One:

Here Lies a Wretched Corpse

Three cracked ribs.

Juliette was as sure as she was exhausted, and hell was she exhausted. The fight last night—no, this morning—had drained her of the small store of energy she had left. It had also cost her. In addition to the ribs that dented in towards her lungs, Juliette's left eye had been swallowed by a tight, swollen black bruise, and her thighs were covered in bright red claw marks where the other girl had fought against her hold. A few of the marks were deep, made by broken fingernails that drew blood like crimson pearls to the surface of her skin. Her hairline sported a cut about two inches long that had crusted over with coagulated blood, another scar to add to her varied collection. There were the usual bruises as well, mottling the fair skin on her torso and back where the other girl had gotten a few lucky jabs.

Juliette almost never felt the bruises anymore, not unless they were as unignorable as the one on her eye, blood vessels broken deep beneath her skin. It had been the other girl's first hit, a perfect punch that would've felled a weaker opponent. But Juliette wasn't a weaker opponent. Juliette was undefeated, and she'd returned the girl's punch with a better one. And another one. And another one. And another one.

And the girl had fallen. And Juliette had fallen, too, sitting on the girl's chest and wrapping her hands around the girl's throat. She'd squeezed and squeezed, and the girl had clawed and clawed and then slowly, her hands fell, and the light had left her eyes like an exhale.

When Juliette had tasted salt on her lips, she didn't know if it was sweat or tears. All she'd known was there was blood beneath her fingernails, but there was always blood beneath her fingernails, now.

Juliette inhaled as deep as she dared, groaning as her lungs pressed into those damn three ribs. Carefully, she felt her torso with the barest of touches, but still she winced as she brushed the heavy chain looped around her waist and left arm. Daggett had been far past drunk last night—no, this morning—as he celebrated the continuance of her winning streak, and he'd pulled the chain too tight before securing it with the padlock. The cold, blue-gray metal pressed deep into her skin, rubbing raw whenever she moved, but Juliette was thankfully used to this. Used to Daggett insisting he was the only one who could touch her long enough to secure her. Used to Daggett's clammy, privilege-soft hands just barely sweeping her flesh.

As had become routine these past three years, while Juliette lay in the small closet with her knees bent and leaning against the wall just to fit and her left arm strapped to her side, she imagined ripping Daggett's spine out, vertebrae glistening in the light. She imagined digging her fingers into his flesh and tearing, turning his muscles and tissue into scarlet pulp. She imagined his eyes, bulging and wet with tears, as she dug her thumbs in the sockets and laughed as he screamed. Daggett had molded her into a monster, and she wanted more than nothing to kill him in return.

Juliette rolled over onto her right side and immediately gagged, the protein shake Daggett had gifted her post-fight threatening to make a reappearance. A concussion, a remnant from the girl's lucky punch. She'd had worse, but for the next 36 hours, she'd be in misery. Just rolling on her side had the world tilting and churning in the worst way.

She pressed her right hand against the floor for some semblance of stability, her bad wrist protesting weakly, and closed her eyes. She laid there in a darkness of her own making, wishing for a blanket or for death, but instead, she got voices.

Not in her head—she hadn't hallucinated like that in a year—but outside the closet. First, Stryver's voice, hushed and urgent words that she couldn't quite catch. Next, Daggett, loud and angry, a string of curse words that sounded pathetic wrapped in his faintly-lisped voice.

"What do you mean he's on his fucking way?"

They're closer now, but Stryver's still too quiet to make out.

"I make the rules here, not him!"

"Sir—"

"I am in charge!"

Juliette tilted her head toward the door, frowning as she opened her eyes. She'd never heard him so shrill.

"How close is he?"

"He's here, sir."

"Fuck!

The door to the closet banged open, and Daggett appeared in the doorway. The rat-faced man, clad in one of his designer suits as if it made him look less spindly, dropped to his knees and pulled something out of his jacket pocket. Behind him, his reptilian right-hand peered at her with his beady little eyes.

"My fury," Daggett said, but his voice was void of its usual sneer. In fact, he looked panicked—no, panicked was wrong. Juliette eyed the veins pulsing at his temples, the gray-tinge to his skin. And then, she almost smiled. The man was scared. Terrified. Juliette wanted to meet whoever had that effect on him.

The sound of an elevator dinging on the other side of the penthouse had Daggett swearing under his breath, and Juliette would've been delighted if she hadn't seen what he was fumbling in his hands. A syringe full of milky liquid.

Juliette knew that drug—she'd been sedated with it more often than not these past three years. If Daggett had anyone in his penthouse other than Stryver, he'd shoot her up. Daggett liked to take his time with it, liked to watch her fight the sleep as hard as she could, and he liked to taunt her, telling her that she was simply a door away from help but couldn't do anything about it. But today, he was in a hurry. Today, the syringe was far too full. Half a vial was enough to knock her out in less than five minutes, but a full one? She was sure it could kill her, and she refused to die before Daggett. She refused to die when help was so close and maybe, just this time, she could do something about it.

"Wait," she said, shaking her head too quickly. The world spun again, but panic swallowed pain as she lurched into a sitting position and kicked back against the far wall of the closet. Her chest heaved at the effort, and the thick chain squeezed her stomach, pinching skin between the links. "Wait!"

The elevator dinged again, and the closet was too small. Daggett didn't even have to move closer as he grabbed her bad wrist and squeezed. Juliette cried out as he dug his thumb into the junction of her wrist, a mess of bone and joint that he was never afraid to exploit.

"Be a good girl," Daggett grumbled, using his other hand to press the needle against the pale flesh just below her elbow ditch. The needle trembled against her skin, and Juliette tried yanking free only to have Daggett gouge his thumb deeper into her tender wrist.

Fuck.

She bit her bottom lip to keep from swearing, to keep from giving Daggett any kind of satisfaction.

Footsteps, heavy boots against a luxury marble floor, echoed from the other side of the penthouse as Daggett depressed the plunger. The milky white liquid was cool as it shot through her veins, and as quickly as he'd appeared, Daggett was gone, slamming the door shut with a hissed stay fucking silent.

The sedative's effect seeped through her body like a winter chill, slowing everything to a crawl. Her blood seemed to still, her muscles thickened, and suddenly every movement felt like she was wading through sludge. Usually, the drug made her feel like she was curling into herself, like she was getting smaller and smaller until she disappeared. But today, it felt like she was slipping out of her body, her mind going floaty and fuzzy. She could just lay there, really, and let the feeling take over. It didn't hurt—in fact, it was maybe pleasant. Maybe perfect.

Move.

A voice rose from the depths of her mind, dissonant against the foggy calm. Her voice, she realized.

Move. Right now.

Juliette didn't want to, not when she was sleepy. Not when her whole body hurt, and in just seconds, she wouldn't have to feel it anymore.

"Mr. Daggett."

A voice with a timbre as deep as it was rich. It seeped through the closet door as clear as if the door were open and found Juliette in the murk of her mind.

"Bane," Daggett replied, a tremor to his words. "We weren't expecting you until the morning."

"And yet here I am," the voice said, slowly coaxing Juliette back into her body.

Move! Her own voice commanded, and this time, Juliette listened.

Pressing her free hand against the floor, Juliette forced herself into a sitting position. Her limbs felt too elastic, and she could barely straighten her spine, but at least she was up.

"Well, what—why—" Daggett babbled like a fool.

"Our attack on the Stock Exchange was successful," the voice interrupted easily. "The Batman interfered, but the task was accomplished."

If Juliette weren't struggling to simply breathe, she would scoff at the mention of the masked vigilante. He'd disappeared eight years ago after killing Harvey Dent and spurring the Gotham PD to militarize themselves and claim the city was safer than ever. Except it wasn't, not for people like her, not for the girls she's killed. Of course Batman came back only to protect the Gotham Stock Exchange.

"Your men?" Daggett asked, attempting to inject his voice with some kind of authority. "Were any of them arrested?"

"Some, as expected. But they would die before talking"

Daggett made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a grunt, and Juliette half-shuffled-half-dragged herself against the wall of the closet until she was leaning up against the back of the door. Her fingers felt like wisps of smoke, too thin to touch anything, and when she tried to raise her free hand, it stayed limp at her side, like it wasn't even hers anymore.

"When will the board meet?" That voice, calm and smooth and oh so close.

Juliette tried to lift her hand again, but her whole arm had dissipated into the ether.

"Tomorrow," Daggett says, "And tomorrow, Wayne Enterprises will be mine."

With no other choice, Juliette slammed the side of her head into the heavy door.

"What was that?" The voice, close enough that Juliette would've sworn his words had been whispered right into her ear.

"Nothing! S-Something in that closet probably fell."

Juliette beat her head against the door again, hard enough to elicit a cry that sounded so far away.

"And that?"

"I—"

Juliette rammed her head one last time before her body gave up, sagging down against the door. The drugs were taking over now, and her insides felt like jelly. Like if someone squeezed her too hard, she'd pop. Juliette's neck was as weak as paper, and her head lolled to the side. Her bruised cheek rested on her shoulder, but she couldn't feel the ache of the tender flesh anymore.

Voices spoke outside the door, one frantic and the other firm. The words had lost their shapes, and her eyes fluttered open and shut. For a moment, just as brief as a breath, Juliette thought of her mother and father. She hoped they were dead. She hoped someone had killed them.

The door swung open, and Juliette flopped forward unceremoniously. She landed on her right shoulder, but the pain felt so far away, across a pool of cool, white liquid. Across her consciousness, which was slipping more and more from her grasp. When a hand gripped her shoulder, Juliette didn't even have it in her to flinch. All she could do was groan as the hand lowered her onto her back, the pool of white slowly spreading across her vision.

Don't die silently, her voice demanded. Don't you dare.

Juliette felt her cracked lips part, and her eyes made out the haze of a face. A face wearing a black mask that covered its mouth and rose up between its eyes. Her lips twitched—was she smiling?

"Kill him," she rasped, and then she drowned in a sea of white.

A Bane x Female OC fic that has been bouncing around my head for a bit! Loosely follows TDKR, along with a little lore from the comics. Just for funsies :) My first fic so be kind pls!