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XXXV - A Howling Wilderness
Through Park Row District Streets, Gotham City
Damian was devastated by the last events. He had been consumed by his anger and grief. The world around him was falling apart and he did not know what to do.
Months ago, Bane's populist rhetoric had seemed enticing enough to lure people like him – make the wealthy to lose their possessions and give to the people what is theirs by right. But at what cost?
Soon Bane's ideals had proved to be a great lie while he physically tortured and killed innocent people as a presage of what lay ahead – the complete destruction of the city.
Discovering that one of the most powerful and rich man of Gotham – and why not say of the entire world – was indeed the masked vigilante known as Batman made him realize that not all of Gotham's wealthy are ignorant of those in need.
Even knowing the danger of walking through the desert streets, Damian got out for some time alone. He needed that. Following Fox's advices, he tried to calm himself down.
Suddenly, from a safety distance, he saw a kid running like hell through Park Row streets. A thin gray windbreaker provided scant protection from the cold, but that appeared to be least of his worries right now. Two snarling gangbangers, twice the kid's age and size, chased after him.
For a second, it looked as if the kid might get away, but then he slipped on a patch of icy sidewalk and tumbled to the ground. The hoods caught up with him and yanked him to his feet. Spittle sprayed from one punk's lips.
"You steal from us, you little bastard?"
The punk had bad skin and an ugly expression. His buddy wore a blue ski cap and a perpetual sneer. Tearing open the kid's backpack, Bad Skin pulled out a shiny red apple. He drew back his fist to wallop his prisoner, but before he could deliver the beat-down, a hand grabbed onto his arm and twisted it backward.
Bone cracked and the apple flew from his fingers.
Damian snatched it out of the air.
"You guys know you can't come in my neighborhood without asking politely."
Releasing the bully, he shoved him onto the slushy sidewalk, where he whimpered and clutched his broken arm.
His buddy still hadn't gotten the message, though. Drawing a knife, he lunged at Damian like a rank amateur. The teenager easily grabbed his wrist, shoved his shoulder back with his other hand, and redirected his knife arm so that he stabbed himself in the backside. He yowled like a stuck pig as the blade sliced into his fat butt.
That was enough for both of them. Cutting their losses, the injured hoods turned tail and ran, slipping and sliding in their haste to get away from him. Damian savored the sight before turning to check on the kid, who regarded him with a wide-eyed mixture of fear and awe. From the looks of him, he couldn't have been more than ten years old. Eleven, tops.
"Never steal anything from someone you can't outrun, kid," he advised the younger boy.
He stared longingly at the apple.
"Now you're gonna take it," the younger boy said, resentment in his voice.
"No. It's yours. You've got it," he replied as he lobbed the apple back to the kid, who wasted no time absconding with it, just in case he changed his mind.
A thank you would have been nice, he thought, but he couldn't really blame the little guy for getting away while the getting was good. He knew what it was like to be hungry and on your own.
That boy reminded him of Colin. Colin was dead. They even could not try to retrieve his corpse and give to him an appropriate burial. His mother was imprisoned and his father...
"Looking for some trouble?"
It was a voice he had never expected to hear again. Spinning around, he found Bruce Wayne standing on the sidewalk behind him. The older man was dressed like a common laborer, with a scruffy beard and work clothes, but there was no mistaking the former prince of Gotham. His face was lean and weathered, but, much to the boy's surprise, he was standing straight and tall – despite what Bane had done to his back.
The sound of that awful 'crack' had haunted his dreams for months now.
"You came back," he said warily. "But how?"
"Long story," Bruce said smiling. "Maybe someday I'll told you the details. But now we have a work to do."
"We?" the young man asked astonished.
"Sure. Or are you expecting I'll be able to do it all by myself? I need help. Can I count on you?"
"Oh, Yeah! Definitely," Damian replied with confidence but there was no hint of excitement in his voice.
"I'm very sorry for Colin," Bruce spoke softly and Damian shook his head slightly in response. The older man noticed how hard the teenager was fighting against tears that were threatening to spill from his eyes. He couldn't help but feel sorry for him.
He and Miranda's relationship had borne fruit. And the result was in front of him. That kid had his blood. And he didn't need a blood test to prove what he already knew in his heart. He devoted his life to prevent anyone else suffering what his parents had experienced on that fateful night or what he had suffered having to grow on his own. Right now, all he wanted to do was to be able to comfort that kid. His child. To wrap his arms around the boy's shoulders and say that everything was going to be okay.
Damian took a breath and finally could speak.
"No hard feelings, I suppose... Stealing your fingerprints and all..." He tried to give a new direction to their chat but the wavering in his voice could not be denied. A lump was rising in his throat, not letting up regardless of how hard he tried to swallow it back down.
"I admit I felt a little let down," Bruce admitted. "But I think there's more to you."
"Are you gonna get your powerful friend on the case?" Damian asked.
"I'm trying. But I need Lucius Fox. I need you to find out where they're holding him. Then take me in."
"You're so luck," Damian said, grinning, "because Mr. Fox is under my roof."
"Fox is with you in the theater?" Bruce asked not believing how easy it was.
"Yep," the young man sighed.
"Come. There's no time to waste. Tomorrow that bomb's going off and we have to do something," he urged and started to walk.
Monarch Theater, Park Row District, Gotham City
Monarch Theater was no longer a place filled with hope. Everyone there seemed to be completely shattered by the last events. No one even noticed – or seemed to care about – the stranger visitant. Led by Damian, Bruce finally found his old friend.
"Hello, Lucius," Bruce said, smirking at Fox. The older man gasped and turned to find Wayne in front of him, alive.
"You picked a hell of time to go on vacation, Mr. Wayne," Fox said.
Not exactly my idea, Bruce thought, but he didn't have time for pleasantries. "How long till the core ignites?"
"The bomb goes off in twenty hours or so," Fox said.
Just as Bane had planned all along, Bruce knew.
"Unless we can reconnect it to the reactor," he said.
"If you can get it there," Fox promised, "I'll find a way to plug it back in."
"And where is Miranda? Is she alright?" Bruce asked seriously, but without implying how much he was worried.
Fox and Damian exchanged glances.
"Mercenaries took her. And Gordon too. They are under his army's custody at Stock Exchange," the teenager told him, low-spirited.
"Can you get her out?" Fox asked.
I wish I could, Bruce thought. "Not tonight," he replied. He noticed when Damian sighed and bowed his head. Could he already know about his true origins?
"I'm sorry," he told them. The teenager nodded solemnly.
For now, he needed to focus on the bomb – and on Lucius. There would be time enough to sort things out between all of them, if and when Gotham survived.
"Tonight, Mr. Fox, I need you to get me back in the game," he told Fox.
"So, come on, gentlemen. We've a work to do and some asses to kick," Damian announced and led them to exit the room.
Before the older men could proceed, Fox grabbed Wayne's arm and whispered:
"It's safe to talk about you-know-who in front of Mr. Blake?
"Yeah. Don't worry. He knows everything," he informed.
Bat-Bunker, Some place in town, Gotham City
Bright fluorescent lights flickered on, exposing a stark rectangular chamber hidden deep beneath a shipping yard owned by Wayne Enterprises. The bunker had served as an auxiliary base of operations during the restorations to the mansion, several years back. A bank of computer monitors occupied one wall, while the rest of Batman's equipment was stored away in hidden compartments.
It had been kept intact for those times when it simply wasn't convenient to rush all the way back to the manor. That it remained so made it clear that Bane was unfamiliar with this particular storehouse.
Damian just watched everything in awe, amazed at every gadget available. For him it was a honor to be there.
Meanwhile, Bruce was considering his options.
"Any move I make against Bane or the bomb, the trigger man sets it off."
"They can't be using radio or cell," Fox theorized. "Too much interference. Infrared doesn't have the range. It could only be microburst long wave."
Bruce concurred with Fox's assessment.
"Could you block it?"
"Yes, but I need the EMP cannon guidance mount from the Bat." He gave Bruce a wry look. "You remember where you parked?"
Bruce nodded, smiling. He opened a concealed panel in the wall, exposing a well-stocked armory. He took out explosive mini-mines, Batarangs, the grapple gun, his utility belt – all his old tools and weapons.
He pressed a button and a wire mesh cage rose from the floor. Inside the cage were a familiar black suit, cowl, and cape. He smiled grimly.
Alfred had always encouraged him to buy in bulk. And he couldn't fault the logic. It never hurt to have a spare.
"Mr. Wayne?" Fox interjected. "I've saved some stuff from Applied Sciences that can be useful," then he motioned his head towards Damian.
The teenager was still not fully aware of what he was implying and glanced from one man to another.
So, Fox showed them a new version of the 'para-cape' – made of a version of the Nomex fire-resistant, triple-weave Kevlar-lined material.
"It is an excellent protection against damage, and is also insulated against electricity. Can be specifically tailored to the user's style of fighting in a short time," Lucius explained.
The other two exchanged glances, grinning.
"Perhaps it might be time for a little improvement in your suit," Bruce suggested.
Damian was speechless. That was like every kid's dream came true. He simply accepted the offer.
"Okay."
Suddenly he saw a long white stick. "What is that?" he asked as he was pointing to it.
"Oh, these are twin Eskrima sticks made from an unbreakable polymer," Fox said and got the stick, that turned out to be two when he dislodged the parts in the middle.
"You know how to use them?" Bruce asked the kid.
"I learn fast," Damian replied, raising his chin and getting the sticks from Fox's hands.
"I like your pupil, Mr. Wayne."
Damian just shrugged and Bruce smirked in response.
They had work to do and they need to be fast.
Basement of the abandoned Stock Exchange, Central Business District, Gotham City
By the end of the afternoon, the word had spread and a lot of people knew the nuke was a device built by Wayne Enterprises and Miranda Tate – the actual CEO – was in fact the biggest investor of the project.
Commoners and wealthy ones gathered together, hungry for blood. They were eager to find someone to blame for their disgrace and they chose her.
A small mob stormed upon the basement of the abandoned Stock Exchange in search of Tate. They spotted her in a corner, where she appeared to be comforting a worried mother and children. So they run toward where she was and grabbed her aggressively by her arms, pulling her over the ground.
Caught off guard, she tried to resist and fight back but it was useless, her strength proved too weak against her aggressors.
So this is it? she thought. Is this the end?
They led her out of the room and towards the kangaroo court saying that she must be judged at that moment. However there was already a trial taking place there.
This is a travesty, Gordon thought grimly. A joke.
He and his men were on 'trial' before Jonathan Crane of all people. A mob of hoods, mercs, and escaped prisoners – many of whom Gordon was personally responsible for putting behind bars – crowded the former stock exchange, hooting and hollering at the disgusting spectacle. Bane himself watched from the upper gallery.
Gordon repressed a shudder at the sight of the masked madman who was close to destroying Gotham. The scars from his bullet wounds throbbed at the memory of his first encounter with Bane in the tunnels months ago.
If only we had stopped him then…
"The charges are espionage and attempted sabotage," Crane declared with an undisguised smirk. He was clearly enjoying this obscene role-reversal.
"Do you have anything to say in your defense?"
Gordon thought Crane belonged in straitjacket, not a judge's robes. He refused to play along.
"No lawyer, no witnesses? What sort of due process is this?"
"More than you gave Harvey's prisoners, commissioner. Your guilt is determined. This is merely a sentencing hearing." He peered down from the podium. "What's it to be – death or exile?"
By now, word of the sadistic ritual down at the docks had made its way across Gotham. As far as Gordon knew, nobody had ever made it across the frozen river before plunging beneath the ice. Bane and his people hadn't even bothered to dredge for the bodies.
Suddenly the hearing was interrupted by a crazed mob that was shouting and forcibly bringing a woman. Gordon recognised her as Miranda Tate – a Wayne Enterprises executive.
"Order in the court!" Crane shouted, slamming his mallet and bringing the room to silence. "We're in the middle of a trial here, please," he announced. "I'm sure whoever she is, she's gonna have what she deserves. Now let's keep it going."
Gordon turned to Crane.
"Crane, if you think we're going willingly out onto that ice, you've got another think coming."
The criminal psychiatrist waved away Gordon's insolence.
"Death, then?"
Gordon wasn't about to plead for his life. He spoke for his men, as well.
"Looks that way."
"Very well," Crane said, smiling. "Death…by exile." His gavel banged against the podium as the crowd cheered his verdict. Then Bane stepped forward and a hush fell over the 'courtroom'. He leaned toward one of his men and pointed toward Miranda.
"Bring her to me."