A vindictive Harley Quinn takes on Bane
The breakout from Arkham had been chaotic. In a frenzy to get out, many inmates had cut down their own brethren. Harley was in street clothes, snatched from an unwary pedestrian (who was hog tied and dumped behind a trash can). She was looking for the Joker. He was one of the first to escape, cackling loud and long from afar. “The Fool” she thought. “Doesn’t he know he’s in equal danger from the cops and crooks alike?”
She came across him a few hours later, almost by accident, or rather a badly pulverised Joker, alternatively wheezing and cackling, as gas and blood bubbled out of his mouth and nose. He had been beaten to a pulp, and was in danger of dying of internal injuries.
Harley did what she’d never done before. She called the cops so that at least the Joker would not die. Before the cops came, she asked Joker about what had happened. In between all his rambling, one word stood out. BANE.
So now she stood outside the derelict building that knew houses Bane. Bane, the most ruthless, driven and skilful criminal Gotham had ever seen. Bane had even broken the Batman, throwing him from the roof, breaking his back in the process. His huge muscled body, and an intimidating facial attachment (some say to protect his identity, some say to protect his real weakness), were all that were needed to cower opposition. In the two days post the Arkham breakout, he’d already establish lines of communication and was the defacto leader of the underworld now.
Harley Quinn had fallen head over heels in love with the Joker, when she was an intern. Though she’d helped him escape a few times, his love was more with his own selfish interests in mind. The joker was a self-absorbed prick.
In her twisted logic, the Joker was simply the one. She was completely devoted to him. She would not let him come to harm. And she was well equipped for that.
Skilled in ingress techniques, armed with the Joker’s stun gas, Harley made her move. His henchmen never knew how their citadel was breached. But Bane, courtesy his mask, stood tall even as the henchmen dropped in slumber.
Soon he was the only one in the large hall, waiting to meet those who had invaded his HQ. Harley walked in like a cat, swaying from side to side. The gas had no effect on her. Bane grunted “Quinn, you should be at that pathetic fool’s side. I must’ve broken all his bones”. Harley smiled, “And that’s what I’m gonna do to you now, Bane.” Thus they squared off.
Bane was a master of street fighting. Almost immune to pain, ten times stronger than most men. It had taken Batman months of retraining to actually defeat him and put him back in prison. So Harley started gradually, using her speed to get around Bane’s blows. She managed to land a few kicks on him, but he shrugged them off, even without grunting. And he was tireless, relentless. Even if Harley danced back, he would keep advancing.
She used all her acrobat skills and parkour to keep out of his reach. Her preternatural speed and reflexes were tested to their limits. She knew that before long he would figure out her fighting technique, even though she used a mix of various martial arts. Perched on the beams above him, out of reach for a few moments, she took her breath and analysed her fight. She summarised: “Tough as steel, as relentless as a grizzly, doesn’t get hurt easily. But one thing’s clear: Bane protects his face very well. This is something I must probe”. With a sudden burst of glee, she sprang like a rocket. She feinted a punch to the groin, instead leant back and kicked Bane on the face with her metal tipped boot.
That one blow changed the equation. Bane’s faceplate came apart in a jumble of springs and plates. The effect was dramatic…he seemed to shrink visibly. His huge frame was racked with shivers. He held his arms in front of his ruined face. The face plate seemed to be some kind of neuro-muscular simulator. The greenish fluid oozing from the thing seemed to be Bane’s source of power and alertness.
Harley barraged him with kicks and punches. The formidable defence of Bane was gone. His arms moved slower, more instinctively than with technique. Each of her blows left a telling impression. His arms and bare chest showed telling bruises.
Harley had trained under some of the best street fighters in Gotham. Soon they’d acknowledged that her legs were potent weapons. She could, and did kill a few thugs with a single kick to the head or chest.
Thwack! Slam! Whap! Her legs hit him with furious power and speed. Krack! The sound, and the unnatural angle of the left forearm announced the first major damage to Bane’s offensive power. A few more hits there and Bane began to turn away, trying to protect the damaged arm by moving it away.
Then she attacked his right leg. With great force, she hit him above the right knee, just when it had locked in his step back. Such was the force that the bone broke and jutted out from the back of the knee.
Bane collapsed in a heap at her feet. Agony and fear played across his face. He was now desperate, trying to push away from this fury with the mighty legs.
Now she closed in for the first time, and clamped his wrist in her hand. Bane tried to pull away, but she forced him down on his back. She used her right knee to pin down his broken arm, and then started to batter his midsection with her left knee.
The broken Bane couldn’t hold her off. Her thick muscular thighs were driving her knees into his midsection like a sledge hammer. His internal organs were getting pulped. His good leg was thrashing about helplessly.
Letting him go, she got up “Now what was it you were saying about the Joker?” She laughed. With a dainty pirouette, she landed on his solar plexus. Bane’s broken face changed colour and spouted blood. Harley had dealt him severe internal injuries. Spinning to his right, she held his arm in a lock. With terrific power, she twisted it until it threatened to pop out of the socket. “Aaarrrghhhh! “Screamed Bane. She twisted more. “You are supposed to be immune to pain, Bane”. With a banshee like scream, Harley increased the pressure until his tendons popped.
She then pulled Bane to his feet. Even though he couldn’t stand, she held him up with her power. Her muscles were bulging with the effort. She then dragged him to the terrace. Propping him up, she started to dance a slow Samba. She held him real close to her – the big brute of a man. She moved him round her, a marionette in her arms, dangling, broken. She was not gentle, she moved his body weight to his broken leg; pulled him by his broken arm. The dance ended as she held him dangling over her arm.
The dance had Bane in great pain. But his loins stirred too. The thin spandex material of his trousers bulged with a ten inch tentpole. His body quivered with pain and desire. Looking down, she laughed.. “ahahaahaaahaaaa… All ya need ta do is to shake a leg….ta break his bones ‘n make ‘im beg!”
She gripped him by his balls and squeezed hard, real hard. “YAAAAARRRRRGHHHHHH” he said. She let him drop to the ground, and proceeded to do a handstand on his chest. “How do ya like it, Big Bad Baney Boy?” She flipped and landed with her feet on either side of his head. “How does it feel when a gal leaves a giant man weak and helpless?” She brought her feet together so his head was caught tight. She raised herself on her toes, forcing his head up as well. Her calves bulged and swelled up like baseballs. Bane brought up his (somewhat) good hand, to try to relieve the pressure on his neck. But it felt like his neck was caught in a clamp. He ran his fingers up and down her hard, marble like balls of calf muscle. “Sorry” he said.
“Bwahaaahaaaa…. Sorry it is, it is sorry, is it sorry? I’m sorry!” She bent down and pulled his head up between the mounds of her calves. His facial features were distorted, almost comical. She held him like that until his face was purple.
Now feeling mighty pleased with herself, she laughed loud and long. And punched his face. Again. And again. After a dozen punches, only his hair was recognisable – his face had melted into a potpourri of welts, bruises and tissue.
She was not done. She pulled up his torso and wrapped her mighty thighs about it. In a minute, her legs had piled up the pressure to bend steel. Bane was vomiting blood. His body was in the death throes. A final twist and it was done.
She stood there for quite a while, as the rain came down gently. She saw the blood trailing away from her destruction. It was her masterpiece.
This is a fan-fiction. Harley Quinn, Bane and other characters in this story are property of DC Comics.