The psyche ward; the place Gotham believed would protect them from their end. Their fancy laws kept them from putting him in the electric chair, forced them to allow him his mask, encouraged them to allow him free reign of his section like the other patients given that he be in an industrial straight jacket at all times. They even provided him with a psychiatrist- a Dr. Maverick. They were fools and easily deceived. He would remain quiet in this place, silently remaining in the shadows; he would let them believe he couldn't destroy his harness, let them have faith that he would follow their rules and refrain from ending them. He would stay put until Talia called for him- and then he would crush them all, starting with the unsuspecting people in Gotham General.

The thought of Talia, his innocence reincarnate, brought a warm feeling to him in the chilled hallway outside of Dr. Maverick's office. She had been exceptional in the destruction of Gotham's most cherished piece of idolatry. Home to some of Gotham's wealthiest and most fraudulent inhabitants, The Lotus Palace had been ideal for destruction- even more so during the fundraiser held in honor of Harvey Dent by none other than Bruce Wayne.

His hands curled into fists inside the rigid suit. Even after the truth came out about Dent's destructive habits during the end of his life, and the cover up that submerged the city in, to this day, the most violent times Gotham has ever seen, its citizens were adamant about placing its corrupt on a pedestal. And by the real "Two Face", Bruce Wayne – the Batman; he had been broken once before, he would be broken again. His fists constrict within his jacket, irritation building in his bulky limbs. His blood boiled beneath his skin; he wanted to seize Wayne by his face and crush him; demolish him- spill his essence in the streets for all of Gotham to see.

The wooden door opened in front of him. Dr. Maverick stepped out into the hallway, his hands thrust into the pockets of his sweater, his juvenile eyes trying desperately to avoid contact with the Reckoning. He stepped to the side, allowing a nurse to enter his office. She quickly returned to the door pushing a wheelchair occupied by a young woman. Long, thick, raven black tresses adorned her head in a messy bun. Two large gauze pads covered her cheeks, encasing most of her face. The skin on her neck and arms was dull, bruises and scars littering her thin frame. Whatever her injuries, they had been severe, and she had recently been permitted to leave her bed. Her eyes, black with indifference, paid no attention as she sat facing him, waiting for the nurse and the doctor to finish their conversation about her medications and her possible transfer over to Arkham in a few weeks. He wondered what her ailment was; what quandary had landed her in a place such as this. She was exhausted, aggravated, uncaring, and utterly hopeless – yet she was completely sane.

He knew psychotic when he saw it; he knew the demented, the insane. He knew the face of the unbalanced, the scent of the maniacal; he had grown to be a man surrounded by them. This woman was not one of them. This woman was frozen, numb, empty – but not deranged. Why was she here?

His gaze followed the woman as she was rolled passed him; her eyes disregarding him until she had fully passed- then her head turned in his direction, her brow scrunched, her eyes focused downward toward his legs as if she were hearing him speak rather than noticing that he was there. She returned her head to its original position, and then she was gone.

"Dr. Maverick."

Though his eyes still watched after the strange woman, Bane's voice, metallically amplified by his mask, shook the doctor to his bones. Finally he returned his attention to the man standing in front of him.

"Bane." Apprehension was what spoke for him. Bane enjoyed the terror that clawed through his psychiatrist- he took pleasure in seeing him try to push out his chest in an attempt to seem unafraid.

He smiled with delight as he stood and watched Maverick shrink back into his insignificance.

"Let's make this quick, Dr."

The black leather chair groaned under Bane's mass, its stiff back providing little to no comfort to the spinal injury he had suffered when he was small, the minuscule arms incapable of rest. Even with his torso compressed in the cream colored jacket, the seat couldn't accommodate his bulk. He sat with his feet planted firmly on the ground, his trunk leaning forward on an angle that caused the least amount of strain on his back; his mask echoing his slow breathing into the hushed room. He watched Maverick- malicious, egotistical, vindictive Dr. Maverick- squirm in his seat. Fear permeated the crowded office; curiosity and vigilance were also present, but the fear, the fear was almost tangible.

"To be so high and mighty, you deteriorate quickly, Dr."

Maverick clears his throat, trying to swallow the thick saliva that had risen into his mouth. "I haven't gotten used to this yet." Maverick drops his eyes as the words involuntarily leave his lips, cursing himself for his display of weakness.

"You are a child, Dr. Maverick." Maverick's frightened eyes connect with Bane's unwavering glare. "A child with many impressive capabilities," – his eyes briefly move across the framed degrees on the wall behind Maverick's head, then return to the anxious eyes he knows are too unnerved to leave his own- "that deceive you into thinking you are superior." He smiles beneath his mask, daunting wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes, thoughts of John Dagget's warm blood running down his hands, seeping under the cuffs that had bound his wrists during his freedom. "I have dealt with children like you before, Dr."

Maverick's eyes widen at the indirect reference, his heart skipping a beat. Immediately he thought of his late friend John; thought of the way he had looked when police pulled his body from the dumpster behind the hospital. His face had been crushed and torn to one side, what bones were left floated about in the gory mess; blood; so much blood.

Bane watched as the fear in Maverick's eyes turned into anger, the anger into sadness, the sadness into defiance; he had known John Dagget personally. He watched the mental struggle force its way from Maverick's mouth. "That's enough out of you!"

Bane leisurely sits back in his chair, watching Maverick try to regain his authority. His eyes were wide with alarm at the sound of his own voice. "I'm in charge here, buddy. Not you!" He stands from his chair, his flimsy arms moving about to pump him up; his hands finally landing on his hips when he feels his confidence rising. He would attempt to stand his ground.

"You had your chance to run things, and you know what? You ran it into the ground! And now you're in here with me!"

Maverick leans down, making his face level to Bane's, his voice hardly above a whisper. "You're in my world now." He returns to his seat, his body trembling with excitement and feigned strength. He slips his stray hairs back over his head, crosses his legs and holds his pen at the ready above his yellow pad. "Now, let's get down to business. How are you feeling today?"

Bane, his eyes still focused on the exaggerated Maverick, smiles again. Breaking this man would take little effort- he would enjoy the time the two of them spent together. He would allow the man to believe he was in control, pick the Dr's brain until there was nothing left, and then he would tear him apart, in the same manner he had torn his apparent friend. "Exceptional."