After the events in Gotham City, you and your friends are still on the hunt for treasures to steal, as long as the police is occupied with more pressing issues. While the group is looting a building, you come across an unexpected face.
Summary: You and your motorcycle are trying your best to outrun death. Is your metal horse fast enough?
A/N: So, that took me a long time. lol I'm dragging the story on like the chewiest chewing gum, hahaha! Again: English is not my first language, so there might be mistakes in grammar/spelling/tenses etc. (Also that summary sounds pretty dramatic and funny at the same time, lol)
Warnings: Some swearing, mention of antisemitism (no slurs but it's implied)
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The motor of your vehicle vibrated between your thighs. Every time you edged it on to go faster, you felt the roar, but you couldn't hear it. Your head was elsewhere. Your thoughts were racing faster than your bike and your senses focused on everything that was happening outside the bubble, including you, the bike, the trailer and its content: Bane. Eyes scanning every oncoming car or pedestrian suspiciously. Ears reaching out for the sound of the sirens of police cars. Once or twice they had been close, and you made sure to decrease your speed to the permitted level. Idiotic though. The streets were almost empty after all, so only the mere sight of you (and the trailer) was high peak suspicious. But the police didn't seem to care. Bigger problems were afoot and you were just a very small drop in the ocean of diarrhea, that was going down in this city. And to be honest, you weren't sure what you would have done. Sell Bane out from the get-go? A "I was just gonna bring him over to you guys!" or a "What? How did this man, I've never seen in my life, get there?" Which was such a bad lie, you'd deserve to get arrested just for telling it. Or would you try to outrace them? (Which wasn't the greatest idea with an injured person in your trailer and the faster you'd go, the wobblier the trailer and the harder the steering would get.) Or, or, or? You weren't sure and you didn't want to think about it. You were just hoping for the best – not encountering the officials at all. The kind of information, your eyes were not passing on to your brain, was the bumpy road ahead. Only when you felt the metal rattling differently than usual, your attention was drawn to the pavement (or rather the lack of it in forms of cracks and holes). The old, partially rundown buildings, cheap shops and bad infrastructure and streets made it painfully obvious, you had entered the poor part of Gotham. The city officials had decided on neglecting these parts decades ago, just putting money in what was a necessary fix, and nothing about that had changed since. Maybe celebrating the occasional opening of a new mall, seemingly a try to help improving people's lives around here by creating jobs and opportunities. But these people had learned from other former poor districts of the city. Districts they maybe had lived in and be a part of years ago, until increasing living costs had forced them to move farther and farther away from the centre and make place for wealthier inhabitants, while they still had to drive to their old neighbourhoods every morning to serve these people and work shitty low-pay jobs at companies belonging to the richest of the rich of Gotham. So the occasional new mall, either accidentally burned down most of time, or turned into an indoor ghost town. And people in this part of the city had learned to rather stick their eyes to the ground, as to not stumble one more time on their already stone-riddled path through life. Lifting and broadening your gaze, meant to eventually trip and fall. And there always was a way to fall deeper than from where you had started and a place worse to end up at. Your ears shifted back from the sirens in the distance, as you heard muffled moans from behind. "I'm so, so sorry!", your own voice felt distant yet sounded close as it ricochet in the inside of your helmet, that you somehow had managed to put on (even as scatterbrained as you were. Hey! Safety first, right?), as you had fled the scene. You knew this was the fastest and most inconspicuous way to get to your destination. But the state these streets were in, made you hesitant to go any further, anxious it would only worsen the dire condition of your back seat passenger. Whoever he was, this was a very miserable way to die, and you wished it on no one. It was almost impossible to keep your mind from spinning around all the possibilities, all the outcomes this could have but first and foremost fear crept up your spine with every passing second. The fear he wouldn't make it. And driving towards the sun setting for the night, made the fickle nature of Bane's life hanging from a very thin thread painfully visible to you. Your heart gave a leap out of relief, as you took your eyes off of the blinding red giant and they recognised your destination. Finally you stopped the motorcycle in front of a building most familiar to you. The project you lived in. The number of floors, and the number of apartments each of them contained, made it difficult to know each and every of this building's inhabitants. Different ways of living and working, made it nearly impossible to come across all their faces. One face you were able to describe as clear as day, even if someone woke you up in the middle of the night, was Izzy's. Ishmael, or Izzy, as you liked to call him, was your oldest friend. Both from poor and broken families (though in different ways), both ending up at the same orphanage at a young age. It wasn't just because you both had been the new kids at the place, that you two had bonded so quickly, but you had never liked bullies, and Izzy had been a very easy target to pick on. At least once a week, you had ended up with dark bruises, a bloody nose or a cut on your lip, or you found yourself in detention or grounded. You didn't care because you were sure, the slurs thrown at him hurt a lot more than that. Your gloved hands almost threw the helmet from you, as well as the damn things covering them, when your nervously clumsy hands failed to unbind the rope from the hooks to take off the cover of your trailer. A pair of tired eyes set in a pale face greeted you and you instantly felt your stomach drop. The trick with the carpet wouldn't work with this gritty pavement, so ya good old muscles had to wake up for this part of the journey. As you helped the injured man, who was easy and at least a head taller than you, out of the trailer, he put some of his weight on you but you could feel he was hesitant about letting you carry too much. Sure, he was a big guy and as you walked towards the entrance of the building, cloaked in secrecy by the growing darkness of the night and the empty streets (and the fact that neighbours simply didn't give a shit about what others were doing), a slight burning sensation set itself to start in your legs and arms already, but you were stronger than most people (especially men) thought. "I can take it," you told Bane with a slight but encouraging huff, shuffling closer to him, positioning more of his arm over your shoulders. Just in the last few moments you had observed with growing concern, that carrying most his own weight, had drained a lot of his remaining energy very fast.
Hesitating one more moment, the tall man tried a pretty gentle approach to literally dropping more weight on your shoulders. Surprised by the fact you did not collapse under him, he was even more surprised as you headed for the elevator in a very steady pace.
You didn't know how you did it. To carry most of that pile of meat that was a (barely alive) man to Izzy's door. It felt like taking you hours, just as the time span between the ringing sound of the doorbell and seeing your friends face seemed to go on an eternity. Time really was relative, man. A smiling face greeted you and dropped instantly as it recognised the face next to you. Somehow you had seen this reaction coming and had put your combat boot clothed foot into the door. "Please Izzy, I need your help!", you begged him. You knew he didn't mean to react like that. He had his reasons. "Are you insane? Bringing this man to my friggin' door, Y/N?", even in situations like these, he couldn't bring himself to swear properly. "The whole city is looking for him! He's a darn terrorist!", Izzy whisper-shouted which was almost comically, if this all hadn't been greatly tinted with seriousness and urgency. "Then I guess your Hippocratic oath means shit. More like hypocritical if you ask me, dude!", you hissed back. For a brief second your soft boy Ishmael's lips twitched to form an amused smile, but before he could compliment you on that comeback, you felt Bane's hands grabbing onto you, as his legs gave up under him and he started slipping out of your grip.
