It's the voices screaming in my head
The tragic truth
It's hard for me to understand myself
So it has to be hard as hell for you

The Tragic Truth – Five Finger Death Punch

Charley had no idea what the time was when she woke up. It was still dark out, and there was no way to tell if she'd slept for six hours, or twelve. But she couldn't lie back down, couldn't go back to dreamland now, so she sat up and dangled her feet over the edge of the bed.

Images from her dreams were still fading, but from what she could remember it had been awfully bittersweet. She remembered Julie's face; happy, then sad, then screaming. John's too, though that had been the one that stuck with her and put tears in her eyes. She was never going to see any of them again, was she? She was going to die in this place, by the hands of a behemoth man who would see her home burn with sparkles in his eyes.

Pushing back the hopelessness Charley got out of bed, shivering at the chill that crept up her feet and through her body when she left the covers behind. It was dark everywhere in the room, but her eyes adjusted quickly and she could easily navigate her way out into the hallway – not that there was much she could bump into anyway, the room was Spartan by all standards.

To be honest she wasn't quite sure what pulled her to his door. It stood slightly ajar and she couldn't see much of its insides, but Charley could clearly hear the hiss of his mask as Bane breathed steadily in his sleep. She hadn't thought to bring the knife and debated with herself to fetch it from her room to try and end this. Later, she thought to herself. She could kill him later, now that she knew he slept with an open door, probably to signify his total lack of fear of her. She'd already gone at him once today, how many times before she stopped trying altogether?

Charley couldn't shake the feeling of being alone, couldn't chase away her bad dreams' continued hold on her, and gently she pushed the door further open. It slid across the carpet with little sound, just enough to let her into the room, and she stood by the wall beside it for several minutes, achingly still and breathing shallow breaths.

What are you doing, you idiot, she berated herself, but for once she didn't have the strength to fight this crazy impulse she felt in her tired head, for once she would let go and just act on it. What was the worst that could happen, sneaking into your captor's, who was also a mass murderer, bedroom in the middle of the night, and stare at him for a while or two, contemplating the ways you could try to kill him?

Her PJ's rustled slightly when she let herself slide down the wall, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, resting her cheek on one knee. She watched the shadow on the cot, wondering for a second why he would sleep in his office when the place had so many nice bedrooms and beds. He was strange, if she had to be frank. And while she may never be able to understand him, or his motives, she would continue to ponder his actions, his reasons, anything that could reveal a weakness or an explanation. Because, to be truthful, Charley was already running out of courage and purpose, especially now, being locked up and unable to help the people on the streets, and she wondered frequently when she'd lose her marbles for real. And maybe, just maybe, she was a teeny tiny bit curious about him too, maybe.

Bane stirred slightly in his sleep and she lifted her head, not sure what she was going to do if he actually woke up.

After a moment he was still once more, and Charley hesitated a minute before making the bold move of crawling across the carpet, in a rather awkward shuffle thanks to her achy arm, settling herself a few feet from the cot instead, sitting with crossed legs as she stared at the side of his covered face.

I wonder how old he is, she suddenly thought, looking over the skin that wasn't hidden by the mask. A beam of moonlight lit up his features enough for her to be fascinated with the texture of several small scars littering his skin. As her eyes travelled over him she noticed how his scalp was actually completely void of hair; it wasn't shaven or cut, it simply wasn't there. She had the strange urge to reach out and see for herself if it would be smooth or rough, but kept her hands in her lap with little effort. His skin was pale in the low light. She could also see the raised veins that ran under his skin, and thought that maybe he'd taken steroids to get so big and bulky. Even in his sleep his brow was slightly furrowed, and it reminded her painfully of John.

For a long time she just sat there, mapping the profile of his face, his shoulders, his rising and falling chest, and his neck, as he slept, and she didn't feel the need to get up or away. He wore a long sleeved, crude-looking grey shirt, and a simple camping blanket covered everything from his hips down. He looked… human. Almost peaceful, had it not been for the mask. It was a disturbing thought, one she would berate herself for later, when her head wasn't full of regret and bitterness, groggy thoughts, and marrow-sucking nightmares. She just didn't want to be alone.

Charley wondered why he bore it at all – the mask. It could have a number of functions; it could be a preventative measure, a gasmask, it could be purely for intimidation, it could also be for hiding his true identity. She'd never know unless she asked, and even then there was the chance that he'd never answer. Bane couldn't possibly be his real name either… right? Surely it was a persona, an alias, crafted to strike fear in the heart of his enemies every time his name was mentioned.

Her heart jumped up her throat when he suddenly but slowly, almost tiredly, turned his head to look at her, and she remained still and didn't move an inch from her spot, hoping that he might, miraculously, be the type to sleep with his eyes open… even though they were focusing directly at her…

But he didn't move, his breathing still even, and she somehow knew that he was awake. Perhaps he had been for a while.

It took another minute before she could even speak at all.

"Where's the kid?"

Bane simply looked back at her, seeing her clearly in the dark room, his eyes betraying nothing.

"Not here."

Charley nodded and finally had the will to look away, sighing as she rubbed at her still tired eyes, "Is she safe?"

He could tell her to fuck off any time he wanted to, and honestly she didn't really expect him to answer her questions, but no one ever gained from not trying.

"Yes."

At least that burden was off her shoulders. She didn't think she'd get more specific answers on Julie's whereabouts from him, but for now she'd settle on knowing she was safe. Why she trusted the word of a terrorist, she wasn't sure, but it didn't seem like the type of thing he would lie to her about, unless he just wanted to placate her, of course…

No, she chose to believe him, wasn't sure she could go on without being a nervous wreck if she didn't.

They lapsed into silence once more, nothing but the gritty rasp of his breathing to fill the space between them. Unfortunately the sound comforted some small part of her, but she didn't have the power to even feel a little disgusted with herself.

"You know, I'm not going to stop fighting you," Charley caught his eye again, running a hand over the fuzz on the side of her skull to relieve an itch, "I won't make a very good pet."

"Hmm," Bane hummed, the sound close to a laugh, "Good. Wouldn't want to make it too easy."

She glared at him, but sensed that snapping back would yield nothing but trouble, so she stayed her tongue with her spiteful comments. Maybe taking a more calm approach would yield her greater bounty.

"Are you so bored with the taking of our fine city that you would find little ol' me entertaining? Or is it more of a personal vendetta? You know, I did steal from you. A lot."

Bane raised one eyebrow before turning his head away from her and looking to the ceiling. His hands rested on his stomach and Charley watched as they rose and fell with every noisy breath he made.

"Indeed you did. Quite the nuisance, really," Bane confessed, his tone something akin to amused with a twinge of annoyance, and Charley cocked her head to the side as she looked at him, desperate inside to figure out this hulk of a person, trying to connect these almost soft moments that seemed to bleed through his hardcore exterior every now and then when he let his guard down, or maybe whenever he felt like it. Charley didn't know the reason, but she would ponder these bits of his persona until the end of time it seemed, because no matter how she turned and spun these pieces with the other brutal and terrifying parts of him, they didn't fit together, at all. She felt like she'd gotten handed a jigsaw puzzle from a thrift shop, and half the pieces were from three or four other different puzzles.

"Why are you doing this?" Charley asked, narrowing her eyebrows because she couldn't for the life of her figure out the reason on her own.

Bane turned his head again, gave her almost a questioning stare. She clarified.

"This take-over. This… War."

"For reasons you cannot possibly fathom." His voice said finality, but Charley had never been so unsatisfied by an answer in her life so she pressed on.

"Bullshit. Try again."

The look he gave her told her he was debating with himself to either indulge her rude question, or get it over with and strangle her already. Her whole body tensed and jerked when his arm shot out, quick as lightning and strong as an ox. His stocky strong fingers wrapped around her throat and Charley had another horrifying flashback to the night he'd caught her on a roof.

But other than bringing her into a state of high alert and shedding her body of the lazy tiredness that had lingered, he simply held her still, not squeezing the life out of her or snapping her neck. Charley stared back into his twinkling eyes, trying to hide the fear in her own and failing miserably, and he tightened the grip slightly, but only to the point of discomfort. His skin burned into her flesh, and she wondered fleetingly if he was running a fever.

"You cannot hide your terror from me, child," Bane spoke calmly, almost sounding jaded, "If I tell you, will your infernal questions on the subject seize?"

Charley hadn't the nerve to speak out, and after a moment's hesitation she managed to nod her head twice, relieved when the slight pressure eased on her throat and he simply held her again in the dominating gesture.

"We did it…" he paused, released her throat and gripped her jaw instead, his hand big enough to reach from ear to ear. It was almost intimate the way he laid his fingers along her skin and he lifted her head just an inch, forcing her to look down her nose at him with hooded eyes. And for a transitory second, Charley sat curiously unafraid. "To cleanse the world."

At some point she had nodded off, waking again when the winter sun brightened the room and she found herself lying on her side on the floor. With a groan she sat up; not the best idea to sleep on the floor when you'd been shot only hours before.

If the sun was up it had to be over seven in the morning, so she had slept for… actually, she had no idea how long she'd been asleep; she hadn't been able to look at an actual clock since before she'd been taken. Her inner ticker was not helping at all, it wanted to sleep all day to heal from her injuries, but Charley sat up and yawned, then groaned, at the twinge in her neck.

I really need to brush my teeth.

With that thought she was up and going in search of a bathroom. When she found one, just down the hall, which was going to be rather convenient, she went through drawers and shelves before she found a tube of toothpaste and a toothbrush still in its plastic cage.

After going through her normal morning activities, including a nice, hot shower – something she had sorely missed – Charley ventured to the kitchen for breakfast in a fresh pair of jeans and a tank top. She was rather surprised that the clothes they'd brought her actually fit, even the underwear, which was a little creepy. Almost like they'd taken her measurements in her sleep. That, would be way too creepy. Maybe someone in their ranks had a good eye for that sort of thing, how should she know, she was just glad there was clothes that fit her.

Wouldn't do much good, running around naked.

Also, had she just spent time in the middle of the night, staring at and talking casually to the root of the city's misery? Or had it been a dream? It was hard to deny it had happened, when she'd actually woken up on his floor. Still, Charley wasn't entirely convinced that she'd lost her mind enough to sit beside a sleeping bear in her jammies.

When she made it to the kitchen Charley went straight for the fridge, a wicked craving for apples guiding her hands to the bag containing the ones she had spotted yesterday. It were red, big, and juicy when she bit into it, and she couldn't help but moan in delight; it was sweet too! Greedily she took several large bites and chewed loudly with her mouth full, turning around the lean against a counter.

And there he sat, at the kitchen table, with numerous pieces of paper, folder and what looked like blueprints, in front of him. Staring at her with an eyebrow raised in amusement. Eyes full of it too.

"What?"

"Has no one ever taught you to eat with your mouth closed?" He rasped, always with the taunts.

"Listen, you prick. If you think you're gonna teach me anything, then you are sorely mistaking," Charley pointed her index finger at him in a scolding manner while taking another loud bite out of her apple. Never mind that she had just told off the Grand Destructor, no one was going to teach her manners, like she was some lady with her nose stuck in the clouds.

"Hmm," he looked away from her and focused on the files laying before him instead, ignoring her purposefully noisy chewing, though he found himself slightly amused by her antics. She certainly wasn't any lady, not like Talia was.

"Hmm," Charley concurred, eying his otherwise engaged form as she edged closer to the drawer with utensils. Without looking she opened it and took another bite to mask the sound it made, feeling around behind her with light fingers, cursing when she couldn't find what she was looking for.

"Can't have you trying to murder me in my sleep," Bane said without even looking at her, and Charley begun to think he was some sort of psychic. Without delay she went for the drawer with the black box, muttering under her breath when she found it gone too.

"Well, can't blame a girl for trying," she shrugged her shoulders and finished off the apple.

After breakfast Charley had begun to explore every crevice and nook of the vast apartment, wanting to familiarize herself with every little thing that could aid her in one or another point in time. Bane left, to do his dastardly deeds, no doubt, not long after she finished eating, so she was pretty much left to herself.

Boy, had that been a dumb idea on his part.

After checking out what types were on guard duty today – a slim, young fellow and a seasoned veteran, it looked to be – Charley had begun to think in ways of distractions.

So when Charley stumbled out the front door with froth around her mouth, whimpering loudly and falling into the arms of the oldest soldier, begging him to help her, the pair looked quite startled and the one she'd stumbled into started speaking in rushed Arabic to his partner, who looked equally shocked, and quickly started running down the hall towards the elevator.

She should be getting a fucking Oscar.

The second he was out of sight, Charley kneed the other mercenary in the groin, kicking him hard in the head when he fell to his knees, groaning, and he slumped over, knocked out. She quickly took his sidearm as she wiped the toothpaste foam from around her mouth, and ran in the opposite direction of the other one, hoping that there was some sort of fire escape or stairs that would lead her down. Soon she heard yelling behind her, telling her to "Stop!", but no one fired at her so she figured she'd just keep running; if they weren't shooting yet, they probably had orders to contain and subdue, but not to kill. And shooting could definitely result in killing.

Finally, the green sign with the little stick-figure man on it caught her eye, and she couldn't help but breathe a sigh in relief. She might've felt better after a few hours of sleep and half a handful of painkillers, but she was not quite ready to run a marathon just yet. Before going through the heavy door she fired a few random shots down the hall, to force her pursuers to stop and duck for cover, buying her a precious few second as she made her way down the many stairs, taking two steps at a time.

How exactly she was going to get out of the building with a lobby crawling with mercenaries, she had no idea. Charley hadn't actually thought she'd come this far as she heard running footsteps on the stairs a few stories above her. But she spared no time to stop and think, she was winging it, and it seemed to be working so far.

Shit, there was a long way down. She was already panting heavily and the back of her throat hurt and tasted of copper. Hearing a noise from further down she looked over the railing, and locked eyes with Bane's second in command, who was leading a few men upwards, when he looked up from several floors below her when. Biting back a growl of frustration and taking a reckless decision as she emptied the clip down in his direction, hoping one of the deadly projectiles would kill the bastard. He ducked under a flight of stairs without even so much as being brushed by a bullet, and Charley cursed under her breath as she threw down the gun at him instead. She saw the gun hit a young, unknowing soldier in the head, smirking when she heard his yell of pain, before she sprinted down the next flight of stairs and pushing through a door to another hallway. She was apparently still on a residential floor, so she ran along the hall, on the lookout for another flight of stairs, preferably one without mercenaries; these big skyscrapers had to have a lot of emergency exits.

Soon she heard them crash through the door she'd gone through, shouting and chasing after her. As it was, Charley was running on pure instincts then. Logic would demand that she give up now and go peacefully, because there was no way that she was actually going to get away from them, not while running circles in their own base of operations… no way, short of launching herself out a window.

But her legs refused to quit, even as her movements faltered when her body started protesting, clinging to that tiny hope that maybe the next stairway would be empty, maybe the elevator would be clear, maybe, maybe.

There was no way she was going to come willingly, not now, not ever. And she would continue to try and escape every chance she got.

The thumping in her ears soon drowned out their angry calls, and she kept moving forward even when she felt she couldn't breathe. She came to a T-cross in the hall, opting to run straight ahead to keep her pace, but had to scramble to turn around when another pair of terrorists ran to greet her. She barely managed to keep her head-start.

Charley almost felt flattered by how many men they were throwing at her.

All her effort were cut short, though, when an elevator door 'dinged' and slid open ahead of her, and for a moment she wanted to cry out in joy, before the Big Boss himself stepped out, calm and collected with his hands resting in the neck of his worn flak jacket. Charley almost fell on her ass in an attempt to halt, standing in the middle of the hall as she stared in disbelief at the giant blocking her path.

"For fuck's sake," she gasped, unwilling to believe her superbly bad luck. So close! She had been so close. Well, she actually had no idea how many more obstacles would have lied in her path, but now she'd never know, would she?

When the mercenaries at her tail finally caught up, Charley gritted her teeth and lifted her hands, placing them behind her head in surrender while she never took her eyes off of Bane and his smug face, wishing that she could glare a hole through his head.

By the time they'd wrestled her away and locked her back inside the apartment, Charley was already thinking of new ways to slip out under their noses. With no one around to watch her she could do whatever she pleased. Her next opportunity came to her while she was sitting on the can. It was drafty in the bathroom, the one closest to her room, and upon further inspection, revealed to contain a grate leading to a ventilation shaft.

Bingo.

The grate was of old fashioned design, metal, heavy and set with screws. First step: find something to unscrew the thing with.

After half an hour off searching for a screwdriver, Charley went with the next best thing; a round tipped harmless knife from the kitchen.

It might seem silly, to keep trying when everything seemed against her, but there was not a chance in hell that she would lie down and peacefully accept her fate. Hell no.

So she went back to the vent and started undoing the screws, one by one, cursing but remaining patient when the knife slipped time and time again, making nice little scars in the metal around them. It took forever since the grate was old and slightly rusty, the screws tight and not meant to be undone by knife, but after an hour or so, Charley could finally tug the thing off the wall. She leaned it against the wall next to it, carefully, and started assessing the vent behind it.

It was small. Cramped. And dark, very dark, and it occurred to her that she would get incredibly lost in there, in no time at all. With a grunt she let herself fall back, now lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling while enjoying the heated tiles.

Useless. Wasted effort.

Balls. Her plan was ruined. Not only would she not be able to find her way through quickly, the vent also looked to be just wide enough to let her squeeze through, let alone move around in. Damn it. It had seemed such an idiot-proof escape. They did it in movies all the time, but Charley had to admit that while her life didn't lack in action, the luck of movie characters was way out of her reach.

It all seemed so impossible. Charley hoped that she could escape before all her courage and will to fight could leave her, which didn't exactly leave her much time as she felt the spirit drain from her already, lying there on the cold bathroom floor, fighting to hold back tears of frustration. And she wondered if she would've felt this desperate and afraid if she'd been held captive by any other than the terrorist of the century. Bane scared her, more than she would ever admit openly, but every time she'd seen him, in person, screeching alarms went off inside of her head, her ears ringing as her instincts screamed at her, danger danger! Not only was he huge in size, a graceful mountain of raw power, he was hardened and efficient, and gifted in the field of violence, of war. He was a warrior in every sense of the word, and his eyes bore many secrets and wisdoms, and she was very much terrified of him. Even when she'd mouthed off to him that morning it had been a charade, a hard-assed attitude to cover up the crippling fear she felt in his presence. Still she had to wonder to herself why in the world she'd actually sought him out in the night, to sit beside his sleeping form and actually fall asleep on his floor. Some part of her excused it with weariness; she'd been too exhausted to think clearly and had forgone her fear. Or maybe she was just more stupid than anyone would give her credit for. In honesty, she didn't have a freaking clue, and she could feel the confusion and misery pile up the more she thought about it, so she didn't. She shoved the thoughts from her head and instead chose to wallow in self-pity, and while not the best alternative, as it made her body feel weak and her eyes wet, it was better than the confusion.

For a long time Charley laid on the hard floor, hours actually, as her reality seemed to sink in. She'd been there less than 24 hours and had already exhausted all of her options. There was no way the guards would fall for another distraction attempt, and most likely trying again would gain her nothing less than a fist to the face.

Finally fed up with her own pity-party, Charley sat up with a groan and scratched the back of her head, and got to her feet, stretching and yawning, wondering if it would be too early to take a nap in that big bed of hers.

Her anxiety levels would lower considerably if she just knew what it was that he wanted from her. He'd said pet, yes, but so far he'd all but ignored her presence, making idle conversation when opportunity struck, but nothing else. She had been left to her own devices for the most part of the day, well, not counting her almost-successful escape attempt. And how had he managed to be there so quickly? What, was he lurking about, just waiting for her to try again? Did he have nothing better to do, like say, run a city? Or had he coincidentally been in the building, hearing about it over a radio or from one of his goons, deciding to take action himself? Or what?

She wandered down the hallway, past her bedroom and onto his, jiggling the doorknob and finding it disappointingly locked. Dammit. She'd really wanted to go through his things, as something useful might have been in there and just waiting for her to exploit it. After considering breaking down the door, and opting against it as it would make way too much noise – and that door was solid oak – Charley begrudgingly shuffled further down the hall until she reached the living area.

It was noticeably cold in the apartment, so much so that her skin had goose bumps even under her long-sleeved tee. She saw a matchbox by the fireplace's mantle, but wood to light a fire was nowhere to be found. And then she remembered the small library.

On a mission, Charley walked briskly through the place, rubbing her cold arms with an annoyed frown on her face. What, was Bane a big cheapskate or something? Because cutting down the heat in the beginning of winter was really, really, stingy of him, especially if she was to live there as a houseguest on indefinite time. Her circulation wasn't exactly superhuman, unlike the other occupant of the apartment. Seriously, what was up with Bane's unnaturally high body temperature? The few times she'd been unfortunate enough to get so close she'd touched his skin had been highly concerning… well, concern for her own safety, of course, but if she'd been a physician she'd have been very concerned…

It had been a blessing when she'd been the one almost passing out from hypothermia, but that night had been scary. His skin was running so hot. Charley had been wondering for the past hour after that if he was always like that, or if he truly was sick. Of course, she hadn't the gall to ask, why should she care anyway? Good for them all if he just died quietly. Painfully preferably, but simply dead would be just as good.

When she reached the library and flicked on the lights, thankful that those still worked, she set to work picking out all the books and magazines that looked utterly uninteresting – thinking that some of the reading material in the room might be her only source of entertainment later on. Off the shelves she picked out books on history and those written in languages she didn't know. Then came the encyclopedias, dictionaries and big fat books on business and law. Those especially would make good kindling. Magazines on money and fat-cat lifestyles also went in the pile, and by that time she had enough to at least last her a few warm hours on the couch.

So Charley went back and forth between the library and the fireplace a few times, each time holding an armful of the stacked and printed paper. When everything had been settled by the slab of stone in front of the hearth, she used a few matches and ripped out, crumbled up pages to get a small fire going. After the first flare had taken hold she threw on a few big old books, and watched as the flames licking at the printed words as they almost seemed to melt off the pages, the bright orange light mesmerizing to her. For a while she just sat in front of fire, staring unseeingly into the glare, not a single coherent thought registering in her mind.

It was getting dark outside when she wrestled herself out of the stasis-like stage. At least she wasn't cold anymore, more like crispy from sitting so close. She threw on two more books and vacated her corpus to the couch, bringing along a book that had seemed interesting when she'd seen it in on the shelf.

The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, by Mark Twain.

Hmm. Charley remembered having to read it in high school, but remembered nothing of the plot. Might as well refresh her memory is she was going to sit positively sulking, at least for a while. She opened the book as looked at the first page. First Edition, 1876. Wow, old ass book.

"Eh," Charley shrugged her shoulders, flipped another page and began reading.

Here's the next chapter. As you might have noticed. This is almost at the end of what I have so far, so chapters afterthis might be far and inbetween. Hope you liked it! Also, the story is going un-beta'd right now. I try to catch most mistakes myself, but apparently not all as you might find, so sorry about that.

R&R please!