Bane had won. The world was under his control— under his rule. Bane, a sickly boy born in a prison had saved humanity. Bane was in control, Bane led the world. No more prisons, no more police, and no regime left to fight.

No one left to fight. Anyone who could possibly be worth fighting had already fallen.

Bane sat at the large table silently, holding a beer in his hand as he listened to the ex-convicts talk, “dios mio.” Bane murmured to himself, “no one left to fight..”