Chapter One: Synchronicity
Bane lay on the tiled floor of City Hall, physically battered, the granite squares once polished to a dull gleam were now covered in dust and debris from where Selina had blasted an explosive round from the seat of the Bat Pod.
Involuntary shudders jolted through Bane's horrifying injuries, his brain's electricity activity ebbed and flowed, creating sporadic spasticity inside his broken body.
His ears rang, sound was distorted, his chest felt as though he had an actual elephant's foot standing on him.
The automatic PA system in City Hall malfunctioned after a power surge, the generator coming to life. The randomly shuffled playlist became stuck on a single song.
Allan Clarke began singing as Bane's mouth began to fill with blood from multiple spigots of internal bleeding.
"If I could make a wish
I think I'd pass
Can't think of anythin' I need
No cigarettes, no sleep, no light, no sound
Nothing to eat, no books to read"
As Bane's every inhalation gurgled and exhalation turned further ragged, labored, in near stereo across the city, Gordon closed in on the Tumbler that Talia was furiously driving.
Gordon frantically waved at Selina to stop shooting projectiles at the truck Talia was dangerously driving, still caring a bit for the Miranda Tate shell and also not wanting to further compromise the destabilized reactor core.
Gordon rammed into Talia's Tumbler, hitting the passenger side, causing the vehicle's suspension to crumble, wheel wells to collapse and come to a screeching, metallic halt.
Batman and Selina worked quickly to attach the core to The Bat with a thick, braided cable.
While the Dark Knight and the long cool Catwoman in black spandex shared a presumed last kiss, Gordon rushed to the driver's side of the Tumbler, yanking it open, finding Talia's breathing labored, her pulse weak.
Despite the traumatic upheaval of her skeletal frame and extensive damage to her soft tissue, Talia managed to narrow her eyes in hatred as she hissed her staccato words at Gordon's creased concern.
"Fox showed me how to operate the reactor core, including the emergency flood," she hissed.
Her damaged body gave an involuntary shudder before she continued, her breath rattling in her throat. "There is no way to stop this bomb, prepare yourselves," she warbled, still able to force her pained features into that of a smirk. "My father's work is done."
Gordon pressed his fingertips against Talia's throat, finding her pulse absent and her breathing following soon after. He pulled her from the truck's cab as Batman flew out over Gotham's Bay where he got to be the hero of the day.
When Gordon had struck the Tumbler, he'd knocked askew some of the wires in the dashboard, the radio began to pick up and play from the signal that was playing simultaneously at City Hall.
Gordon began cycles of chest compressions and breaths.
Sweat beaded up on his forehead, pulling into a frown as he tried to preserve the vital spark of life within Talia.
Gordon pushed his breath deep into her traumatized chest cavity to bring back that which made Talia more than an inert slab of dead flesh.
The Hollies' voices harmonized as they spilled from the radio as Gordon blew breath into Talia's still lungs, her chest rising as the flaccid organs inflated.
"Making love with you
Has left me peaceful, warm, and tired
What more could I ask
There's nothing left to be desired
Peace came upon me, and it leaves me weak
So sleep, silent angel
Go to sleep"
Emergency medical vehicles were enroute to multiple locations, the dispatchers were overrun with the sheer amount of calls.
As Bane went through an orchestrated dance between life and death, the terms dictated by the responding paramedics, he drifted between continents of consciousness that threatened to fall off the edge of the earth.
The Hollies continued over the City Hall PA system as Bane was loaded onto a sturdy gurney before being placed inside an ambulance.
Bane's eyelids sporadically fluttered open, what little he could glimpse of the outside whooshed by as he was driven to the medical center at breakneck speed.
The lights and sirens heralding an emergency were from the ambulance carrying him, there was no smoke polluting the sky.
The light was blinding.
There was no rising fire.
The song resumed on the radio, the diesel rig running with all its flashing lights on at a Code 3 en route to Gotham's main medical center.
"Sometimes, all I need is the air that I breathe
And to love you
All I need is the air that I breathe
Yes, to love you
All I need is the air that I breathe"
As Bane was driven at breakneck speed to the medical center with the largest blood bank on site and specialty surgical departments, across the city, Talia was experiencing her own spirit-provoking, medically resuscitated revival.
Between consciousness, Talia was loaded on an ambulance of the same company that was currently driving with Bane who was clinging and clawing for life.
Talia heard snippets of words, all accompanied by the words of the man who would lead the musical group for nearly four decades.
"Peace came upon me
And it leaves me weak
So sleep, silent angel
Go to sleep"
The medical center which had two waiting sterile surgical suites waiting for their arrival was on full generator support with the chaos remaining across the city.
Bane was rushed to the operating room, transferred to the table, his clothes cut away and a couple large bore IV lines started.
Bags of solution sloshed as they were attached and suspended from metal rolling poles that looked like hat racks.
Bane's throat was suctioned free of the mucus from his broken sinuses, his compromised chest cavity violently spasmed before he was intubated, soon fresh oxygen was being rhythmically administered.
His body was scrubbed down with a bright orange pre-surgical antiseptic.
An incision was made, then drawn downward, a layer of fat was opened inside him, followed by another incision of the fascia and the muscle layer down to the peritoneum.
Small bits and pieces of his clothing were removed from deeper, wetter lacerated areas of skin trauma.
Gloved hands palpated inside of his body, checking for perforated organs and out-of-control arterial bleeding.
Pristine white sponges were soon saturated with dark blood from his bruised liver and pools of collected fluids.
His body was given pint over pint of blood, at times coming back out like a sieve until loose arterial ends were stitched, hemorrhages staunched with a variety of sutures, multiple colors brought Bane's body back together.
The generator left the medical center's PA system permanently tuned in to the song playing around the city as Bane's bandages were applied, the decision made that he be kept in a medically induced coma.
Consciousness interruptus.
Bane's handcuffed, unconscious body was wheeled from the blood-slicked floor of the surgical suite to a secure wing in the Intensive Care Unit, round-the-clock surveillance and a plethora of Gotham's finest would be at perpetual guard.
Tony Hicks' guitar melody serenaded Bane as he was wheeled to the single-patient bay, the deep violet curtains drawn as he was repositioned in his hospital bed which would serve as his permanent home for a bit of time to come.
"Sometimes, all I need is the air that I breathe
And to love you
All I need is the air that I breathe
Yes, to love you
All I need is the air that I breathe"
In a surgical suite on a different wing on the vast medical center campus, Talia was transferred to an identical, fully articulating table, her clothes methodically removed as she was also intubated before incisions were made in her taut, prepped skin that held the garish shade of an overripe orange from the surgical prep solution.
While Talia's body was prepped for surgery, she was also examined, the scrutiny would continue if she survived the emergency surgery.
The manner in which Talia was described could easily be the words for her if she stopped living.
As it was, she was a pendulum swinging precariously between life and death.
The words the technician wrote down upon her described living tissue that the surgical team was rapidly trying to repair, words that could easily have transitioned to those of the medical examiner slicing twice before taking swabs and smears for the state mandated autopsy.
Her body was catalogued, reduced to the clinical and inputted in her medical record.
Miranda Tate, later her name would be changed to Talia al Ghul for her chart, was described as a well-developed, well-nourished female, approximately 68 inches in height.
Multiple scars of varying ages were observed, some barely discernible blemishes on her skin's landscape, others more prominent on her body under the harsh surgical lights.
Gloved, sterile hands searched Talia's body after slicing into her firm flesh.
Skilled hands deftly sutured free-bleeding arteries, cauterized tissue, the smell of singed flesh hung in the air, it didn't stop the surgeon and tech's cross talk of lunch plans at the new tapas bar though.
The surgical team discussed the new seafood ceviche, garnished with bright chunks of lime and lemon as brackish, yellow fluid was suctioned out of Talia's pleural cavity.
As her body was opened, explored, suctioned and repaired, there would be multiple notes taken that would later be dictated and transcribed for the official medical record.
Despite the impact she'd sustained, her diaphragm was within normal limits, the pulmonary artery was intact while the lungs steadily inflated and deflated as she was under anesthesia.
Talia's vitals stabilized and she too emerged from the cold clutches of near-death, the decision made to also keep her in a medically induced coma left her unconscious as she was wheeled to an adjacent Intensive Care unit, her own single bay surrounded by multiple law enforcement entities.
The talk in her bay was louder than the PA system that pumped out the chorus stanza for the 1974 song on repeat around Gotham City as she was situated in the pressure-reducing air mattress.
"Sometimes, all I need is the air that I breathe
And to love you
All I need is the air that I breathe
Yes, to love you
All I need is the air that I breathe
And to love you"
The medical center campus was swarmed by reporters, protestors for every kind of political candidate and their pitcher after pitcher of saccharine sweet disinformation.
The OWL Newsgroup's primetime journalist Dawn Lemon was live on the scene amidst the chaos on the sprawling, well-manicured grounds.
She'd gone live with a breaking news segment of Lemon's Drops.
People were crushed against the building like Black Friday shoppers in search of the under two-hundred-dollar television at the local supercenter.
The OWL Newsgroup dominated the conservative news in Gotham City, the foundation of America, the veritable backbone of all that was good and right under God and His only begotten Son, Jesus Horatio Christ.
Their womb mate, the liberal half of their genetic sequencing was GNN.
Gotham Network News.
In utero, much like the tiger shark, the OWL tried to devour GNN in the womb.
Also on the hospital's chaotic campus was GNN's premier anchor and real-life silver fox, Sam Jones with his show Full Circle.
As Dawn Lemon addressed her devout while under a pergola that was covered with a violet wisteria outside the hospital's southern wing, adjacent to the northern wing, Sam Jones checked his reflection, that his teeth were free from the chia seeds from his hemp milk shake and pulled his features into one of smoldering solemnity.
"The right's radical agenda was nearly realized, while the OWL Newsgroup focuses more on a POTUS of the past wearing a tan suit, this great city was on the edge of decimation," Jones began, pausing to allow his sheep-shaped snowflakes to devour his words before continuing.
"Right here," Sam shouted, "right here, the terrorists are receiving medical care and will face trial, televised for all to see. Right now, Dawn Lemon is somewhere around here spouting disinformation about a previous POTUS, not adding that the House and Senate at the time shot down legislation that would've prevented these terrorists from entering our beloved city," Jones bitterly spit.
Jones continued his diatribe, his bleeding-heart leaked inclusivity out of his plucked, bleached asshole, devolving to the mostly friendly fire of trading barbs about affordable care, immigration and who gets to tell a woman what to do with her very own uterus.
There was another news station live and on the scene, unfiltered, operating underground in a way, they utilized the abandoned property a hop, skip and a jump from Gotham's Medical Center sprawling campus.
The property was being retained for tax purposes, the hospital board was aware that people traveling through had taken up temporary residence, they kept the lights on.
The board had no idea that they were essentially supporting the activities of the above ground faction.
They were known as Goth Net, militant and organized, more criminal network than news outlet, their views clashed with Sam Jones, Dawn Lemon and all of their followers.
Goth Net had people everywhere, their day jobs were in every corner of Gotham City.
They cleaned toilets, delivered groceries and made intricate designs in the triple foam topping a latte.
They could work cameras and broadcast news at night while during the day, they performed clerical work, holding a large amount of positions in Gotham's Medical Center from janitorial to maintenance.
Unlimited access.
In the aftermath of Bane and Talia's surgical repairs, it was determined that they would both likely survive, the decision was made to keep them both in medically induced comas, constantly monitored.
They were each transferred to private rooms on opposite wings of the Gotham Medical Center, placed under heavy guard.
The coma stretched to four months.
In the sixteen weeks that Bane and Talia languished in a healing twilight, there was a parade for Gotham's fallen where Foley's widow was handed a flag with lots of camera flashes clapping in reverent percussion.
Bruce was angry that Bane and Talia still lived, he found that failure blemished his story of martyrdom.
He stayed away from Gotham City, licked his wounds on another continent, shrouded in anonymity.
Alfred cried in front of Bruce's elaborate headstone.
In the just over 112 days that Talia lingered in unconsciousness, the multiple rib and sternum resuscitative fractures slowly healed.
Blake deep dove into all that Bruce left for him, spent hours at the fetish store to find a tight-fitting outfit, buying custom pads to fill out the loose fabric in the crotch of his spandex tights.
Thinking Bruce was gone made Selina backpedal into petty thievery, more cocktail parties where she could dance with millionaires, pick pockets with no bottoms and make more and more reckless decisions.
Fox continued his role at the financially stabilized Wayne Enterprise, keeping the auto-pilot repair to himself.
Gordon was tapped by the progressive Governor to run for Mayor of Gotham City, Gordon was tired of law enforcement, his wife Sarah was pleased when he decided to put down the badge and run for office, the media was quick to label Gordon 'The Peacekeeper.'
Gotham City had four months of healing, regrowth and celebrating solidarity while Bane and Talia were locked in chemical slumbers.