Broken(DC)

The Bridge to Arkham.

Police barricades blocked the exit from the island, holding back a swarm of prisoners. The convicts had taken weapons from the guards and were now engaged in a standoff with the police. The officers were trying to hold the line, but they simply didn't have the resources to fight against such overwhelming numbers.

James Gordon sat behind one of the barricades, firing back at the advancing prisoners. He couldn't believe something like this was even possible. Prisoners had escaped from Arkham before, but only a handful ever managed to get away. What was happening now, however, was absolutely unprecedented. He was catastrophically short on manpower. The radio crackled with frantic requests for reinforcements, but Gordon knew they wouldn't be able to handle the situation.

"God help us," he muttered grimly. He knew they wouldn't be able to hold out for long; sooner or later, the prisoners would break through. But it was his duty to delay them for as long as possible, to stop hundreds of criminals from spilling out into the city. It wasn't the gangsters that worried him most it was the psychopaths, the ones who would stop at nothing to satisfy their twisted urges. Those kinds of people should've been sent straight to the electric chair, but the law forbade it…

VROOOOMMM.

The growl of an engine tore through the air. A futuristic car burst through the line of wrecked vehicles. Its wide tires allowed it to easily navigate the debris.

[image]

"You're here," Gordon said hoarsely, his voice tinged with relief and a faint glimmer of hope. At first, he had thought Gotham's vigilante was just another lunatic in a city full of them. But this one fought crime, punished it, and never took a life. Maybe he was insane too but to take on lunatics like these, it took one of their own.

THUNK-THUNK-THUNK!

Several metal canisters shot out from the back of the car, releasing a thick cloud of gas as they landed among the prisoners. Smoke billowed out, throwing the convicts into chaos. Under the cover of the smoke, the strange vehicle smashed through the barricade with ease and disappeared into the haze.

"AAAAAAHHHH!"

"Die, freak!"

"No! I surrender!"

Shouts came from all directions, mixed with choking gasps, gunfire, and the sickening thuds of fists landing on flesh. Amid the cacophony were strange mechanical noises, like the grinding of a winch.

"Hold your positions!" Gordon barked. He doubted the vigilante could take on the mob single-handedly, but he wasn't about to risk his men getting caught in the chaos.

Minutes passed, and the noise began to die down. The officers tensed, their weapons trained on the dissipating smoke.

From the haze emerged a dark figure. Broad shoulders, massive arms, and a barrel-like chest betrayed a physique honed to perfection. Even the suit he wore couldn't conceal his chiseled musculature. A bat-shaped symbol was emblazoned on his chest, and a utility belt packed with pouches and gadgets hung at his waist.

[image]

"Commissioner," he said in a rough, gravelly voice.

Gordon, still tense, kept a watchful eye on the figure in front of him.

"Lower your weapons," he ordered his men. "I don't know who you are, but you've helped us a lot. I owe you one. Someone blew the prison walls and let all the inmates loose. We managed to hold back the main wave, but by the time we got here, many had already escaped. I don't have enough people to protect the whole city," Gordon admitted.

"I know. We can't waste a single minute. While the trail is still fresh, we have to make sure he doesn't get away," the stranger replied.

In the next instant, he leapt backward, landing directly in the waiting vehicle that had pulled up beneath him with perfect precision. The hatch closed, and the car spun around, peeling out and speeding off into the night.

James watched the strange vehicle disappear, marveling at the technology this vigilante seemed to have at his disposal.

"What are you standing around for?! Get to work! I want every damn one of them back in their cells!" Gordon shouted.

As his officers moved swiftly to round up the escaped prisoners, Gordon trudged toward the area where the wounded and fallen officers lay. His heavy steps carried the weight of his grief. He looked down at the bodies of his fallen comrades men who, not long ago, had been alive, full of hopes and dreams, thinking about their futures.

Now, they were gone.

It would fall to him to deliver the devastating news to their families. To face the grieving wives, mothers, and children would be almost unbearable.

It was moments like these that had turned his hair gray so early. The burden of duty weighed heavily on him.

*******************

POV Brian Forman

The moment I let myself get distracted by my own problems, everything spiraled out of control. I never imagined someone would orchestrate a mass breakout from Arkham. I failed to act in time, and it cost many lives. While I hesitated torn between intervening or staying out of it someone else stepped in and handled the situation.

I had almost tracked down the one behind it all but lost them before I could close the distance. Gotham is a city steeped in sin, and finding one guilty soul among so many is no easy task. But if they cross my path again, I'll feel their soul resonate.

[image]

In one thing, my alter ego was right: I've boxed myself in with my principles"do no harm, and seek redemption." Well, redemption takes many forms, and fighting evil with virtue is impossible. Only rage and blood can force them to change.

I am not a hero, and I never will be. But I will finish the work that needs to be done. I make this vow to myself: my wrath will not touch innocent souls. I will only bring ruin for sins already committed. I will be the punishing hand of those who think they can escape justice. I will become the executioner of their fates.

I finished preparing my gear. Just one mask a manifestation of my inner fire, with the image of a skull emblazoned on it. Gotham's streets are infested with maniacs capable of the worst atrocities. Though this city has a hero operating in the shadows, he isn't enough. I can act faster.

My silhouette disappeared into the vortex, carrying me toward the district where the bulk of the escaped prisoners had fled. Among the thousands of souls, my gaze sought out the most dangerous.

A few had holed up in a basement, and moments later, I was inside. I jumped down from above, hitting the ground hard. With a sharp blow, the door shattered off its hinges. I stepped inside, weapon ready, and fired quick, precise shots. Before they even understood what was happening, the criminals were on the ground dead.

Only one remained.

Staring into his soul, I saw the atrocities he had committed. But he wasn't entirely lost not yet. Maybe, just maybe, he could still be saved.

"You'll never walk this path again," I said, locking eyes with him. He froze in fear and nodded frantically.

Maybe they were escaped criminals or maybe they weren't. But judging by their appearance and behavior, they didn't seem like Arkham inmates. As I moved forward, I began leaping across the city, hunting the escapees.

Many hadn't even bothered to change out of their prison uniforms, making them easy to spot. For some, freedom had taught them nothing. The moment they escaped, they returned to their old ways committing robberies, crimes, even murders.

At one scene, I was too late I arrived only to find a body lying in a pool of blood, its throat slashed.

"Rest in peace, lost soul," I whispered, closing their eyes. I took out my phone and reported the body before vanishing once again.

If only I'd been faster. If only I'd come here first. Maybe I could've saved them. These thoughts clawed at my soul, the guilt impossible to shake.

Another leap, and I found myself in the industrial zone. Even at night, many factories kept running. Despite its countless problems, Gotham remained one of the largest manufacturing hubs. The reason for this was clear: cheap labor that couldn't complain, authorities who were easy to bribe, and emissions that had long exceeded safe limits.

I could feel the heavy metals and chemicals saturating the air around me.

Boom.

Looking closer, I saw a cloud of dust rising from one of the factories. Moving closer, I noticed a fight taking place. A man in a dark suit was battling the escaped prisoners, taking them down one by one. He skillfully blocked their attacks and countered with precise strikes to their most vulnerable spots. Using his weapons and any objects within reach, he quickly thinned their numbers until all of them were defeated.

When the last opponent was down, he suddenly turned in my direction, and his piercing gaze seemed to cut right through me. It was surprising he noticed me from such a distance. I raised two fingers to my temple and gave him a small wave in greeting. Who was he, I wondered?

It seemed my gesture didn't sit well with him. Without hesitation, he raised a grappling hook, shot it toward a nearby rooftop, and soared upward in a sharp motion. No, this wasn't the time for a conversation with him.

Jumping from the roof, I vanished into a small cloud of ash. I always tried to mask my portals as much as possible, creating the illusion of ash dispersing around me. It made my movements less conspicuous compared to the giant flaming rifts in space I could otherwise create.

Almost until dawn, I leapt around the city, hunting for the remaining escapees. Only a few were still alive by then.

Once it was over, I stripped off my gear and looked at my reflection in the mirror. It seemed I had truly become the Cripple. No problems arise when there's no one left to cause them. That was a principle I'd learned during my career as a criminal.

By morning, I set to work immediately. I checked in on the factories producing equipment. The first shipments were already completed. James Gordon had sent me a message expressing approval of my actions, which meant I could operate without fear of interference.

After handling that, I turned my attention to the newspapers, which were set to be on every newsstand. I opened one and read an article about Arkham, detailing the horrors taking place on the island and the negligence in maintaining its security. I had provided the journalist with all the information they needed for the story.

It was shocking to see how outdated the island's infrastructure was it had been in dire need of repairs for years. The guards wore old, worn-out uniforms and used antiquated self-defense equipment.

Directly blaming the mayor for the situation would've been foolish his people would've quickly launched a crackdown, and anyone I'd hired would've been arrested by nightfall. Instead, I hinted at the need for reforms and subtly pointed toward Cobblepot's role.

If he ignored it, his indifference would be evident to all. But if he allocated funding, it would benefit many, including me. A small website we had set up would also play a role in amplifying the message.

***************************

Batcave

Behind a massive computer sat Batman, intently observing footage from surveillance cameras. Many of the images featured a towering man clad in a fur coat and a wrestler's mask. The captions identified him as the suspected mastermind of the breakout. But in one photo, there was an unknown figure someone who had somehow managed to slip past Batman. The figure had vanished as if into thin air, leaving no trace. Even the thermal cameras couldn't track him, showing only a faint heat signature where he had once stood.

"Master Bruce, you need to rest. You haven't slept for several nights, and it's taking a toll on your condition," said the elderly butler, setting a tray of tea down on the desk.

"There's no time for that," Bruce replied firmly. "Whoever orchestrated the breakout might already be planning something, and I need to find him before he puts it into action."

"Do you suspect Mr. Cobblepot to be involved?" Alfred inquired.

"No, he has no motive. Besides, many of his enemies were in that prison. It seems like an independent player acting on their own agenda. I reviewed the list of those we couldn't track down. Several former crime bosses have vanished, and they could rally others to their side. At the center of it all is him. Gotham is facing dark days ahead," Bruce said grimly.

"Surely James Gordon will lend you his support," Alfred offered.

"He doesn't have enough manpower. I'll handle this myself," Bruce said resolutely.

"I hope so," Alfred said quietly. He was old now, and even if he wanted to help, his body wouldn't allow it.

"What worries me more," Bruce continued, "is who killed the other escapees. I've managed to trace a few of his appearances throughout the city tonight. He uses some kind of device to teleport and has been killing not only escaped prisoners but also other individuals."

"Were they all criminals?" Alfred asked.

"Yes, but killing them makes him no better than they are," Bruce responded. Alfred, though he accepted the sentiment, knew from his time in the military the bitter cost of sparing an enemy's life and how often it led to painful consequences.

"Perhaps he has supernatural abilities. After the particle accelerator explosion, many developed meta-powers," Alfred suggested.

"I've considered that possibility," Bruce said, "but why now? What are his motives? What drives his actions?"

He fell silent, his eyes narrowing as he continued to analyze the fragments of information.

************************

POV Bane

Things didn't go perfectly, but success is still success. I had to leave a team behind to hold off Batman and keep him distracted. How he managed to stay on my trail for so long, I don't know. But it doesn't matter. I have an army; now all I need is the right weapons to arm it.

I haven't been able to locate the laboratory for producing Venom to create a proper army under my command, but for now, I'll make do with what I have.

"We move out in a few hours. We need to act quickly before we're discovered!" I shouted. My plan is to attack Penguin's warehouses and seize a large supply of weapons. Several of his storage facilities are located at the docks entire hangars filled with crates of various arms. The guards number about a hundred men; to me, they're nothing more than bugs, ones I can crush without much effort.

"We're not going anywhere," one of the escaped convicts said. It was Jack Sampson, a former gang leader. A scar ran along his temple, leaving him without one ear.

"Yeah, you helped us escape, but we're not your subordinates," he added, defiantly.

"Oh, really," I said, slowly approaching him. He didn't show a hint of fear. My hand shot out, lightning-fast, gripping his neck.

"Then we part ways," I said coldly.

A snap and his lifeless body crumpled to the floor. Scanning the rest of them, I ensured no one else would dare object.

"Have you forgotten why we did all this? It's time to show everyone just how rotten this city is. The weak stand above those who are truly worthy. I will not tolerate insubordination. We move out in two hours," I declared.

Returning to my quarters, I pulled out a few canisters of Venom and loaded the device on my forearm. So little left… I need to get more.

Suppressing a growl as the serum surged through me, I cracked my neck and went back to my men. Just a little longer, and everything will change.

************

I didn't bother hiding and walked straight toward the warehouse gates.

"Hey, you! Stop right there!" one of the guards shouted. I took just a couple more steps forward before slamming into them. They didn't even have time to react before their bodies were crushed against the wall with the sound of cracking bones.

Tensing my muscles, I tore at the gates, ripping them apart, bending the metal, and tearing through the panels, forcing my way inside the warehouse. Tossing the steel plating aside, I stepped in.

It took me no more than twenty minutes to kill everyone. Brushing the blood and bits of flesh from my hands, I finally reached the opened crates, where my men were already sorting through the weapons we had seized.

Yes, this was exactly what we needed: crates full of all kinds of arms.

"Get a truck, load everything up, and let's move out immediately," I ordered.

My men quickly began loading the crates, and the operation was in full swing.

Boom!

A sudden noise interrupted me, followed by the sounds of fighting and gunfire.

"Keep loading. I'll handle this," I commanded, pausing for a moment before heading toward the commotion.

Reaching the source of the noise, I saw Batman, taking down my men one by one. A skilled fighter fast and strong but that wouldn't be enough.

"I've been waiting for you," I said with a smirk. Injecting myself with Venom, I felt its power flood my muscles, amplifying my strength by another level.

Author's Note

If you think Bane is insane and illogical, you're absolutely right. That's a side effect of the drug; it disrupts mental activity. He genuinely believes he's making sense and that his actions are necessary, but in reality, it's nothing more than delusion.