Chapter Nine: Lift Your Voice
The Critical Care Unit turned into a three-ring fucking circus shitshow in the immediacy following the discharge of the GPD's officer's department issued firearm.
Officers with every kind of badge surged through the halls, a gun-wielding tsunami.
Doors were locked down; multiple codes were called with each voice trying to be the loudest.
Dr. Steele knew the masked man that Bane abruptly released was dead before he crashed to the floor in a tangled heap of flaccid, limp limbs.
Roderick acted fast, gaining control of the hotheaded officers that spilled into the room, the rest collecting in the hall, to him, all unwanted.
Bane squared his shoulders at the man in the pristine white doctor's coat, could smell his position amongst the rest, calling the shots despite being unarmed.
Bane also knew that there would be no escaping the room, that his life was somehow important to this man but if he tried to run, he'd be brought down with prejudice, he could smell the hatred in the air, see eyes bleed to that of the primitive, seeking only their base need to end his life, due process be goddamned.
"No, I need them both alive," Dr. Steele reiterated, his authoritative voice held the barest of trembles.
He spread his arms out wide, looking for but a moment like a referee for a ball game before continuing, taking further dominance of the room.
"Bring me the commanding officer," he demanded of the closest badge before turning his attention to Bane who had not moved a muscle, every ligament was still, his breath measured, controlled.
Dr. Steele hovered in a state of tonic immobility in the face of an apex predator, quickly regaining his footing on the Serengeti before speaking.
"You need to follow my instructions, if you die, she dies," he murmured, capturing Bane's full attention before continuing with urgency. "Along with the life of the child she is carrying."
"Talia lives?" Bane asked.
"For now," Dr. Steele confirmed with a nod.
The entire world fell away at the knowledge that Talia was alive.
Every gun remained trained on Bane as he remained rooted to place, his muscular body nude, his masculinity still powerful as it hung flaccid between his thighs.
No one spoke, only dared to blink until Detective Blake was summoned to the hospital room.
After the foiling of Talia's plan and his intimate involvement, Blake was given the role of Incident Commander by Gordon, along with a fat pay raise and greater department contribution to his 401K.
Blake had never left the parking lot, he'd become increasingly distracted by the bulge in his pants the codpiece gave him, the perceived girth when one glanced at his clothed crotch.
He'd been texting a hooker he'd turned into a confidential informant for some later face to cock time when his phone began ringing, he'd hurriedly finished his text before running back into the hospital, taking the stairs almost three at a time in the wake of the jumbled information he'd received over the frantic call from a subordinate.
Blake's vision narrowed, sounds grew dull, voices sounded hollow for just a few seconds as he was nearly overwhelmed by the sight of Bane standing, of Dr. Steele playing peacemaker and the presumed corpse on the floor.
Blake opened his mouth to speak, his voice dying in his throat as his eyes fell upon the pocket square on the sprawled-out body.
He'd seen Bruce Wayne hours and hours before, mostly in passing but wasn't able to avoid noticing the blood red pocket square Wayne had tucked in his suit.
The pocket square had a loose thread that had stood proudly erect from the top corner.
Blake coughed hard, felt his eyes sting as he spied the same loose thread on the same corner of the same pocket square, the thread now hanging limply.
"What the fuck is going on?" Blake shouted, his eyes scanning the many faces carrying badges, desperate for one that was familiar.
"Peaches, talk to me," Blake shouted to GPD officer Sondra Peechborn.
"Some vigilante broke in and tried to kill that bastard," Sondra said, her gun still out and in hand, but pointed down at the linoleum.
"This doctor doesn't want us to kill him," she added as Blake put his own gun away, a stab at diffusion, turning to split his attention between Bane and Dr. Steele.
"I need an explanation here doctor," Blake said to Dr. Steele, his eyes flicking past the man's shoulder for frequent glances at Bane.
"It seems the patient has been able to tamper with their IV line, has not been as deeply sedated as he should've been and appears to have killed a man in self-defense."
"Self-defense?" Blake parroted.
"Well officer, it appears he was attacked as he laid here."
"It's Detective," Blake corrected before continuing. "I want you to put him back down, make him go to sleep," he added as he nodded towards Bane.
"That is not medically-sound without a battery of chemistry panels," Dr. Steele rebutted before he offered, "I can have him restrained."
Blake clenched his teeth together until his jaw popped, trying in vain to not sink next to Bruce's obviously dead side. "Just get it fucking done."
"Fuck this guy, he doesn't tell GPD what to do," a voice called out, several others chimed in with their passionate agreement.
Another overly zealous GPD officer tightened their finger on the trigger, a shot popping off, the bullet penetrated the hanging IV bag, eviscerating the sack of fluid, sodium chloride spilling from the destroyed latex.
"Goddamn it, stand down," Blake shouted over the growing voices, the temperature rising.
Shouts rang out, angry voices.
"Kill the whore next," someone yelled to an agreeing chorus of voices.
"Everyone stand the fuck down, get me Gordon," Blake added to the nearest GPD officer.
Dr. Steele held Blake's eyes for a few seconds, neither man blinking, "will you get the unnecessary people out of here?"
Blake nodded and began clearing the room as Dr. Steele stared up at Bane; multiple guns remained aimed at Bane's center mass, enough firepower to cut him in half.
"The only chance you have at life is to listen to me."
Bane remained wordless for a few heartbeats, blinking slowly before addressing Dr. Steele.
"What would you have me do?"
Roderick Steele's dynamic brain was whirling, his body full of frenetic energy, his fingertips tingled as he addressed Bane.
"Lay down on the bed, allow me to secure your extremities, save your life."
Bane stared down at Dr. Steele, his scarred face impassive, gauged the man in the white coat, attempted to judge his worth.
The small hairs in Bane's nose quivered as they detected duplicity from the clean-shaven, well-groomed man with the sharp cheekbones and strong jaw line.
Blake dropped to the side of the dead man on the hospital room floor, the man he already knew was the deceased billionaire Bruce Wayne.
His hands visibly shook as he peeled the latex fetish mask off the corpse's face, taking a sharp inhale when he revealed Bruce's dead, slack face, finding no pulse when he pressed his fingertips against his warm neck, the carotid artery still.
Ding dong, the Bat is Dead.