The Universe's Mixer

The warehouse was as well-fitted as it could be, defensively and offensively. That had been step 1. But now he and Bane needed information -- more of it, that is, than what could be found on newspapers left littering the sidewalk in this mostly-deserted side of town. Refuse told much about a city - even living refuse that clumped in dirty piles in the alleyways - but there was only so much information that could be extracted from half-gone junkies. With distaste, the Cleric dropped the latest wellspring and dusted his gloves off gingerly.

This wasn't working.

It was a risk, but one that needed taking. Bane was too conspicuous to do the job well; it fell to Cleric Brandt, First Class. Clothes were the first hurdle, quickly overcome by a little quiet street intervention. Wearing another man's clothing, then, he took the first car he found into the City proper and ditched it on the edge of a long line of houses a few streets down from a busy part of town.

And then he began walking. A fresh newspaper was easy to pluck off a nearby outdoor table. He tucked it under his arm and kept walking until he got around the corner, then propped his arm against the side of the nearest building and began to read.

Opportunity presented itself in the oddest fashion.

The afternoon that an argentinosaurus exploded through the outside wall of his cell, Cleric Brandt, First Class, had been exercising. In Blackgate, there was precious little else to do than that, and he was stronger and in better condition than he'd ever been in his entire career. It made him itch to find Cleric Preston and put him to the test. Finish the dual they'd only just started before Brandt was pulled into that strange world of dinosaurs and sense offenders.

Sweating and disbelieving, Brandt pressed himself up against the back wall of his cell and watched the large beast swipe through the wall of his confinement -- and out into the corridor. For the first time in months, Brandt saw the sky. He grinned.

His excitement was detestable, and he quickly stamped it from his face. Instead, he focused on what was going on outside. The dinosaur that crashed into his prison was not alone. There was another - and it looked like a tyrannosaurus - that pursued the larger, slower-moving beast responsible for his jailbreak. They two were moving off and away from the prison, which was just as well. If the beasts were distracted by each other, they wouldn't notice him as he escaped.

Brandt paused, then looked out toward the corridor. He heard, beyond the clashing of dinosaurs, the jangling of keys on a belt and the pounding of booted feet on cement. Brandt edged toward the gap in his cell and waited until the guard burst into view. He took him out with a few well-placed blows, crushing the larynx and pulverizing certain nerve clusters to cripple the man as he died. Unhooking the keys with one efficient swipe, Brandt looked across the corridor to the cell of the one who had spent time these months talking through his ideals.

Ideals that were not out of alignment with Brandt's. Sense offenders needed to be cleansed from the City. Others needed to be converted to the truth path of humanity's salvation. They two could work together toward these goals - Brandt and Bane. The decision was not difficult.

Moments later, the two were standing in the corridor together. Brandt grinned again.

Bane knew this place.

Not because he'd ever been inside of it before, he hadn't. He knew it because of the people he had freed from it. From the time that he had spent studying the gates so that he could tear them down and release all of those inside, causing havoc and mayhem with which to bring down Gotham city. The interior was just as bleak as the exterior. It was cold, unforgiving.

But still a warm and inviting place when compared with the pit.

He didn't know how long he'd been inside. His cell held no windows. There was only thick concrete brick. A heavy metal door with a small barred window. He could see only the cell opposite of his own, and there had been no stirring of life from over there since he'd woken up. Not that he'd called out or anything. Mostly, Bane had been brooding and plotting how to get out.

There had been an attempt to break the door, which had resulted in bloody hands and strained muscles. He had planned to overtake the guard that brought his meals, but while he was awake, nobody appeared. Even after staying awake for 48 hours, there had been no life, no food. But the second he began to drift off to sleep, Bane heard the sound of a tray clattering gently against the floor.

He had been reluctant to take the mask off, to have that weakness, but he knew that he would be weaker still if he didn't eat the pathetic food they offered.

They. Who were they. What had they done to get him here? Where was here? Gotham? There certainly had been no prison on the ruined world, where he'd been staying in Sanctuary. And nobody there that he'd found who could take him down. Certainly Bruce Wayne had been no match.

Since then his days had been spent sitting on the cot, staring at the small barred window, running his mind over complex formulations to keep his thoughts sharp, or working his body to exhaustion.

Preparing.

Waiting.