Author's Note: I watched the third volume of the Batman Trilogy and instantly fell in love with the hard-ass genius, Bane. Although he frightened me at first with his mask (which, if anyone's ever played Fable 3, horrendously looks like the Crawler) and at some points I thought he crossed boundaries that only the Joker could ever overstep, I was touched by the truth about him at his concluding end. Those who haven't seen it, I so hope you did. :D

Welcome to the sequel of Two Heads About Everything. This story is devoted to the tactical mind of Chance, and we'll see what the future has in store for her as she tries to climb to the top. I only own Chance and Ace, not to be confused with the little girl who can use mind manipulation. Enjoy, as always.

The City in Pieces

Chapter One: Back on Track

Chance didn't try to reason with Ace, to make her fully understand why she wanted to leave. The overwhelming image of trying to turn on her would be horrendously painful, Chance knew, if they stayed friends. She thought factually, mainly based her logic on the past, and automatically knew that when it came time to face Ace once more, she could not be emotionally attached. And as far as relationships went, Chance couldn't fall for anyone who wanted Gotham for their own; and all the men she worked with, or perhaps worked for, had always wanted the city for themselves.

As Chance embellished her mind on her last retreat from her friend, she walked along the narrow path of the side walk, her face a ray of distraught and defiance. Chance's hair fell over her shoulders in a ray of dismal sunshine, dirtied by the grounds of the narrows from when she freed Ace. Her clothes, a simple plaid shirt and jeans, were ragged and fraying from the hem, slowly decaying. Chance's appearance made her look a few years older, though she didn't feel that way. She was starting to loathe how much time she wasted, trying to get to the top. Even as a criminal, trying to reach the corporate ladder was not so simple as she had thought it would be.

Once more, Chance felt disappointed. Three years working with Ace; two years with Maroni; another year with Scarecrow; and another three with Two-Face...Gone. Wasted like how students wasted paper. No. Maybe it was disappointment after all, Chance had started to believe. No, this was something different. She felt more deceived. Especially by Two-Face. His two-timing way of finding love from her and Grace...Chance unfolded her arms from across her chest, balling her fists.

How could she trust anyone anymore?

Not mob bosses...not even her own class of criminal.

Chance turned a corner. She hurried her footsteps, her blood started to boil out of becoming irritation. Mellowing in her mind, a temper formed from ash, and it was all she could to stop herself from punched a lamp post. To relieve her anger, Chance turned to a local tavern, hoping that drinking spirits, it would settle her deceptive one.

Chance sighed. She attracted a lot of stares from the locals. Most, if not all, of them were C class criminals: thugs and petty thieves. Chance didn't even look their way, knowing that if any of them through a punch, she wouldn't say no to a bar fight. The bartender recognized her, but he couldn't care less if she sat down or took a booth. Chance threw one leg over a bar stool, then settled her arms on the counter, inclining her fingers together and began to twiddle her thumbs.

The bar keep stood in front of her expectantly.

"What'll it be, lady?" he said casually.

She observed him. A stout, portly man with a mustache and a goatee, side burns, messy hair, and a towel thrown over his right shoulder. He had his hands on the counter, fingers spread apart. She watched him.

"You're not really laid back, are you?" she said softly, still watching his hands. When he didn't respond, she met his hazel eyes.

"And you're not really 21," said the bartender, a border on impatience.

"I can see that you do this often, even on days that you don't feel like going to work. Don't you have your own hours?"

"Where the hell do you get off on—?"

Chance smiled and raised a hand up to him,

"I am only remaining observant, Bar Keep. After all, I am a patron. Not as sloppy and testicular as your regulars," she said, inclining her head at the locals, "but a patron, nevertheless. I watch them. They watch me. I watch you, and you watch me back. If I were so precarious, I wouldn't have realized that many of them recognize me as the calculating bitch who stole jewels from several of these patrons' pawn shop vaults."

The bartender stared at her.

"What the fuck is your point? Are you going to order something or waste more of my time?"

Chance smiled.

"The fucking point," she said, "is that I know how you are and how you feel just by observing your body language, and not to mention listening to your impatient tone, which no lady appreciates. And, yes, I would like an apple martini."

"Why do chicks have to talk so much?" said the bar keep.

"Let me guess, you don't have a lot of talkers."

"Do you see any of 'em talking, lady?" inquired the bartender. Chance looked back to the crowd. They were watching the football team, Gotham Rogues, on the television, whooping and cheering. Chance licked her lips and returned to the bartender.

"Where's your buddy, anyway? That wacko you hung around with?"

"What makes you think I'm alone?" said Chance sweetly.

The bartender's eyes held her gaze. He gulped with difficulty, then tried to peer around the room unnoticed, searching for a woman who truly wasn't there. Chance smiled gently.

"She's not here." Chance said gingerly, taking her fresh drink by the neck and tossing it gracefully in her mouth. She caught the little umbrella in the glass between her teeth. Taking it out with two fingers, she tossed it serenely into the trash behind the bartender.

"Where is she then?" asked the relieved bartender, slightly intrigued.

"Gone." Chance answered.

"Like gone?" He mimicked the slice of the neck pose with his finger.

"I don't know." Chance said. "I imagine she's following Joker with her tongue hanging out."

"I thought they were in Arkham."

Chance smirked.

"You don't read the newspaper, do you?"

"Not really."

"I bailed them out." Chance explained. "Right after I was snitched on by a two-faced bastard who set me up."

The bartender observed her with a raised eyebrow.

"You know, for a criminal, you're not that bad lookin'."

"Most of the women aren't." Chance said. "But I don't depend on looks to get me out of trouble."

Chance started to stand.

"Wait, you're leaving?"

Chance smiled. "Yes. I'm afraid I've got work to do."

As she started to leave, she tossed a few bills on the counter for the drink. She also passed a few glances to the crowd of men to notice some of them were rising from their seats to pursue her.

Chance took to the sidewalk. She walked with a steady stride, her heels hitting the stone lazily. Her eyes were peeled forward, but her hears listened behind her. The gaggle of men were not too far away. She waited for the opportune moment to strike. She stopped suddenly by a dark alley then slipped inside, waiting, perched behind a few garbage cans in the dark. There were four men who caught up to where she was in the light. Chance purposely hit the trash can from where she hid. With a smirk on her face, she listened to the men approach cautiously.

"She knows we're onto her."

"Well, mate, you're talking about gangin' on this girl."

"We shouldn't go in there, she's probably hiding."

"Come on, idiots, she's not wearing knives or anything. We'll get her and run before she gets up."

Chance rose to her feet to meet one of them eye to eye.

"Are you going to give me a Christmas caroling?" she said sweetly. They gasped.

Chance took the trash can lids and used them to hit the men in the torso; she kicked one in the face; he fell to the ground. One of them caught her in the head with a tight fist. Chance fell to the ground; she flew a leg toward his shin. Two men down. The two left charged at her, one at each arm and pinned her to the wall. Chance struggled. She leaned forward, then bit a man on his nose, which started to gush blood. Chance held the remainder man by his clothes and spat in his face the other man's blood. He gasped.

"You're pissing me off." Chance hissed. He nodded fiercely.

"Sorry...Sorry..."

"You will be." Chance growled. She took him by the collar and threw him roughly to the ground.

"What are you—?"

"Exactly what were your friends planning to do to me, hm?" asked Chance, pointing to the struggling companions. "Trying to get your ya-ya's out? Thought that I couldn't fight?"

"You're a stupid bitch who let a wacko do your job!" the man cried out.

Chance smiled dangerously. She lowered herself to his level. Chance withdrew from her pocket two sharp sewing needles.

"Stupid, am I?" she whispered. She took one of the needles, raised her hand, and jammed it into one of the man's splayed hands on the ground. He screamed. It ran through into the ground. The blood spewed from his palm. It sprayed into Chance's face, painting her features with a splash of crimson. Her blue eyes glowered at him.

"Stupid? I'm stupid?" Chance asked. "Perhaps if you take that back, I won't use my strength against you."

"Dumb bitch."

"Synonyms...How droll." Chance cooed. "But wrong answer."

She sat on hips, took his hand and pinned it to the ground. Chance took the second needle, and instead of raising and thrusting into his palm, she gave a sweet look and poised it in the middle of his palm. She lowered her mouth to his ear.

"Mm, I wonder how much this will hurt. Do you want to know?" she hissed. "Are you, by any chance, a masochist?"

"Please. Please..." the man whimpered, moving beneath her.

"Are you begging me to stop? Or asking me to do this?"

"I...I...don't..."

"I would think you're saying no to me, but since I'm so stupid, I can't ever tell." Chance hissed. She took the needle and lightly pushed into his flesh cushion. "Just scream if it hurts you."

"Please, lady, no!" he begged.

"If I begged you, would you let me go?" said Chance coldly. She smirked when he stared at her. "Your silence tells me everything. Be a good little boy, hm? Play with me."

She lowered her lips to his quivering mouth.

"Open."

He shook his head.

"Open," she drawled. Chance lowered her leg to knee him just above his groin. "Open your mouth," she warned when he grunted, "or I aim lower. And I won't miss. I've dealt with enough assholes like you to know where it hurts the most. Now." Chance whispered. "Open."

His quivering lips parted.

"How about a kiss, my little mannlein?"

As Chance pushed the needle slowly into his hand, she slipped her tongue into his mouth; he screamed in full on-set agony, but it was horribly muffled. She smirked as she pushed it into the ground.

She was pulled off his body by the three other men. Chance started laughing.

"Please."

She kicked the three men in between their legs and they went down easily. Chance sighed.

"Well, this was fun. But I'm bored. Ta-ta, boys."

She left them groaning.

On her hour walk through the night, Chance looked to the sewers. Her first opponent. Killer Croc.

That's who she was going to aim for tonight. He lived down there, she knew where he was... Chance was on track now.