Chapter Two: Sign on the Dotted Line
"I want her to speak my words," Talia said tersely, her words forcing Bane to turn back towards her, meet her eyes.
"I will address the world with her voice," Talia added before she nodded at Bane and abruptly walked off, her heels clicking loudly against the cement floor.
After the sound of Talia's, turned Miranda, footfalls tapered to nothingness, Bane returned his complete attention to the rectangular screen. He tapped his scarred fingertip against the HD screen and accessed previous broadcasts of The Morning Hoot.
He clicked on each link, listening impassively, expressionless on his visible facial features.
Each snippet was sprinkled with pinches of near hate speech, splashes of ugly right leaning rhetoric, and dashes of bombastically contorted science to fit a biblical narrative.
In each clip, Gwendolyn's full lips spit well-spoken hate, continuing to be more foul and repugnant in nature.
What no one knew, what wasn't indelibly captured by the camera and thrown out into the internet ether to live forever, was that Gwendolyn Mourn hated herself for the words she spoke.
As Bane continued perusing the OWL Newsgroup's archives, across the city in the skyscraper where the show was filmed, the red lights on the cameras turned off and the stage director announced a wrap.
The crew applauded for a seamless show, no fumbles from the ad department or anyone flubbing their lines.
As soon as one of the crew brought out the traditional sheet cake for the end of the show's performance, Gwendolyn snagged a corner piece with a fat, purple frosting flower and snuck away to her dressing room before any of the shows illustrious guests could hit on her.
As Gwendolyn locked her spacious dressing room door and settled at her antique vanity, boasting a large oval mirror, the marble surface littered with cosmetic implements and makeup in liquid, solid and powder form, across the city, Bane continued to explore all the OWL Newsgroup's website had on Gwendolyn Mourn.
Bane found himself pulled into each of her passionate news segments, his eyes finding something of note about her in each broadcast. He couldn't help but be fascinated by the changes in Gwendolyn's appearance from show to show. Sometimes the changes were huge, like when she showed up with a fashionable bob haircut from where it had been waist length the day before.
Other times the changes were subtle, especially with her neckline and how heavily her already full lips were outlined in a dark, flattering pink.
As Bane narrowed his eyes when Gwendolyn hosted an expert in psychology to discuss him and his actions at the Gotham Exchange, back in her dressing room on the 87th floor of the high-rise, Gwendolyn began the laborious process of wiping away her layers and layers of foundation, primers, and waterproof mascara.
She dragged an astringent soaked cotton ball across her sharp, high cheekbones, removing the blush that gave her face the lovely glow.
Her eyes moved across the framed photos lining the back of the vanity as she tugged her line of artificial lashes free.
Gwendolyn's gaze settled on the photo of her and her father Robert Ales, the CEO of the OWL Newsgroup.
Robert was a hard man, an emotionally abusive father to the women under his roof at home and a sexually abusive man to women under the roof of his high rise.
He also employed men of the same perverted and predatory feather.
The only reason Gwendolyn hadn't been molested or assaulted was because of her father.
Still, all the boys liked to talk about the pussy they couldn't exploit. Gwendolyn bit her tongue until it was nothing but a stump as she heard rumors of the cock measuring, bed frame notch-making and pussy grabbing locker room talk.
Gwendolyn's gaze danced over the photos of her and several prominent figures in the Senate and Congress. She'd known from a very early age that she was going to grow up parroting her father's opinions in order for him to be nice to her, to value her.
She ran a plastic brush through her long, silken fall of hair, the dark, rich color in such startling opposition to her cerulean blue eyes before gathering it up into a loose bun, securing it on the top of her head with a dark grey elastic band.
Gwendolyn slipped out the rear exit of the towering skyscraper and found her driver waiting for her in the streamlined SUV with blacked out windows and supple, leather interior.
She nodded at Karl when he opened the heavy, rear passenger door, closing it after she settled herself on the plush seat.
Before Karl secured the door shut and walked back to slip behind the wheel, Barsad was able to capture his first sight of Gwendolyn in real life as she settled on the roomy seat, eagerly reaching for the latte that Karl had waiting for her.
Barsad followed the slate-grey SUV back to Gwendolyn's penthouse apartment in the heart of the city.
For the next few days, he'd simply watch from afar, gathering information on Gwendolyn's day-to-day comings and goings.
Eventually he would secure false credentials and a uniform for one of the on-set security guards for The Morning Hoot, circumstances dictating that he tuck away his red bandana.
As Barsad continued to obtain the skyscraper's blueprints, security guard schedules, Gwendolyn's schedule, and everything he'd been able to poach from the Human Resources department about her, nearby in the neighboring high rise Wayne Enterprises, Talia had taken to spending a lot more time there in her role on the board.
That particular morning, Talia had slipped into a snug-fitting pencil skirt as she became Miranda, pairing it with a sleeveless burgundy blouse and five-inch, red-soled heels.
John Daggett had copied Talia's style of loitering at Wayne Enterprises as well, infatuated with Miranda Tate and how much he wanted to know what kind of panties she wore.
Talia was waiting for an espresso when Daggett slithered up to her, ordering the same so he could continue oozing next to Miranda's statuesque form.
"Ms. Tate," Daggett purred as his eyes landed on the swell of her breasts under the delicate fabric.
"Mr. Daggett," Talia replied, smiling at the barista as she accepted her hot drink.
"When are you going to join me for dinner? I'd love to talk restructure around here," Daggett added as he gestured to a cluster of board members sitting on the garden level balcony.
The corners of Miranda's lacquered lips pulled into a teasing smile as she turned to face Daggett.
"Mr. Daggett, dinner at your private residence could be deemed a conflict of interest and jeopardize our positions on the board."
"I'm very discreet Ms. Tate," Daggett murmured, adding a reptilian wink.
Miranda's own smile widened at the bipedal slug standing next to her, dropping her eyes, and pretending to be equally flustered and flattered when she accepted an invitation for dinner and drinks that evening.
Daggett felt like he'd won the lottery when Miranda said she'd see him at eight before leaving him to wait for his quadruple espresso. He inhaled deeply at the warm, spice scented air that Miranda left in her wake.
In the hours before dinner with Daggett in his penthouse suite, Talia left Wayne Enterprises and returned to the Gotham City sewers to inform Bane that he was her plus one to Daggett's.
During the time before dinner at the penthouse, nearby at the OWL Newsgroup building, Gwendolyn sat in hair and makeup for her upcoming broadcast. She closed her eyes as the makeup artist separated her stuck together eyelashes with a needle. The stillness gave her time to remember reading the email from her father that afternoon about the change in her show's special guest.
The swapped-out panel for her evening recording of the morning show was a presidential hopeful that her father poured millions of dollars into his Super PAC fund.
The filming of The Morning Hoot would later go off without a hitch and Gwendolyn would slip away quietly at the sight of the sheet cake of the day, this time a decadent German chocolate cake appeared on the wheeled cart.
A few blocks from the OWL Newsgroup skyscraper was a taller high rise where Daggett called his sprawling penthouse home.
Daggett pulled open his double doors, dressed in a silk robe that was partially open, his skinny, scrawny chest nearly hairless.
Underneath his fish belly white stomach, his pink cock was already at half-mast.
His cock, which was trying to be mighty and fierce despite its shortcomings, lost all its steam and fell loose and flaccid when his eyes only saw Bane's formidable frame from where he stood behind Miranda.
Bane's broad shoulders blocked out the hallway light, a planet engulfing the sun and eclipsing the universe.
"Mr. Daggett," Miranda purred and took a step forward as she continued smiling, barely concealing her forked tongue. "May we come in?"
Daggett took a few steps backwards when Bane followed Miranda into the spacious penthouse.
Miranda's heels clicked on the mahogany hardwood floors as she stalked into the open living room, a glass-backed bar in the corner of the room.
Daggett practically jogged to the other room to join Miranda, anything to get away from the large, masked man.
"Ms. Tate, I was only expecting you," Daggett began to stumble over before Miranda held up a hand, her polished aubergine nails caught the light and gleamed dully.
"Mr. Daggett, I've also been looking at restructuring the board as well."
Daggett nodded and found his attention split between the stunning woman before him who was somehow different than earlier and the hulking, wall of muscle that walked into the room.
Daggett tried not to stare at Bane who remained in the doorway, his eyes not looking anywhere in particular.
Miranda nodded at Bane who stepped away from the wall and pulled a folded stack of paper from inside his tactical vest.
Daggett took the papers from Bane's hand, trying to look unflustered as he raised himself to his full height.
He was terrified in his diminutive state of being.
"What is this Ms. Tate?" Daggett asked, his tone rising in pitch as he scanned the pages that essentially turned over the whole of Wayne Enterprises to Miranda Tate.
"What? What is this?" he continued, shaking the papers at her as spit flew from his thin lips.
"Mr. Daggett," Miranda said in a soothing, syrupy sweet voice as she quickly crossed the room and pulled the sheaf of papers from his shaking hands. "Your money and infrastructure have been important," Talia added in a dark whisper.
"But, but, we had a deal, I've paid you a small fortune," Daggett began to babble until Miranda lifted a hand and pressed her fingertips against his quivering lips.
"Do you think that affords you power over me?" Talia practically hissed, her dark eyes flashing with chestnut fire.
Daggett swallowed hard, "Miranda please, let me make you a drink, we can talk," he tried for.
Talia smiled, her lips pulling back like a carnivore, canines flashing under the recessed lighting. "Mr. Daggett, I've grown tired of your voice," she said with a heavy sigh, pushing the papers back against his practically concave chest. "Sign."
Daggett shook his head, trying to back up but was stopped by the sofa hitting the back of his legs.
"Mr. Daggett, please sign," Talia said as she pushed Daggett back to land on the supple leather sofa.
Bane took a step away from where he'd resumed leaning in the doorway.
Daggett swallowed hard as his hand scrabbled for a pen on the side table, "Miranda please," he stalled.
Bane only stopped his forward momentum when Daggett scrawled his signature on the last page, thinking that his lawyers would be able to dispute the document's validity after the manner in which his signature had been obtained.
Talia cupped Daggett's pale cheek.
"Thank you Mr. Daggett," Talia murmured before plunging a short, triangular blade just under Daggett's left ear, nearly severing the carotid artery with the first smooth plunge.
Bane watched Talia fuck Daggett's skinny neck with rapid plunges of the titanium blade. His chest swelled with pride as her arm was soon slick and shiny with Daggett's blood.
Talia's expression barely changed as she pulled the blade free and dropped it in Daggett's lap.
Bane watched her gather up the signed papers before smoothing her skirt back in place.
"Will you ensure this is all cleaned up?" Talia asked as she turned to look at Bane.
Bane nodded.
"Thank you my friend," Talia whispered as she laid a hand on Bane's broad chest, just over his heart.
Bane nodded again and listened to the lullaby of Talia's retreating heels.
As Daggett's body cooled on the plush, imported sofa, Bane turned on the large tv and found a repeat of The Morning Hoot.
Bane settled on the sofa next to Daggett's corpse which would be bagged, and toe tagged after significant lividity had stained the back of his thighs and flabby buttocks a deep purple.
Bane liked the way Gwendolyn's hair fell past her shoulders in the repeat episode, tendrils curling down around the swell of her breast through the peacock blue blouse.
He adjusted the volume on the sleek remote, behind his mask, his scarred lips gave the barest of perceptible twitches as Gwendolyn's full lips began interviewing an expert in neurology to discuss Bane and his game day terror.
"Dr. Anderson, is this masked murderer a scared little boy who was neglected by his parents? Is he acting from some sort of repressed 'feelings?'" the on-screen Gwendolyn asked before nastily plodding on.
"Isn't this just some kid who was bullied and is now misdirecting with these antics around the city, bullying all of us in fact?"
Behind his mask, Bane's lips lifted into a small smile before he looked over at Daggett's exsanguinated corpse.
Bane wondered how long it would take before news of the billionaire's murder reached Gwendolyn Mourn's desk.
It would take fourteen hours before Daggett's body was discovered by his maid.
In the hour after the discovery, a leak in the Gotham City Police Department called a staffer at the Owl Newsgroup and told them about the billionaire's murder.
In a frenzied forty-five minutes, a Breaking News report was created, Gwendolyn was rushed through hair and makeup, scanning rushed, handwritten index cards from her assistant, the basic facts of the murder laid out in bullet points.
Gwendolyn placed an order for take-out in the moment before she went on the air, in her head planning her evening around binge-watching and a bottle of cold Chardonnay.
She had no idea when she pressed the order confirmation button, that she'd never pick up the dumplings and fried rice, that she'd never send another mortgage payment or argue with her neighbor about where the parking spots stopped and started.