Weakness

Roslyne and her older brother, Henry, were born into a stable middle-class life to William and Karen Björk. The family lived in an apartment just large enough for the four of them in Manhattan, both parents being teachers at the nearby elementary school. Life was easy for a while, a happy routine, until February 2nd, 1990, when Karen Björk was caught in a grocery store robbery and shot to death.

In the following year, William Björk was lost to despair, turning to alcohol and gambling and falling so far into it that he lost custody of his children.

Henry and Roslyne were sent to live in Newark with their late mother's younger brother, Arnold Stowe, a wealthy banker with violent tendencies. He was a decent guardian more often than not, but difficult days at the bank turned into painful nights at the Stowe residence until neither children could take it anymore.

Henry, only eleven years old, packed a small backpack of blankets and food, also wise enough to steal a nice wad of Arnold's money before he took his little sister and left late one August night.

They were reported missing the next day, and every cop in the area had an eye out for them, but it was no use, as the young children found themselves in New York City just two days after their departure, lost in the crowds and fending for themselves as best they could.

The money, of course, ran out all too soon, their bag and blankets stolen by other greedy street rats. Most of their days were spent walking the city, stealing what they could and avoiding anybody who looked suspicious as to why such small kids were wandering the Big Apple unaccompanied by adults.

Nights were dangerous, and Henry did everything he could to protect his little sister from the violence that broke out in the darkness, hiding on doorsteps or close to police stations.

They never went to the cops for help, though, not even when they were skin and bones, shaking like two dead leaves as snow fell from the sky. Going to the cops meant that they would get put into foster care, and if they were placed in that system, there was a chance that the two would be split up. That was not an option.

It still happened, though.

After almost two years of living on the streets, a new, eerie atmosphere took over New York, as if there was a new presence in town. People were disappearing by the dozens, the majority of them homeless or unemployed, and somehow, it all tied into what was under the city: the sewers.

On the brink of starvation and desperate for any kind of aid, thirteen-year-old Henry Björk climbed down into the filth one November evening and never returned, leaving Roslyne to take care of herself, something that proved to be quite difficult, as she was nine years old and trapped in the busiest city of the country, not to mention the crime rate, which was astounding.

Somehow though, she managed. Against all odds, the girl survived, becoming an expert thief and something of a dog whisperer thanks to all of the strays that she had to deal with over the years.

Roslyne got her hands on many things to keep her entertained-- books, journals, small toys, sometimes even expensive electronics and jewelry, and when she had no use for them anymore, she sold them to pawn shops in order to pay for food, hygeine accessories, and eventually, bus fair all the way from New York to Los Angeles, California.

It was a huge change, but the warmer climate was welcome to a fifteen-year-old Roslyne. People in California were also much nicer despite the fact that she was still nothing more than a bandit, walking around in old shorts, clunky combat boots, torn shirts, and a military jacket that was much too big for her thin frame, the only clothing item that she could never bring herself to part with.

She looked rough, but she wasn't much of a threat. Roslyne didn't steal from individuals often, sticking to stores instead. She wasn't violent or rude, but she was lost and growing more and more tired of her empty life as each day passed. The teenager grew careless, reckless, and that was why she couldn't even pretend to be all too surprised when she found herself cornered by a group of street thugs one October night at about one AM.

"Seriously, if I had known that you had such, um, large numbers, I wouldn't have stolen anything, a- and I already gave you the money back. I'm sorry," Roslyne babbled, backing herself into a dirty wall as six looming men advanced on her, all of them at least twice her size and ranging from five to fifteen years older than her. "Please just... d-don't hurt me."

As apathetic as she had grown to be about life in general, fear was still a very real emotion within Roslyne, and staring into the faces of several grown men who could very easily end her life caused her to revert into the frightened little girl she was when she and Henry had first runaway.

"Oh, this isn't about the money anymore, sweetheart," one of them spoke. "You just need to be taught a lesson."

Roslyne stared at them wide-eyed, pressing her head against the bricks behind her as she felt her pulse quicken. She had found herself in sticky situations before-- sprinting down the sidewalks to get away from angry storeowners or waiters. It was almost a common occurrence. Never had she been trapped like this, though.

The people in front of her didn't even look like normal thugs. Actually, they looked more like soldiers of some sort, judging by their appearance, all of them in boots, cargo pants, and what looked to be bullet-proof vests. Either they were part of a very wealthy street gang, or they were a part of something else entirely.

"I-I've learned my lesson. I promise. Just don't kill me. I- I have a brother. Please," Roslyne pleaded, shoulders tensing as one of the men stepped forward, close enough to touch.

"You think I care about who you leave behind?" He hissed in a thick European accent, reaching out and grabbing Roslyne's chin with a rough hand, his fingers digging into her cheeks painfully. "I don't give one fuck."

"Gillen," another spoke up, walking forward. "You know we can't kill her. He doesn't want us leaving any kind of trail."

Roslyne would have felt relieved had she not been in the position that she was, staring into a pair of dark eyes, the man in front of her sneering before shoving her head backward so that it slammed into the wall.

"Then just what in the hell do you want to do? Just let her go?"

The other shrugged his shoulders, expression indifferent. "That or we could bring her down with us. I'm sure we could find some use for her."

She didn't miss the crude smirk that turned every other man's lips upward. They were all thinking the same thing, and it made Roslyne's stomach muscles coil into a knot.

It was better than death, though.

"I-I'll do it. I swear, I'll do anything. Just don't-..."

"Oh, shut up! We can't fucking kill you!" The figure still closest to her belted out, glaring at her before grinning in a manic fashion. "But, once you're, uh, put to use--" the smile somehow widened, "You'll wish we had killed you."

A chill ran down the fifteen-year-old's spine, and she almost screamed when the man grabbed her by the arm tightly, tugging her forward. "Fine, we'll take her down with us. Let's move."

Roslyne couldn't get a word in after that. She let herself be dragged down the sidewalk in the dead of night, the sound of heavy boots hitting pavement at a steady pace being the only thing that anchored her to reality. Even through her utterly chaotic thoughts, she could feel her arm bruising and knew that sooner rather than later, there would be little purple marks in the shapes of fingers.

None of the men spoke, and Roslyne was somewhat grateful for it. Bile was churning in her stomach as she weighed out the severity of her current predicament. Looking at each of the soldiers, she realized that three of them were visibly armed, guns tucked into holsters at their hips. It caused the girl to break out into a cold sweat, and a sudden wave of nausea overwhelmed her.

The walk seemed to stretch on for eons, and if Roslyne thought that they would be entering some kind of building within the city, she was dead wrong.

Before she could truly process what was happening, she was thrown into a large black suburban, men getting in beside her.

"I'm not going to tie you up," the intimidating European man called Gillen said flippantly. "But, I don't think you'll be too hard to handle with this digging into your back, will you?"

He somehow forced a hand between her spine and the leather seat, and Roslyne felt the barrel of his gun dig into her flesh harshly. Grimacing, she fought back tears and shook her head. "N-no sir."

"No sir," he repeated, then laughed. "I think you'll fit right in."

The vehicle pulled out of the alley it was parked in before speeding down the roads of Los Angeles, lights blurring through the windows as they sped passed building upon building. The city turned into a more urban area, then a more rural area, and still, they drove for over an hour. The teenager did her best to stay arched away from the gun, but it still bumped painfully against her back with each stop, turn, and pothole.

She had no idea where she was going or what was in store for her, though she could easily assume that it was nothing good. The men surrounding her were scary enough, and it sounded as if they had some kind of a boss. If Roslyne could just lay low and do whatever it took to please the men, there may have been a chance that she would get out of it alive.

She didn't want to get her hopes too high, though. The least that could happen was that she would end up raped, and just considering that, Roslyne knew that her odds weren't pretty.

Why didn't you run? She asked herself. Why didn't you just kick him square in the crotch and run?

The girl silently scolded herself, trying to calm her nerves as they turned onto a dirt road. She was going to be trapped in the middle of nowhere with these armed men, all of them with the same cruel intentions.

How convenient.

For a while, there was nothing. No buildings, no trees, no animals. It was just dirt, grass, and the never ending sky above them.

Then, a structure came into view and grew with their approach. It was plain but huge, looking like some sort of compound. There were few lights on that the girl could see, none of them outside.

The suburban was taken behind the building to what seemed to be a makeshift parking lot as the driver pulled into a row next to about thirty other large vehicles.

Roslyne was manhandled out of the car and pushed ahead toward the structure. She wasn't sure if she was grateful for her arrival or not. On one hand, that gun wasn't digging into her spine anymore. On another, she was more than likely about to enter one of the nine realms of Hell.

"Should we take her to him first, or just have our fun for a while?"

She felt a hand roughly grope her backside and grit her teeth.

"Don't be an idiot," the man who had originally stopped Gillen from harming her spoke up. "Of course we have to take her to Bane."

Bane.

Roslyne frowned, the jacket she was wearing feeling heavier than normal.

"B-Bane?" It was the first time she had spoken since the beginning of the car ride.

The soldiers all shot her irritated looks as they made their way into the building, shoving her along into a blackened corridor. It was much darker than she had originally thought, and Roslyne stumbled many times. The men, however, seemed to know exactly where they were going at all times despite the fact that they could only see about two feet ahead of them.

Roslyne's knees were threatening to give out underneath her. Her heart was racing, palms sweating. She didn't want to be there, surrounded by the men, walking into unfamiliar territory, probably in more danger than she ever had been. She wanted to go back to her life as a little girl, wanted to have a home again and a big brother to protect her.

But, she didn't. Roslyne was completely alone, and the fact made her eyes burn with tears.

"Not all of us should see him," one of the older soldiers said. "Last I heard, he was in a foul mood. Strade, Maron, Thomas, go back to to your quarters."

Three of them nodded and turned back around briskly, leaving Gillen, the man who called him off, and the older of them to escort the girl to a far side of the house.

Her mind was racing, acid rising in her throat as a door was pushed open. Fear thrummed through her small body, and she wrapped her arms around her own torso as she tried to tell herself that everything was going to be fine.

Maybe, just maybe, it would be the man from years ago, Roslyne mused. Terrifying as he was, he still helped. He still acted like he cared.

The room that the four of them walked into was empty, but before she could wonder about it, Gillen paced over to a portion of the wall and pressed his hand to it, leaving it for a moment until the sounds of gears turning met Roslyne's ears and the wall, which was obviously an entryway, slid upward in a gate-like manner.

Her breath quickened as they ducked under it one by one, stepping out into a large open space that held more high-tech gadgets than the girl could count, some rather advanced computers, and numerous weapons that Roslyne was sure were illegal. It looked nothing like a werehouse for a normal gang; it looked like a hideout for some sort of underground organization.

On one of the far walls, ten impressive motorcycles were parked, not that there was another exit in sight. The teenager guessed that there was another secret way out and turned her attention to a large worktable in the middle of the spacious room.

It was covered in various materials and small devices, but she couldn't see them clearly from where she stood.

What she could see clearly was the massive figure who stood behind the table, muscled arms braced on the surface, black shirt stretched thin across his broad chest, hair shaved off.

And, strapped around his head was a very familiar, very daunting mask, a mask that Roslyne never could forget.

"It can't be," she whispered, earning a harsh jab to her back with the barrel of a gun.

Roslyne stumbled forward, arm getting seized once again as the oldest of the three dragged her further into the room and closer to Bane.

Bane, who she had first come across when she was nine. Bane, who had offered to give her a place to stay. Bane, who had left his jacket to a shivering little girl.

She knew that she was still supposed to be scared to death, crying tears of panic and looking for any escape route she could fine, but the fear had diminished to a managable degree, whether it should have or not.

"Why are you here?" He drawled slowly in a mechanized voice. It sounded exactly the same as it had six years ago on that cold November night and as chilling as it still was, Roslyne found that the strange familiarity was almost relaxing. It gave her an odd sense of hope that maybe he, like his bizarre voice, hadn't changed, that he would still try to help her.

Gillen stepped forward, though, taking Roslyne's other arm and tugged her even closer to the colossal man. There was a certain stiffness in his body and a frantic look in his eyes that suggested that he was just as petrified of Bane as anyone who came across him would be.

Still, he cleared his throat and announced, "We've brought someone back with us tonight under unusual circumstances."

He then pushed Roslyne forward again so that she came close to running into Bane's worktable, causing him to look up for the first time, brows knit together.

She held her breath, every muscle in her body tensing as he stared at her for a long, uncomfortable moment, gray eyes scanning her face, thin frame, and the coat that she was basically swimming in.

Swallowing hard, Roslyne ventured out bravely and stuttered out a weak, "I- I remember you."

He remained silent for only a few seconds longer before nodding and standing up straight, fingers twitching by his sides. "And I, you. We met in New York City close to six years ago, if I am not mistaken."

Roslyne was surprised that he also had memory of it in such great detail. It was easy to understand why she wouldn't forget him, but there truly wasn't anything remarkable about her at age nine.

Still, she couldn't ignore the relief that washed over her. She knew that she still wasn't exactly safe, but at least now she had a fighting chance.

Roslyne could actually feel the confusion eminating off of the three men behind her and fought the force that was pulling one side of her lips upward. Still a little on the speechless side, she nodded. "No, that's... yeah. That's exactly right. November when I, uh, when I was nine." Tugging at at her jacket sleeve, she added, "You- you gave me this."

Bane regarded it for a moment before nodding, "You have grown up since then, little one."

It must have been her tired mind, or maybe a trick of the lighting, but Roslyne could have sworn that the corners of his eyes crinkled, almost as if he was smiling behind his mask.