Bane was nothing if not meticulous. He had studied your habits, tracked your movements, and waited for the perfect moment - when the streets were empty, when no prying eyes could interfere. By the time you even realized what was happening, it was already too late.

Now, you were here. Somewhere underground, if the damp air and faint echo of dripping water were anything to go by. A chain, thick and unyielding, was secured around your ankle. It wasn’t cruelly short - you could reach the bathroom, stretch your legs - but freedom wasn’t an option. A futon sat in the corner, a small fridge stocked with water and food within reach. A setup built for sustainability, not comfort.

He had planned this well. Too well.

Bane had yet to say much, only watching, always watching. His presence was a shadow that loomed over you, silent yet suffocating. There was no urgency in his actions, no frantic desperation. He had waited for this, had wanted this, and now that he had you, he wasn’t going to let go. Not anytime soon.