Dawn broke over Gotham.
The pearly white morning light struggled to pierce the heavy, stagnant clouds that enveloped the city, coating the glass curtain walls of the skyscrapers with a cold, lifeless shimmer. This was not the dawn of hope, but rather the final curtain call for a long and bloody drama.
Overnight, the situation changed dramatically.
Bane, the tyrant who once ruled Gotham as a conqueror, saw his meticulously constructed, seemingly indestructible criminal empire collapse like a sandcastle washed away by a tsunami, disintegrating into dust in a matter of hours.
His arrogant "generals"—Butcher Boris, Mouthpiece Marconi, Hephaestus, Electro-Shock—these fierce characters who could make children stop crying in the underworld, now either died bizarre, eerie, and even darkly humorous "accidents," leaving no trace; or they were utterly destroyed mentally by the Bat, who returned from hell, in a way more cruel than death itself, becoming new drooling, muttering residents of Arkham Asylum. Their names, like the innocent people they brutalized, would be swiftly forgotten by this indifferent city.
He, Bane, the man who once stood before the World's media cameras, in the posture of a victor, personally broke Batman's spine, was now truly a lone wolf.
A king abandoned by the entire World.
He sat alone in the opulent CEO's office on the top floor of Wayne Tower, which once belonged to Bruce Wayne. Outside the massive bulletproof floor-to-ceiling windows was the silhouette of the entire Gotham City. But at this moment, this steel jungle he had once sworn to conquer, in his eyes, was filled with endless, sharp irony.
On the office wall, the huge 8K resolution display was broadcasting Gotham's local news channel's morning news. Director Gordon, the old Police he had always looked down upon, stood at the entrance of GCPD Headquarters, surrounded by countless flashbulbs and microphones. His wrinkled face was etched with the fatigue of an all-nighter, but his eyes sparkled with an undisguised exhilaration of having survived a catastrophe.
"...Yes, I can assure all citizens," Gordon said to the camera, his voice hoarse but firm, "that with the heroic efforts of all GCPD officers and the selfless assistance of some... some'special consultants' whose names we cannot disclose, the urban crisis caused by the criminal Bane has been largely resolved. Gotham's order is being restored at an unprecedented speed..."
Bane stared intently at Gordon's old face on the screen, the veins on his arm, thicker than a normal person's thigh, bulging like gnarled tree roots.
"Crack—!"
The expensive crystal stemmed wine glass in his hand, along with the half-glass of '82 Lafite inside, was crushed into countless tiny fragments. Sharp glass shards deeply pierced his calloused palm, and crimson blood slowly dripped from between his fingers, spreading an eye-catching, ominous flower on the million-dollar Persian artisan-woven carpet.
Yet, he felt no pain.
Because a flame named "humiliation," a thousand times more intense than physical pain, was burning fiercely in his chest, almost incinerating his sanity.
This was not the outcome he wanted! Absolutely not!
He, Bane, who had struggled for survival in the World's darkest prison since birth, he had defeated countless opponents stronger and more cunning than him, he had climbed out of that living hell step by step with his own wisdom and strength! He came to Gotham not to play such a childish game!
What he wanted was conquest! Absolute, undeniable victory! To make Batman, the totem hailed as Gotham's guardian, kneel at his feet like a dog with a broken spine, and personally admit his defeat! To make this arrogant and decadent city, in extreme fear, bow down to him, its new monarch, and shout his name!
And not like this!
He didn't even see a Shadow of Batman!
The other party was like a high and mighty chess player, casually moving the pieces on the chessboard in a way he completely could not understand or resist. Like the most brilliant system administrator, silently, pixel by pixel... completely erasing him and his entire empire from the huge "map" of Gotham City.
This utter disregard! This dimension-reducing, disdainful crushing that refused to confront him directly!
It was the ultimate humiliation, deeper and more biting than any direct defeat!
"Ahhhhh—!!!"
Rage erupted like a volcano, finally completely breaching the dam of his steel-like sanity.
Bane spun around abruptly, like an enraged bull, charging towards the building's emergency broadcast system control panel in the corner of the office. He shoved aside the broadcaster, who was pale with fright and slumped on the floor, and snatched the microphone from his hand.
He brought his mouth to the microphone, transforming all the anger, unwillingness, humiliation, and madness in his chest into a deafening roar.
His Beast-like roar, twisted by endless fury, was amplified hundreds of times through the dozens of giant loudspeakers at the top of Wayne Tower, resounding like rolling thunder through every corner of Gotham City! From the bustling financial district to the dilapidated Crime Alley, everyone heard this final battle cry from the vanquished!
"Bat—man—!!! I know you can hear me!!!"
"I'm tired of your underhanded tricks! Tired of your crawling, tail-wagging lackeys hiding in the gutters!!"
"Now! Right—here—! On top of Wayne Tower! I—am—waiting—for—you!!!"
"No schemes! No henchmen! No ridiculous riddles and disgusting gas!"
"Only—you! And—me!"
"Come on!!! Stand out like a real man! Let us prove to this city, to the entire World, in the most primitive and purest way! Who is its true Boss!!!"
This was his final roar. It was also his ultimate challenge, betting all his remaining dignity as a warrior and a conqueror. He would reclaim his collapsed and shattered glory through a pure, fist-to-fist violent confrontation... Meanwhile, at the other end of the city, deep underground.
Inside the Batcave, there was silence. Only the "drip-drop" of cold underground Water on the rocks and the faint hum of the supercomputer's fans could be heard.
Bruce sat calmly in front of the main console, where the huge holographic screen was broadcasting Bane's desperate solo act atop Wayne Tower in real-time.
Watching the man on the screen, his face twisted by extreme anger, Bruce's gaze showed no fluctuation. Beneath his deep blue electronic eyepieces was a bottomless darkness, deeper than this cave.
In his opinion, all of this was merely the final act of a pre-written script. A predetermined outcome, the last, impotent rage of a loser.
"Tap, tap, tap..."
A steady sound of footsteps came from behind him.
Alfred, the eternally loyal butler, holding the Arkham Knight's faceplate, which was full of sharp technological flair and cold killing intent, slowly approached with unhurried steps. A subtle, paternal worry was etched on his face.
"He is already a Beast cornered by a hunter, with nowhere to run, Bruce," Alfred said softly, his voice echoing slightly in the vast cave.
Bruce slowly rose from his seat, turned around, and took the cold faceplate from the old butler's hand.
The hard alloy material, the powerful lines, the familiar metallic touch... all of it brought him immense peace and reassurance.
"A Beast only reveals its sharpest fangs when it's cornered, Alfred."
He slowly put on the faceplate, which represented rebirth and revenge.
"Click—"
The crisp, pleasant sound of the internal electronic components of the faceplate precisely locking into the neck interface of the suit was like an overture to the impending slaughter.
On the faceplate, the two deep blue, ghost-fire-like electronic eyepieces suddenly lit up.
His voice, processed by the faceplate's built-in voice changer, became low, hoarse, filled with an inhuman metallic quality, devoid of any human emotion.
"But a hunter's favorite moment is precisely this."