Weakness

Nine-year-old Roslyne Björk sat against the dingy brick wall, the concrete beneath her hard and uncomfortable on her backside. It was pitch black outside, streetlights barely penetrating the thick, dirty fog that had settled over New York City as soon as the sun went down. The air was cold, and the sort of wind tunnel that the surrounding tall buildings created did nothing to help. It left the small girl shivering violently, teeth chattering as she wrapped her skinny arms around herself.

Roslyne's watery eyes scanned the streets in front of her, vacant save for a couple of stray cats, a number of parked cars, and an older bum sitting across the road in a position very similar to that of the girl's.

She was waiting. Cold and waiting. Hungry and waiting. Desperate and waiting. Roslyne's brother had left four nights before, having heard a rumor of many people in poverty, like himself and his younger sister, finding some sort of help down in the sewers of the city. The setting did nothing to make the thirteen-year-old boy want to go down and investigate, as it had to be completely filthy. What did motivate him, though, was the fact that he and his baby sister were starving, rotting on the streets like so many others, and it was only getting colder as the fall matured into Winter.

He told her he would be back. He told her not to worry. He told her he would bring her down there with him if it was safe enough.

Yet, he had not returned.

Roslyne had been on her own for three days and four nights, now, having to steal food for herself, protect her body from the bite of the early November air, and keep her eyes open for any sort of threat.

Every day, she watched the people of the city hustle about, yelling into cell phones, running through intersections, all of them late for a meeting, or ready to get home to their own children after a hard day at work. When night fell, however, the energy died, the lights went out, and the people disappeared.

The night belonged to danger, full of muggings, burglaries, and fights between both people and animals. Gang members walked the streets, as well as thieves, drunks, and vandals. As dirty as the city was during the light of day, it was even dirtier in darkness. New York was not a pretty place to be, and it was certainly the wrong place for a young girl with no protection.

Roslyne watched as two young men rounded a corner and walked on the sidewalk across from her, neither of them paying the girl any attention as they spoke to one another in low voices. Approaching a manhole, the two glanced around before one of them lifted it (with great effort) and lowered himself into it, followed by the other.

The nine-year-old frowned, wondering just what could possibly be going on in the sewars that had people flocking to them. She may have been young, but Roslyne knew that it was not normal behavior.

Freezing, confused, and dangerously curious, Roslyne contemplated just following the men. It wasn't as if she had anything to lose. The only thing that was keeping her where she was in the first place was the hollow promise of her brother's return.

The stiffness in her joints, however, protested when she so much as shifted where she sat, killing any hope of movement for the time being. It wouldn't be smart to journey into unfamiliar territory when unable to make a quick getaway. When morning rolled around, Roslyne would have to go for a long walk to work out her muscles, tense and tight from staying in the same place for hours and tired from all of the trembling.

Roslyne let her head loll back and hit the wall behind her. She closed her eyes for a moment, willing sleep to drag her away from everything. It wasn't safe, but it was better than being conscious.

The girl's body fought, though. It would not be put to rest. She was too cold and too hungry to drift off despite the ache that had long ago manifested behind her eyes from lack of sleep.

Roslyne would have cried if she could have, but she was far past that. Crying wasn't an option anymore. The only option was just to get through another night, to make it to the next day.

Out of nowhere, the harsh wind that had been assaulting her ceased, though the girl could still hear its lonely whistle. Eyes still closed, Roslyne could sense a presence in front of her, blocking the gusts for the most part. Her heartbeat quickened, small body tensing as she prepared herself for whatever misfortune was about to befall her.

Slowly, Roslyne opened her eyes, almost regretting it when she did. She gasped audibly and hastily pressed herself against the grungy brick wall even moreso, neck craning as she leaned as far away from the stranger (if he could be called that, as stranger held a human connotation) as physically possible.

Even in the darkness, Roslyne could see him. It was impossible not to. Clad in combat boots, army pants, and a heavy military jacket, the man seemed to be as tall as the skyscrapers in the distance. He stood a mere few feet from the girl, large arms by his sides, broad chest easily distinguishable, even underneath the outerwear.

The man's size, however, was not his most memorable feature, colossal as he was. Strapped to his face, over and around his shaved head was a very strange, very frightening mask of some sort. It covered his mouth and nose, protruding slightly and reminded Roslyne of the masks that she had seen cops wear when breaking up riots and protests by way of gas grenades. If she had thought that those were intimidating, she didn't even have words to describe what was currently in front of her.

Run, she told herself. Get up and run.

"You need not fear me, child," he suddenly spoke, voice barely distorted and somewhat amplified by the contraption strapped to him. "I am not here to harm you."

She had expected his voice to be deeper, rougher, monster-like. Instead, there was an almost sing-song sound to it, as if he was amused. Still, it was anything but normal, and it made him even more terrifying.

"Wh- who are you?" Roslyne choked out, wishing that there was a way that she could scoot even further away from the man as he knelt down in front of her.

"You may call me Bane."

It was an odd name and therefore suited him.

"Wh-what do you want? I don't have any m-money."

A chilling bark-like laugh left him, and Bane shook his head. "What I seek has nothing to do with wealth." He swiftly shrugged out of the military jacket and held it out to the girl. "May I?"

Roslyne eyed him and the article suspiciously, wondering just what he was playing at. Surely, he was planning on killing her. No man of his stature, with a mask like that, could be a properly functioning member of society. He was definitely dangerous.

"Why?"

"Why?" He repeated, incredulous but with that same note of amusement. "You are frozen to the bone, little one! I am simply trying to quell some of your discomfort."

The way he spoke was very odd, and Roslyne wasn't familiar with some of the words he used, but she could understand him.

She stared at him for a moment longer before sighing in defeat and nodding. Bane leaned forward and placed the jacket over her, and Roslyne wasted no time slipping her arms through the huge sleeves, trying to hide the small smile that was threatening to turn her lips upward at feeling even a little warm for the first time in over two months.

"Why are you wearing a mask?" She questioned, refusing to let her guard down.

"The story, I'm afriad, is very long. It is not meant to frighten you, though."

Roslyne looked at the ground for a moment and mumbled, "Still does," before tilting her head up defiantly.

Bane chuckled oddly. "I would take it off if I could, little one. Now, tell me, why are you out here all alone?"

The girl didn't answer immediately. Instead, she watched him carefully, wondering how he could still manage to communicate through his facial expressions while his face was mostly covered.

He was still crouched in front of her, waiting expectantly and still looking impossibly large.

Roslyne didn't trust him. She was still petrified, but she was also warm, and whenever Bane decided to leave, the warmth would follow. Roslyne figured that if she answered his questions, he might stay a bit longer.

"I'm waiting for my brother," she told him hesitantly. "He left a few days ago... to find work." She didn't want to give him all the details. There was no reason that this man needed to know about the rumored sewer help. Besides, by the look of him, Roslyne guessed that he was already aware of it.

"And, he thought leaving you here alone to be a wise idea?"

Roslyne nodded. "Where he's going... It could be dangerous. He didn't want me there in case something went wrong, and I guess something did because," the girl sighed and averted her gaze once again. "He hasn't come back."

She could hear him breathing across from her. It wasn't labored, but the mask intensified it.

"That is very unfortunate. Do you know where he went?"

Roslyne stared at him straight on, brows knitting together as she lied and shook her head. She could not shake the fear that was still coiled deep in her stomach. "He didn't say."

Bane remained silent for a few seconds, and Roslyne could tell by the way he was looking at her that he knew she was lying. He did not pry any further, though.

"Would you be adverse to staying in a more inhabitable area?" He suddenly asked.

The girl cocked her head to the side. She was smart considering her age and upbringing, but she still had trouble deciphering his elevated speech.

"What?"

That strange chuckle left him again, and the hulking man looked down and shook his head quickly before saying, "My apologies, little one. Would you like to stay in a warmer, safer place?"

Another frown made its way onto Roslyne's face, and she shook her head before even weighing out the offer. As lovely as protection and a heated room sounded, Roslyne's loyalty to her older brother won out. "I- I can't. My brother. If he comes back..."

He held out a massive hand. "Of course," then stood up quickly. "Should you change your mind anytime soon, child, finding me will not be a problem. I would advise following the masses."

With that, he turned and began walking away.

"Wait," Roslyne called out. She slipped out of the warm jacket, the chill not hesitating to take over, and held it out to him. "Don't forget this."

Pausing for only a short moment, he shook his head. "Keep it," and continued on down the sidewalk, leaving Roslyne to stare after his shrinking, though still impressively large, figure, still skeptical and hopelessly confused.

She never would forget the man-- not the terror that went along with his presence, nor the unexpected act of kindness-- and that was why when Roslyne met Bane again, six years later, she recognized him the moment she laid eyes on him.