Epilogue:

City at War

Five years have passed since the horrors of the Pit, and life feels so normal again now that I could almost imagine that the horrors I experienced there were nothing but a terrible, terrible nightmare, were it not for my constant thoughts of the people I left behind when I was flown back home. I think often of Talia, of how she will be a fiery young girl now, ready to blossom into womanhood; I've no doubt that she will carry her mother's looks with her for the rest of her life, which I hope will be happy.

I've no way of knowing, see. I was told that I would never again be allowed to contact anyone from my time in that prison, nor learn of their fates; no one knows what happened to my dear friend, Anjali. I've no way of knowing what became of Andri and Bobby, or Barsad or Carriveau, no way of knowing if any of them survived the sickness at the prison, or if the prison is still even functioning as a prison; in my dreams it is empty now, a forgotten memory, and there is a kind man filling in that hole, one spadeful of dirt at a time, helping to erase that God-awful place from history, and from memory.

I have no way of knowing what has happened to Bane, or the purpose Ducard had established for him. He could be dead, for all I know. I still talk to him some nights when I am alone, lying in bed and pretending he is there with me. I'd give anything to see those eyes again, to hear his voice.

I had no intentions of returning to my ambitions as a journalist when I returned home. I'd dreamed of one day seeing my face on the news, but I had never imagined it would be as a found Missing Person. The irony of it is not lost on me; these days I work in a little al fresco cafe, and do the occasional bit of landscape gardening work, for fun more than for the earnings. It feels so good just to dig my hands into the soil, to hear birds singing, feel the sun on my face. I couldn't stand the idea of being cooped up inside again.

It's a regular Thursday morning, and I'm wiping down tables in the cafe when Bill, an elderly gentleman who comes to the cafe whenever the sun is shining to order two slices of Battenburg cake and a coffee, sits down at his regular table and pulls out a newspaper. While I'm getting his order together he calls to me,

"What do you reckon about this Gotham thing, then, Anya?"

"What 'Gotham thing?'" I question, only half interested. American news doesn't often make headlines on this side of the pond.

"Don't you watch the news, my girl?! Some lunatic in a mask, shouting about hellfire and damnation, it looks like. There's videos of him everywhere, got the whole city under siege, plans to blow up the whole place up by the looks of it. Rather there than here, that's what I'd say."

Though I know I'm probably being ridiculous, I turn on the little television in the corner and flip it straight to the news station. The headlines read much of the same; masked gang terrorise Gotham City. The reporter finishes what she's saying, and as the camera changes to footage from within the city, there he is, staring back at me.

Bane.

I put down the cutlery I've had in my hands, quickly take Bill his coffee and poke my head around the back, where the manager is counting stock.

"I'm sorry, Liz, but I have to get home," I tell her, taking my bag and jacket off the coat hook. "I'm... I'm feeling really unwell, all of a sudden."

Before she can even really respond I'm out of there, wishing Bill a happy afternoon and scampering out of the cafe, jumping into my car and driving home, my hands tense on the wheel. The place is empty when I get back, my family still out working; I find the number for the local airport booking hotline and call them up, my fingers shaking as I dial the number.

"I need to book a flight," I say, the moment the operator answers the call.

"Oh, of course, Madam. Where would you like to fly to?"

"Gotham."

"Ah... I'm afraid, Madam, that as of this morning all flights into Gotham City have been cancelled due to a terrorist situation which has arisen this morning."

"How close can you get me?"

"I have to advise, Madam, that-"

"How close?"

There's silence on the end for a moment. "Well, the next airport over would be a flight into Midway City International-"

"Book it."

"Okay," the operator says stiffly. "...You know, Madam, there have been a lot of people affected by this morning's worrying development in Gotham. Do you have a friend or a family member in Gotham right now?"

"Yes," I say, half a whisper. I remember his face on the television, the horrible words that came out of his mouth, his voic distorted and hardly his own at all. I can hardly believe it to be true.

"In which case I'd like to direct you to the number of the terrorism support hotline. If you've any concerns, they will be able to offer you help in tracking down your relative and ensuring their safety-"

"Wonderful, you can do that afterwards. Now, please, I need you to book that flight for me."

"Okay. Will you be needing a return flight?"

"I... I'm not sure."

For now, I decid, I'll just book the one way; lord knows what will happen when I get to America, if I'll be able to get within five miles of Gotham, if there will be any way of me contacting Bane, but I'm doing my best. The operator is reluctant but puts through my request all the same. Fifteen minutes and three-hundred and forty pounds later, and my plans are set in motion. I pack a small suitcase, try to get through to my parents on the landline but am forced to leave them a note instead. I imagine the panic my mother will feel when she finds that note, but there's little I can do about that now; my flight leaves in three hours.

I can hardly make sense of all this. I keep updated with the events in Gotham using my mobile phone, my heart racing each time a new article is published. Madman, Lunatic, Terrorist, all these words bounce around my head as I read them; my Bane was never any of those things. My God, what could have happened? Is this the grand purpose Ducard wanted him for?

As I wait in the airport, I decide that, if there's no way of getting to him, I'll talk with the Gotham police and explain to them who I am. Maybe, that way, they'll be able to set up some sort of a meeting in the hopes of me talking some sense into him. If not, I'm not sure what I'll do; but I have to see him, that I'm sure of. No matter the cost.

The plane lands and boarding begins, myself and a bundle of strangers all walking up the staircase onto the flight. Before the hostess greets me, I take one last look over the countryside, a sickly feeling in my stomach, and remember who I'm doing this for.

"I'm coming, my love," I say softly, and board the plane.

Whatever it is that's happened, whatever will happen from here on out, I will be there.

AN: Thank you for reading, guys! It's taken me years but I've finally finished 'Condemned' and brought it to the conclusion I'd planned all those years ago. I hope you enjoyed the ride!

All the best,

PuddinFreakyStyle x