Bat-verse: After the Tempest.
800 words, very spoilery for The Dark Knight Rises.
I have no idea if this is going anywhere.
The soft beeping. The hum of the machines. The first two weeks they’re the only thing keeping her alive, breathing for her, keeping her blood moving. But she’s asleep for most of that part.
When they put her in the chair, they’re already talking about physiotherapy, about percentages and possibilities. She ignores them. She is Ra’s al-Ghul’s daughter. She is Lord of the League of Shadows. She is the one who rose from Hell. She will not heal as lesser mortals.
To them, of course, she is only Miranda Tate, CEO of a shattered company, executor of a ruined legacy. But that is reason enough for respect, and for the kind of medical care an ordinary bankrupt could never hope for.
Wayne Enterprises, as it transpires, is not dead. During the long and bloody months while Bane -- while she -- held the city (a period they are already calling No Man’s Land; a curious affectation, considering those who were trapped within had no doubt as to whose land they dwelt in), Wayne’s accountants and investigators and adjustors were working hard. These were clever men, practical men, loyal to the company that had treated them well. Had they been trapped in Bane’s city, they would have died weeping and begging; from outside it, they were able to see that it would one day need to be rebuilt.
Towards the end of the second month, she makes her first appearance in the boardroom. Half the board members are gone; dead in No-Man’s Land, driven to retirement, or simply abandoned the company in favour of better projects. Few of them were limited to their Gotham interests. She sits in the chair, her body rebuilt with pins and braces and bandages, and tells them how they will rebuild their city.
They do not believe her, of course. Wayne Enterprises is a spent force, a shattered body with a broken heart. And so she feels the need to prove them wrong; to rebuild this company just as she will rebuild the city she so easily destroyed. This was never her plan; she expected to die with Gotham, to be a casualty of a more complete destruction. But the city was destroyed, despite the Batman, and there is a chance to rebuild on the ruins. And the League was never focussed on destruction for its own sake.
***
Gordon comes to her, the first time, while she is still in bed, still breathing through machines and receiving endless transfusions and infusions and injections. He has questions, and he has suspicions, but he does not have evidence. Nor does he have much authority; his resignation has already been accepted, and an old cop’s suspicions are not enough to destroy the CEO of a major company, shattered though it might be.
He tries to question her a few more times after that. She wields her lawyers like a shield, impenetrable, dispassionate. He makes a show of giving up. She is not fooled.
***
The League has been of the shadows for a long time. Its tendrils reach far and wide, and most of those who now, in some degree, serve her do not even realise that such an organisation exist. Even so, all it takes is whispered words, murmurs to her remaining contacts, and Wayne Enterprises becomes part of the federal disaster relief effort. The funds are massive; so is the oversight. This does not worry her; perhaps alone of all those bidding for the work, she intends to do exactly what her tender claims.
***
By the seventh month she is standing, and so are the first buildings of the new Gotham. This is her city now. Wayne Industries is publicly running at a loss, propped up by government money; some of the shareholders have tried to oust her over this, but she has salted the board with her puppets, those too corrupt or too idealistic to go against the Grand Philanthropy.
She writes Thomas and Martha Wayne’s names on every building.
This city is hers. She walks its streets -- slowly, because of the cane she still needs, and the pain that shoots through her with every step -- and her face is known to every citizen she passes.
***
She was a fool to believe him dead, of course. It has been more than a year before she sees the patterns -- he has learned subtlety, and she has no way of knowing how many thefts and break-ins and episodes of corporate espionage have gone undetected. But he is a threat, and he is her enemy, and he killed her father. He rose from Hell, just as she did, and his body was broken, just as hers was, and he fought for this city, just as she is doing now.
She is keeping his name alive.
She sets the League the task of finding him, without believing for a second that they will succeed.
I have no idea if this is going anywhere.
The soft beeping. The hum of the machines. The first two weeks they’re the only thing keeping her alive, breathing for her, keeping her blood moving. But she’s asleep for most of that part.
When they put her in the chair, they’re already talking about physiotherapy, about percentages and possibilities. She ignores them. She is Ra’s al-Ghul’s daughter. She is Lord of the League of Shadows. She is the one who rose from Hell. She will not heal as lesser mortals.
To them, of course, she is only Miranda Tate, CEO of a shattered company, executor of a ruined legacy. But that is reason enough for respect, and for the kind of medical care an ordinary bankrupt could never hope for.
Wayne Enterprises, as it transpires, is not dead. During the long and bloody months while Bane -- while she -- held the city (a period they are already calling No Man’s Land; a curious affectation, considering those who were trapped within had no doubt as to whose land they dwelt in), Wayne’s accountants and investigators and adjustors were working hard. These were clever men, practical men, loyal to the company that had treated them well. Had they been trapped in Bane’s city, they would have died weeping and begging; from outside it, they were able to see that it would one day need to be rebuilt.
Towards the end of the second month, she makes her first appearance in the boardroom. Half the board members are gone; dead in No-Man’s Land, driven to retirement, or simply abandoned the company in favour of better projects. Few of them were limited to their Gotham interests. She sits in the chair, her body rebuilt with pins and braces and bandages, and tells them how they will rebuild their city.
They do not believe her, of course. Wayne Enterprises is a spent force, a shattered body with a broken heart. And so she feels the need to prove them wrong; to rebuild this company just as she will rebuild the city she so easily destroyed. This was never her plan; she expected to die with Gotham, to be a casualty of a more complete destruction. But the city was destroyed, despite the Batman, and there is a chance to rebuild on the ruins. And the League was never focussed on destruction for its own sake.
***
Gordon comes to her, the first time, while she is still in bed, still breathing through machines and receiving endless transfusions and infusions and injections. He has questions, and he has suspicions, but he does not have evidence. Nor does he have much authority; his resignation has already been accepted, and an old cop’s suspicions are not enough to destroy the CEO of a major company, shattered though it might be.
He tries to question her a few more times after that. She wields her lawyers like a shield, impenetrable, dispassionate. He makes a show of giving up. She is not fooled.
***
The League has been of the shadows for a long time. Its tendrils reach far and wide, and most of those who now, in some degree, serve her do not even realise that such an organisation exist. Even so, all it takes is whispered words, murmurs to her remaining contacts, and Wayne Enterprises becomes part of the federal disaster relief effort. The funds are massive; so is the oversight. This does not worry her; perhaps alone of all those bidding for the work, she intends to do exactly what her tender claims.
***
By the seventh month she is standing, and so are the first buildings of the new Gotham. This is her city now. Wayne Industries is publicly running at a loss, propped up by government money; some of the shareholders have tried to oust her over this, but she has salted the board with her puppets, those too corrupt or too idealistic to go against the Grand Philanthropy.
She writes Thomas and Martha Wayne’s names on every building.
This city is hers. She walks its streets -- slowly, because of the cane she still needs, and the pain that shoots through her with every step -- and her face is known to every citizen she passes.
***
She was a fool to believe him dead, of course. It has been more than a year before she sees the patterns -- he has learned subtlety, and she has no way of knowing how many thefts and break-ins and episodes of corporate espionage have gone undetected. But he is a threat, and he is her enemy, and he killed her father. He rose from Hell, just as she did, and his body was broken, just as hers was, and he fought for this city, just as she is doing now.
She is keeping his name alive.
She sets the League the task of finding him, without believing for a second that they will succeed.