When in a conflict of attrition, obtaining a base of operations was crucial. It needed to be concealed, overlooked, while offering a tactical advantage.

For Ra's al Ghul, one had been erected for him decades ago.

There was no way the building had been built for his current needs. In fact, it had other designs that it had been intended for. Those uses had been used before, yet not in quite some time. As of now, it was nothing more than a monument reflecting a bygone era.

The room he was in was circular and large enough for a second level to be constructed. A command center was currently being constructed on this second level, situated at the center of the room. Crates were stacked upon each other throughout the chamber, the agents of the Demon's Fang utilizing them as they were needed. The activity around the ancient man was constant, a background noise to his musings.

Currently, Ra's was on the first level, standing at one of the windows. In fact, glass sections were situated at even intervals. There were three panes with the center being a glass door that led out to a balcony.

It was one of these windows that the Demon stared at into the gloomy city. A park surrounded the building, giving way to urban infrastructure, creating a skyline. Ra's was not a man to marvel at such sights; this was merely a blight on the face of the planet, though currently it was a necessary evil.

And in this evil was a new threat. Though he was quite confident this Bane challenger was no match for him, the fact he had disposed of the Detective so brutally made him worthy of notice. A closer look was warranted.

Of course, this closer look would involve conflict. Bane had mercenaries from his homeland at his disposal, and by all accounts he had no concern for their well-being. They were mere pawns for his conquest, a quality he could respect. However, those men paled when compared to the Demon's Fang. Those mercenaries had been felled by his men easily during the attack on one of Gotham's remaining crime families.

Still, it was not wise to rest on one's laurels. There was no doubt Bane would be learning of their existence soon. The proper course of action required that by the time Bane realized he was under attack, he would be a heartbeat from falling. Quick, decisive battles would chisel away his forces, leaving him alone for the thrust from his dagger into his back.

The sound of footsteps reached his ears, informing him that one of his underlings was approaching him, the reflection of his Right Hand appearing in the glass. "Master," the deep voice of Ubu addressed him.

Ra's did not deign to turn his attention away from Gotham. "What is it, Ubu?" he inquired.

"The preparation for the Wonder Tower base are coming along as planned. We shall have all that you require ready before the morning is finished."

Acceptable news. "And what of our other preparations?"

"The securing of the pit is almost complete and will be within the hour. No one has disturbed it for a century, my Master. We found all of the safeguards still in place."

Excellent. "Continue on, Ubu. Report to me when all preparations are complete."

"Yes, my Master." Ubu's reflection faded away from the window, leaving Ra's with only his view of the city. Yes, this tower fulfilled all of his needs for the battles looming at the horizon. It pleased him that the construction of this tower had not been used by unworthy hands. Even if it had, he still would've rid Wonder Tower of that infestation.

After all, this was his design.

After last night, Gordon was glad that he had all the information on the resources he had at his disposal. From the beat cops, to homicide, to SWAT, right in front of him were the number of men, the number of vehicles, the kinds of weapons, and total amount of firepower it added up to.

The Commissioner was not in his office, though. No, he was in a conference room that was now a war room. It would be here he and the rest of the GCPD would plan out the retaking of Gotham.

"Everything we have to crack down on all this, we have right in front of us," he told the assembled men and women that were in the room with him. From his wife, Sarah, to the transferee and up-and-comer Sawyer, to SWAT commander Petit, and everyone else in-between, he had brought together the greatest minds the department had to offer.

"The first thing we're going to need is intel," Sarah stated. "We could have a bunker buster, but if we don't know where to fire it, it's useless. We need to know where Bane is headquartering himself. Where does he keep that private army of his?"

"You tell me the place, my boys will kick down the door," Petit promised.

"Anything from the undercovers?" Sawyer spoke up, looking to the department rep for that area. Yes, even the undercover officers had a department within a department.

That rep was a man by the name of Sergeant Tom Miller. Wide-shouldered, dark-haired, and currently unshaven, Miller answered, "So far nothing and don't think they haven't been trying. A few of them got caught up in that crap from last night. The holdout mobsters weren't on their A-game and didn't pick up on them. Bane's been harder. He don't just take anybody and make him one of his own."

"Which makes it that much harder to figure out what his next move is going to be," Sawyer concluded.

"We'll need to keep them trying. Find an angle. Get close, but not close enough to raise suspicions. Right now, we just need to know where Bane's hiding place is," Gordon stated. "In the meantime, he's going to have to be running something that's going to be making him money. You don't keep an army on your side without paying them. So where's he keeping his cash?"

"I'll send out the word," Miller said.

"Once we find out what we need to know, we hit him hard, throw everything we have at him. We take him alive if we can, make him answer to us and the rest of the city for what he's done. If we can't, we will have to consider whether we have to put him down," the Commissioner continued.

"Isn't that a bit...heavy-handed?" Lieutenant Gordon asked, looking at her husband who was pointedly not looking in her direction.

"What Bane's done to this city is heavy-handed and don't think for a minute he'll go down quietly just because we read him his Miranda rights," Petit retorted. "We're at war here, Gordon. We need to treat it like it is."

"We're not the military, or some federal agency. We have to remember we're all cops here, that we're held up to a certain standard," the Lieutenant argued.

"Standards mean nothing if we get slaughtered!" Petit retorted. "This isn't going to be some walk in the park. This is going to be a bloodbath if the reports from last night mean anything! If they're not going to hold back, neither can we! I won't send my men in if we're going to do this with one arm tied behind our backs!"

"We'll deal with each issue as they come up. It's pointless to try to figure everything out before we have all the facts," Gordon interrupted. "Remember, Bane's the enemy and he's out there. We can't fight with ourselves, lest we give him an advantage. Some of us here have been around long enough that we've seen this city change, for better and worse, and I won't let us slide backwards because we're too busy fighting over details. Know this people, I'm already drawing up a request to institute martial law should things get any worse. Let's not resort to that. Let's show everyone we're more than capable of handling this situation without it. Damn it, this is our city and I will not let some person from out of town take it from us."

There were nods around the conference table. Ii seemed like the Commissioner was getting better with these motivational speeches. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing was debatable.

"Let's start with increasing our presence first. We'll need to suspend vacation time for the time being, get everyone we can who's not laid up in the hospital on the beat. Everyone else, we track down everything Bane owns and take it all. Make that animal desperate. Starve him. We need to be ready for any and all retaliation because, as Petit mentioned, he won't take this lying down, and we're going to be ready for him. If we make him predictable, we've already won half the fight. Let's get to work people."

Before he could say anything else, there was a knock on the war room door. Hmm, just as he was rolling too. "What is it?" he called out, and waited for the fresh face desk jockey to stick his head in.

"Commissioner? Sir? There's someone out front asking for you."

"I'm busy right now. Tell them to wait," Gordon stated. What was it with people always wanting to see him when he was busy with other, more important things?

"I think this might be important, Commissioner," the younger man said, shifting uneasily in the doorway. "I was told to tell you it's Tough Tony."

That made Gordon pause for a second.

"What the hell is Bressi doing here?" Petit grumbled.

While not officially considered organized crime, Bressi was the face of the unions in Gotham and he had his hand in quite a few questionable activities. The man was smart enough not to have any direct connection to himself, but it was pretty much an open secret what kind of man he was.

"Keep working people. I'll go see what this is about," the Commissioner decided after a moment. Something was up, he could feel it. What exactly it was, he couldn't say.

But he was going to find out.

Moments later, he found himself out in the precinct's lobby, a long line of officers bringing a countless number of apprehended men and women, some who had committed recent crimes, and others who were still free from the Blackgate break. Even with the city under siege, business as usual had to carry on.

It was to a wooden bench where the Commissioner was led, a man in a suit sitting there looking for all the world like a man being led to the execution chamber. It was amazing to see a man like Antony Bressi, whose nickname had the word tough in it, appear the complete opposite of what he was known for.

Something was on Bressi's mind. He supposed he was going to have to get the bottom of it.

"What do you want, Bressi?" the Commissioner greeted. It was obvious to see that he was in no mood for pleasantries.

Bressi lifted his head up and Gordon was shocked to see how haunted his eyes looked. He had been in the department a long time, but never had he seen such a look on anybody who was brought in, or came here.

"Commissioner, is there a place we can talk in private?" That was the greeting Bressi gave, and his voice was heavy, almost lifeless.

Taking in all this, Gordon found himself agreeing to the request and gestured for the union boss to follow him to his office. If Bressi's appearance was a surprise, the bombshell he dropped as soon as Gordon closed the door behind them made that all look like nothing.

"I want to turn myself in."

The Commissioner had to take a seat. This...this was…

Nothing like this had ever happened before. While the white-haired man was under no illusion that organized crime wasn't extinct in this city, never had any person who had such involvement in it like Bressi did, who was high up in its ranks, ever come here and speak those words before. It was always to the death, or a lawyer brought in. Speaking of which…

"I notice you aren't here with your lawyer. What is going on?" Gordon asked.

"Forget about lawyers, they'll just make a mess of this. And I know you heard me," Bressi retorted, a little bit of life flaring up in him if only for a second.

The Commissioner took a moment to process all this. Finally, he said, "You want to turn yourself in. Become a state's witness?"

"I'm nobody's witness. I won't tell you, or any of your cops any of my secrets. But I want to turn myself in. Whatever you have on me, no matter what it is, I'll plead guilty to, alright? This is the part you slap on the handcuffs, right? Let's get this over with." Bressi was just a babbler, wasn't he?

"Actually, we read you your rights first, then slap the cuffs on," Gordon replied. "Forgive me if I'm having trouble accepting the sincerity of your request. If you don't mind me asking: what brought on this change of heart? I don't think you woke up this morning and thought it was a good idea to put yourself into police custody. What happened? What made you decide that this is what you want to do?"

To his credit, Bressi didn't look outraged at being doubted. Instead, he gave a big sigh, the kind only those who had seen death stare them in the face and finally known mortality. "I've seen what's happening, Gordon. I saw that monster in action. There's no stopping him. Either you surrender to him, or you run, or you find some other way. I've done some soul searching; it's only a matter of time until he comes after me.

"I have a family. I know, I don't look the type, but they're more important to me than keeping my place at the top. Bane can have the unions, but I won't let him have my kids. They wouldn't understand. So do what you want to me, Gordon; just promise me nothing's going to happen to them."

Okay, Gordon could appreciate that. Still, hell of a time to grow a conscience.

Still, there was something about what Bressi had mentioned. If Bane did indeed what full control over the criminal underworld, he would go after the unions eventually. Some of the unions in Gotham were little more than criminal enterprises; sure there were some that were legitimate, but as they say, a few bad apples spoiled the barrel.

But it was a barrel that would be too tempting for the masked man to pass up.

"Are you sure about that one part? Me doing what I want with you?" Gordon asked as he leaned back in his seat.

"I say what I mean, Gordon. Out of all the people in the city, when I say something, I mean it," Bressi stated.

"Then there's something you can do for me. Something no one else in Gotham can."

At this, Bressi frowned. "What are you saying?"

"You said it yourself, Bane will come for the unions. When he does, we'll be waiting for him, but for that to happen, you are going to have to be free," Gordon told the other man, whose eyes were widening with each word the Commissioner spoke. "I'll keep your kids safe, Bressi, don't worry about that. But in return, I'm going to need your help."

Since the Network meeting had broken up, Barbara was hot on the digital trail.

It had been an idea she had, one that had come from her admittance of not finding anything about the Demon's Fang. Yeah, she was a bit bummed out about that, but all the talking of searching over the internet for information had given her an idea.

It was so obvious. While she could find barely anything about this new group, what was there to say there was nothing on Bane? He didn't spring out of thin air; that monster with the wrestler's mask had to have come from somewhere.

If they knew more about their enemy, there was a way to use it against him.

And then she ran into the first roadblock. Like with the Demon's Fang, there wasn't a lot of information about Bane. Unlike the Demon's Fang, in comparison, there was more of it.

Bane was some kind of assassin. Like, a real good assassin. She had found some...evidence of his past hits and they weren't pretty to look at. From there, she had looked into the details of his hits, trying to find any commonalities and then compare them to his actions in Gotham.

That's where she ran into the first roadblock. Nothing of what Bane was doing in Gotham matched up with his actions from before. What had happened? Why such a drastic change? It made no sense to her.

Then came the second roadblock. Before Bane went on the bloody trail of offing people for money, there was absolutely nothing on him. There was no criminal record; no school records; there wasn't even a damn birth certificate. So what the hell?

It was frustrating to say the least and not at all like how a person always finds what they're looking for on the first hit.

However, she was smart, and knew that there were ways around such roadblocks. She might not be able to find something out about Bane, but there were his lackeys. Figuring out where they came from would be difficult, but instead of focusing on the whole, she picked out a few key figures.

The first one was the man called Zombie. A guy like him, who had access to poisons that most people in the States didn't, would narrow down a location, but then, of course, since the universe was against her, there wasn't much information about him. This also went for the components used in that poison he had used on Manhunter. He must have been a nomad, or something. Still, that wasn't as helpful as she had hoped.

It was the second one, though, where she hit pay dirt. Bradley Colossimo had tons of information on him. He was American, sticking out from all the Latinos he now surrounded himself with, and more specifically, he was a Gotham native. Bingo.

It wasn't really surprising to find out that he had ties to organized crime, though she felt a little giddy when the name Jimmy Novak came up. Sounds like someone was evening a score somewhere in here. What was surprising was that he was a lawyer, not a gangster. Hmm, so what other surprises were there?

A lot more, such as Colissimo had not been in Gotham in some time, like before Batman long ago. The reason for that was that he had been out of the country during this time. In fact, he had been in a country called Santa Prisca.

Santa Prisca was an island in the Caribbean, some ways away from Cuba. It had the typical history of one of those islands: had native inhabitants that were wiped out by the Spanish, declared independence in the 1800s, had several coups that left a military junta in power, you know the drill. The last big revolution had been in the 50s, where the junta clamped down and annihilated it; apparently it had taken notes from Cuba and wanted to stay on the U.S.'s good side.

Oddly, enough, a few years ago there had been another coup, but not much information had gotten out about it.

Anyway, so what was Colossimo doing there? There wasn't much about that, but available court documents had him convicted of drug smuggling. Eeeh. bad move there. The last thing you should ever do in a third world country was do anything that involved drugs. They really took the War of Drugs seriously in those places; the man was lucky he wasn't executed.

But he was sent to perhaps a worse place: Pena Duro Prison.

That was a place that was in the top ten worst prisons in the world. No one ever left there, not even in a body bag. Hell was a nice beach on the Florida coast in comparison to this place. Inmate murders, sadistic guards, unforgiving living conditions, you name it, it was here. And here was where Colossimo would spend the rest of his life.

Or so you would think.

How he got out didn't matter. From her monitor, she could see his prison record from Pena Duro. If she could get that record, who else's could she get? That's where even more pay dirt was hit because what do you know, there was Zombie's mugshot. Looks like he too was an inmate there. Again, it was drug related crimes, though his involved manufacturing. Hmm, the plot thickens.

Two of Bane's top men and they both happened to be in the same prison at the same time. What were the odds Bane was there too?

She could feel it; she was getting somewhere. As her fingers danced on the keyboard, she was so close to getting something that could possibly, potential turn this whole shitstorm around.

ACCESS DENIED

What?

Barbara blinked her eyes at the screen for a moment before narrowing them and plunging ahead.

ACCESS DENIED

Okay, what was up with this shit? Whatever, time to really show off her hacking skills. She was determined to crack this nut and crack it hard. Nothing was going to stand in her way.

ACCESS DENIED

The small room was quiet. Okay, it seemed her skills weren't up to the task. But why? Why was there this powerful of a security measure that could stop her hacking abilities cold?

This required more intel. So now she was doing some digging, but now it was into the unexpected firewall that was now stopping her in her digital tracks rather than her original objective.

It took a bit, but she soon figured it out. Seemed like the prison record she was trying to access was classified information. Like, highly classified, for your eyes only classified. The only way you got this record was if it was redacted and if it was, it was dipped in ink if only to save time.

Here was the weird part, though. The encryptions used to make the record classified was the same kind used by the Department of Defense, the same one that was located in the United States. This was on the level of the upper echelons of the freaking Pentagon.

What the hell was going on here?

What was the American military doing in a prison in Santa Prisca of all places?

Leaning back in her wheelchair, Barbara began to think about what she had learned.

If they were to learn anything about Bane, everything pointed to someone going down to that island and getting the hard copy, if such a copy was there to be found. No one in their right mind would do such a thing, such as going into such a dangerous place on a maybe.

Then again, all of them weren't in their right minds for even thinking about taking that masked monster on.

Nothing for it, then. She would pass on what she found out and let the others decide what they were going to do about it. If they were smart, they would forget about it.

A shame that was also something they couldn't afford to do.

There was a breeze in the air, making it chilly. It was a cloudless day in Chicago, which made the sunlight seem even brighter.

In the Southside, where trash littered the ground and graffiti decorated the surface of any wall, a person in a black hoodie walked down the street. In their hand was a plastic bag from a nearby store. Well, it was two bags; the checkout clerk called it double bagging. Due to the coldness in the air, their other hand was safe and warm in the pocket of the jacket.

The hood was over their head, revealing a yellow inside to the hoodie, though the hem of the hood also indicated as much. Regardless, the hood hid their face and that was what they wanted. A sense of wariness made them search the street and the buildings for prying eyes. You never knew if someone was looking for you.

And there was someone. They had followed them to this city. If it weren't for the need for food, this trip would not have happened. They would need to leave this place once they returned to their safe place.

Unfortunately, it seemed they would not get their without interference.

Turning a corner at an approaching intersection, four youth appeared, looking very much like hoodlums. A couple had large, bulky jackets on while another one had a long-sleeve shirt and a hat on. The last one wore a hoodie jacket just like them, but it had some sort of logo, a marking of a brand. Part of them hoped these four would just ignore them, laughing and joking with each other as they walked by.

"Heeeey, what do we have here?" the boy in the long-sleeves said, clearly looking at them. "Looks like we have a trespasser."

The other three went, "Ohhhhhh," as if that was a bad thing. "They must be new here," one of the boys in the big jackets added, "so they don't know they need to pay the toll."

The person came to a stop. They knew they were the one being spoke of. Unfortunately, that allowed the youths to surround them, two behind and two in front. They walked with the swagger of gangbangers, so they were most likely armed.

One of the ones behind them suddenly moved next to them. "What do you have in here, pal?" he asked even as he grabbed at their grocery bag. They allowed the youth to take it, their now empty hand dangling at their side. The boy opened the bag up and rummaged through it. "There's nothing but bread and deli meat," he said in disgust. More rustling. "And milk. What, couldn't afford anything else, buddy?"

"Hey, don't knock sandwiches," the other boy in the heavy jacket replied. This one was in front of them and he sauntered towards them. "And I am a little thirsty. Tell ya what, give us your bag here and we'll let you walk."

"Or we can just kill them and not have to bother asking," long-sleeve boy added.

The heavy jacket boy gave them a look. "So what'll it be?" He raised a hand up, reaching for the hood.

Immediately, their hand shot up and grabbed onto the youth's wrist. Without hesitation, they twisted the wrist, causing the boy's arm to turn at an odd angle. The guy cried out as he instinctively leaned backwards, trying to create some relief in his arm, but failing.

They let the hand go and the boy stumbled back a couple steps, gripping their sore wrist. "Your fucked up now, dickhead," he growled. "Someone ice this asshole!"

One of the boys in the back rushed at them; they could tell by the sudden sound of feet stomping on pavement. Bending froward at the waist, they ducked as a fist went sailing overhead, a punch aimed for the back of their head. As they straighten up, they shot a hand up and pushed the attacker in the back, causing him to keep running, albeit stumbling, forward until they slowed themselves to a stop.

By then, a boy in a heavy jacket was running at them, throwing a punch towards their face. Immediately they darted to a side, bringing up a hand to quickly grab ahold of their attacker's wrist. Lightning fast, they shot their other arm up, jutting their palm as their fingers curled back. Before the boy could react, they slammed their palm against the elbow, hyperextending the arm until the bone snapped.

The boy screamed wildly as they went stumbling forward, collapsing to the ground as they grabbed at their arm. Despite the bulky jacket, anyone could see the arm was bent at an unnatural angle. Red began to appear at the cuff of the jacket's sleeve until blood began to trickle onto the hand, indicating the broken bone had pierced through skin.

"Jesus Christ!" the first attacker gasped as he sidestepped instinctively, ending up bumping into the building next to them.

That was when the sound of a switchblade opening was made. "I'll get 'em," the boy with the long-sleeves growled. Turning their head to face them, the person watched the knife-wielder run towards them. They wanted for a moment before they fully faced the rushing teen. Bracing their legs, they waited until the last moment before simultaneously leaning backwards and jumping, going into a backflip.

Their timing was perfect as one of their upswinging feet collided with the knife-hand of their opponent. The kick knocked the knife out of the boy's grasp, sending it flipping up into the air.

As the world spun downwards and then upwards, the person completed their flip. However, the moment their feet returned to the ground, they were already on the move, lunging forward into the air towards their opponent. One leg drawn back, they swung it through the air, landing a sidekick to the side of the long-sleeve boy's face, the force of the blow causing their head to snap to a side. In fact, he was hit so hard, his feet were yanked off the pavement as they went into a spin, rapidly spinning around as they fell to the ground, landing in a heap.

Again, the person touched back on the ground, but they were not finished. Pivoting on one foot, they continued to spin even as they jumped up again, swinging out yet another kick. This time, their target was not a person. Due to gravity, the switchblade that had been kicked up into the air was now falling down. With perfect timing, they swung a kick that connected with the falling knife, sending it flying blade first through the air.

The next thing the knife hit was brick. In fact, it was right next to the head of the teen standing next to the building. The blade slid right into the brick until the handle was the only thing sticking out. The boy jerked his head to look at the weapon, swearing, "Jesus!" as he stared at the handle.

However, that was when the last boy with a heavy jacket came charging in. The person sidestepped their charge, but was too slow to avoid the hand reaching out for them. Fingers grabbed onto the hood on their head and pulled as the boy ran passed them. Dark hair emerged from beneath the hood, the face of Cassandra Wayne becoming visible.

Undeterred, Cassandra saw an opening and she attacked it. Kicking out with a foot, she landed a blow to the back of the charging teen's knee, causing it to buckle and sending him awkwardly crashing to the ground as he cried out, skidding across pavement until he came to a stop.

Cassandra didn't wait for her foe to recover. She immediately closed the distance between them, dropping to a knee next to the teen. With an arm raised, fingers curling back to expose her palm, she jerked it downwards, slamming a palm strike to the back of the boy's head. Immediately, his head snapped forward, cracking against the ground and knocking him unconscious.

That left one more. Shooting back onto her feet, Cassandra turned around to face her last foe, who was currently trying to yank the switchblade out of the wall.

She would not give them that chance. Racing towards the defenseless boy, she kept a fist at her side, swinging it the moment she was within striking range. By then, the boy had heard her approach and was turning to look at her, only to see her fist slam into his face. His head jerked back, the back of his skull bashing against the building. Much like his friend, he lost consciousness from the blow, his body going limp as he slumped down to the ground, back leaning up against the wall.

Cassandra stared at the boy before she looked out to the rest of them. Only one was still awake and he was currently writhing on the ground, clutching their broken arm. It was then she noticed her grocery bag on the ground, its contents still in the bag. Walking up to it, she bent over to pick it up.

As she leaned back up, she used her other hand to pull her hood back on. Scanning the surrounding area, she saw no visible threats, though that did not mean they were not there. It was already time for her to be gone.

Hopefully this little incident wouldn't draw her stalker's attention.