaries eyes on her, waiting for her call.

Swallowing thickly, Lucy raised her left hand.

Oh, say! Does that star spangled banner yet wave…

O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

"Let the games begin!"

FIREWORKS FOR EVERYONE! (sorry for non-Americans…if this makes you unhappy…)

The story finally intertwines with the movie again! YYAYYYYYYAYYYYYAAYYAYY!

Anyways, pulling back into my normal self again, I certainly hope that ending wasn't too abrupt for you guys, but I found no other better way for me to execute it. Writing this chapter was hard, but also fun. I can't tell you how many times I had to replay Blake's scenes just to get the actions as accurate as possible.

Regardless, I hope you enjoyed that and know that I will be out of town next week with little to no time to write.

Accept my apology flowers now….

Please show me some love and review for me…please…do it…my birthday is next week…think of it as a present for me!

Or don't…

But please do review!

Bye, lovelies!