Thank you to all my readers, followers and reviewers. This is not an original chapter, but it is necessary to place the narrative. All credits goes to Greg Cox with regards to most of the chapter.
XXXVI - The Beginning Of A Partnership
Former Wayne Penthouse Skyscraper, Downtown, Gotham City
The stairwell was thick with dust and dimly lit. A flickering light bulb needed replacing. The top floor of the building had once housed Bruce Wayne's downtown penthouse apartment, but had been caught up in bankruptcy proceedings right before Bane took control of the city. From the looks of things, it had sat empty ever since.
Assuming we don't run into any squatters, Fox mused.
Bruce bounded up the stairs, while Fox huffed and puffed behind him. After sneaking around Gotham all day, he was definitely feeling his age, unlike Bruce, who looked as if he had been working out like an Olympic athlete. A fresh leg brace, recovered from the bunker, meant he didn't need to worry about his bum knee anymore, either.
They were alone now while Damian was preparing himself.
Lucius paused to catch his breath.
"I think it's time to talk about my year-end bonus…" he said. Assuming any of us are still alive by the end of the year.
Bypassing the top-floor apartments, they went straight to the roof of the skyscraper. Bruce keyed in a combination code that granted them access. A freezing wind hit them as they stepped out. The sun was setting to the west, lending the frozen river a lurid incarnadine sheen. Fox gazed soberly at the fallen bridges, and the mainland beyond. He wondered if he would ever set foot off the island again.
It's been a good life, he thought. All in all.
But he wasn't ready for it to end yet.
A frosted white tarp was draped over a large object parked inconspicuously on the helipad. A no-fly zone was in force above Gotham, as part of the terrorists' demands. All aircraft, private and otherwise, had been grounded.
Until now.
Bruce grabbed the edge of the tarp, shook loose the snow, and yanked it away, revealing the Bat, just as Fox remembered it. The formidable aircraft looked none the worse for wear since its maiden flight. He couldn't wait to see it take to the night sky once again.
But first he needed to 'borrow' that EMP cannon.
Doing his best to ignore the cold, he hurried forward and started taking apart the forward gun mount. The sleek black metal was freezing to the touch, but it couldn't be helped. Better a touch of frostbite, Fox reasoned, than death by atomic blast.
"Nothing like a little air superiority, isn't it? She fly pretty well?" he asked.
Bruce nodded, coming over to assist him. Freshly shaved, he looked much more like his old self.
"Even without the autopilot."
"Autopilot?" Fox gave Bruce a puzzled look. "That's what you're there for."
Bruce smiled cryptically.
He looked up to the sky and saw a hawk diving through the air, catching a bat. The last one of the day was taking the first of the night. He hoped it was not a omen.
May God help Gotham if something went wrong.
Gotham River shore, Gotham City
Darkness shrouded the frozen surface of the river, making it all-but-invisible. Pitch-black shadows lurked beneath the decapitated pylons of the bridge. Empty skyscrapers loomed on the other shore, long since evacuated by the US Armed Forces that were surrounding the island.
Standing at the Gotham edge of the river with his men, Gordon tried to calculate the distance across. Half a mile? Three-quarters? How wide was the Gotham River anyway?
Too wide, probably.
"Get going," a mercenary snarled. He fired his gun into the air for emphasis. At least a half-dozen mercs and escaped prisoners clustered on the docks and riverfront, waiting to see how far the prisoners got. Somebody tried to get a wager going, but nobody was willing to bet on the cops.
The only question was who fell through the ice first.
The heavy betting was on Gordon.
Might as well get this over with, he thought.
Giving his men an encouraging look, he led them out onto the ice, which creaked and groaned alarmingly beneath their feet.
They made their way cautiously across the ice, fanning out to avoid placing too much weight on any one section. For the first time, Gordon was thankful for the weight he'd lost during his hospital stay and the lean times afterwards. A few extra pounds might be the difference between life and death.
If we have any chance at all.
When they were less than a hundred feet from their starting point, a peculiar odor caught Gordon's attention. He stopped and sniffed the air.
Was that… gasoline?
Glancing down, he spotted a pool of liquid atop the ice, reflected in the ambient light from the night sky. An emergency flare lay beside the puddle. Puzzled, he bent to pick it up.
"Light it up," a raspy voice growled in his ear.
Hope sparked inside Gordon, brighter than any flare. He knew that voice. It was the same one that had spoken to him in his hospital room, months ago, the voice that had first asked him to help clean up Gotham all those years ago.
He's back, Gordon realized, overcome with relief. Finally.
As requested, he lit the flare by twisting off its cap and scratching the ignition button. A brilliant red flame shot from the business end and, trusting Batman with his life, Gordon thrust it into the puddle of gasoline.
The pool burst into flame, and a trail of fire raced across the ice until it reached one of the darkened buildings on the far side of the river. The bright orange flames spread up and across the face of the building, forming the silhouette of an enormous, flaming bat.
Gordon's heart surged at the sight. Now everybody in Gotham would know the truth: The Dark Knight had risen.
People from every corner of the city were staring at the sight of the flaming sign in wonder.
Maybe there was still hope after all.
Through Gotham City Streets
Bane strode the streets of Gotham, heading back from the courtroom to his headquarters in City Hall. This was the last time he ever expected to walk this route. Everything was in readiness.
After so many months, the culmination of his plans was less than a day away. Soon Gotham would see its last dawn – and the legacy of Rā's al Ghul would be fulfilled at last. He hoped that Wayne was enjoying the show.
"Sir?"
Barsad – his right hand – approached from behind. Bane detected nervousness in the mercenary's tone. He turned to see what the matter was, and beheld the sign of the Bat burning brightly on the other side of the river.
"You think it's really him?" the lieutenant asked.
Bane's mask concealed his surprise. He had broken the Batman, and left him in the pit to languish in despair. There was no way Wayne could have arisen from that hell.
"Impossible…"
Gotham River shore, Gotham City
Distracted by the blazing sign, the guards at the river's edge were easy prey. Batman quickly neutralized them – using a tranquilizer dart launcher – before they even realized what was happening.
Gordon and his men gratefully fled the melting ice, returning to the shore, which by that time was littered with unconscious mercs and hoodlums. Batman stood among them, his cape flapping in the wind. Gordon had never been so glad to see someone in his entire life.
The Dark Knight handed Gordon a compact metal box.
"This blocks the remote detonator signal to the bomb," Batman said. "Get it onto the truck by sunrise. They might hit the button when it starts."
Gordon didn't bother asking how Batman knew about the truck. He accepted the box gratefully.
"When what starts?"
Batman growled his answer.
"War."
"So, welcome back," Gordon spoke.
"It's still a little premature. I'm not gonna be back until we really have retaken Gotham. And this battle is starting right now," he paused for a moment then added: "Did you saw Miranda Tate?"
"Bane took her. He's holed up at City Hall, surrounded by his army," Gordon informed.
Batman nodded and left.
Outflow pipe, Ackerman Park, Gotham City
The fiery bat could even be seen from the outskirts of Ackerman Park, where a large concrete outflow pipe drained into a shallow stream. A pair of mercenaries was posted in front of the pipe, which was one of the few entrances to the underground that wasn't entirely sealed off. Ice coated the metal grate. Snow covered the ground.
The guards gasped at the sight of the bat-symbol. One of them stepped away from his post to get a better look. He marched toward an open clearing, out of view of his comrade, only to be waylaid by a dark figure that lunged out from behind a tree. A sharp blow dropped the guard to the ground with a minimum of fuss.
The attacker quietly dragged the unconscious merc into the shadows.
One down, DJ thought. Let's hope his buddy didn't hear me.
He crept around quietly, sneaking up on the second guard, who was peering into the darkness, searching for his compatriot. The man called out uncertainly.
DJ jumped him from behind, slamming his head into the ground. The guard went limp, but the hooded teenager kicked the man's rifle away just to be safe. He checked to make sure the merc was really out cold. The last thing he needed was to get suckered by a terrorist who was playing possum.
Was that all of them? DJ glanced around, but didn't see any other guards. Moving quickly – before any unwanted company could show up – he rushed to the tunnel entrance and shot apart the lock on the grate, allowing it to swing open.
"Hey? Is there anybody there?" he asked anxiously.
"Right here," a cop answered, squeezing up through the pipe exactly as planned through the exchange of messages between Foley and the men trapped underground.
The cop emerged and DJ helped him to climb out of the pipe. But suddenly a shot rang out from the trees, and the cop staggered backwards, a crimson stain spreading across his chest. He fell lifelessly to the ground. His breath stopped misting.
"No!" DJ screamed inwardly, even as he dove for cover. It's not fair! He was finally free…
A small group of killers charged onto the scene, surrounding DJ. He tried to scramble away, only to feel the muzzle of an automatic rifle against the back of his skull. One mercenary kept DJ pinned to the ground while his comrades fired into the open mouth of the pipe, driving back the cops who were climbing out of the depths. Muzzles flared in the night. Screams echoed from deep within the tunnel.
The trapped cops fired back, trying to blast their way to freedom. Bullets ricocheted off the rubble clogging the pipe. The mercenaries triggered a detonator and a deafening explosion shook the rocky ground, burying the manhole beneath a heap of rubble, sealing it.
Dammit! Think fast, think fast...
The merc cocked his gun, preparing to execute him on the spot, when without warning the gunman went flying to one side.
A menacing apparition, cloaked in midnight and shadows, dropped into the midst of the terrorists, tossing them around like crash dummies. Batarangs winged through the air, disarming gunmen and spearing arms and shoulders. Batman fought like a demon. Arms were twisted, legs knocked out from beneath their owners, broken teeth sent flying. One after another, battered bodies hit the dirt.
DJ kept watching in awe, as Batman took them out in a fury of punches and kicks. DJ scrambled to his feet, hoping to join in the fight, but it was already over. Silence descended. Batman stood over his fallen enemies.
"Not fair. You haven't left any for me," DJ complained. At the same time, one of the mercenaries stirred slightly, groping for his gun.
"Be my guest," Batman growled.
DJ smirked and booted the stubborn mercenary in the head. Then Batman stalked toward DJ, his cape fluttering behind him. The pointed ears of his cowl cast an ominous shadow. Even knowing whose face lay beneath the cowl, the kid had to suppress a shudder. It was easy to forget that Batman was still human underneath.
Batman extracted a pair of mini-mines from his utility belt. Flashing green indicators signaled that the compact black spheres were armed. He lobbed one over to DJ, while keeping the other for himself. He turned to face the mountain of rubble sealing off the pipe.
"On three," he said, drawing his arm back to throw the mine. DJ did the same. "One, two, three!" Together, they hurled the mines at the rubble.
Twin explosions rocked the hillside, causing loose gravel to tumble into the icy stream, but when the smoke cleared the tunnel was still blocked.
The miniature mines had barely made a dent in the heap of shattered stone and concrete. DJ scowled in disappointment.
"No offense," he said, "but you got anything bigger in the belt?"
"That was to warn the men on the other side," Batman said. He gestured for DJ to stay put, before vanishing into the woods that surrounded the demolished pipe. The teenager found himself standing alone with the unconscious terrorists, and the body of the dead cop.
He scratched his head.
"But how do we...?"
Barooom!
Cannons belched flame as a large bat-winged aircraft dropped into view in front of the cave-in. DJ scrambled backward, getting further out of the way, as the flare of the explosions lit up the night, blowing away the tons of debris blocking the tunnel.
He ducked his head and put his hands over his ears.
Thunder shook the park.
"Okay," he said, mostly to himself.
Moments later, there was nothing left of the barrier. Dozens of cops emerged from the pipe, staggering out into the cold night air. They were all skinny and ragged, half-starved from their ordeal, but they looked fit enough to fight – and mad as hell.
They clutched their weapons eagerly.
"What now?" he asked grimly.
Batman appeared beside him without warning. But he was already getting used to.
"All-out assault on Bane," the Dark Knight said. He watched the liberated cops as they climbed up from the sewers, first by the dozens, then by the hundreds. There seemed to be no end to the tattered flood pouring out of the shadows and into the park. None of them appeared particularly interested in apprehending Batman. They knew who their true enemy was.
"Come on. We need to be elsewhere," the older man said.
They both knew the odds were against them. They still had to defeat Bane and his army, and keep the bomb from going off.
At least now we have a fighting chance, DJ thought.
They hurried back into the city aboard the bat-aircraft.