addiction, extreme violence
I would kill to silence a voice that grated, or to darken eyes that looked at me
I would kill to silence a voice that grated, or to darken eyes that looked at me
Played by Mako
Fandom: DC Universe
Age: 38 years old
Gender/Pronouns: Male, He/Him
Canon Point: Shortly after defeating King Snake, with Batman's help
NPC Companions: N/A
SKILLS & ABILITIES
Bane is, when looked at from a certain point of view, a self-made man. He's just not the kind you usually hear about, and definitely not the kind you'd actually want to encounter.
Bane is a powerhouse of a man. Even without his enhancements - of which there'll be more said later - he comes basically as close to being as powerful as any human of his size and build can be. His musculature is extremely dense and well-developed after a lifetime's worth of use, to the point where it seems to strain under his skin at times.
When exerting the most pressure he can. Bane can generate roughly the equivalent of 1.5 tonnes worth of force through muscular power alone; this is due to the permanent effects of Venom usage, which have left their mark on him. Even without this he'd easily be one of the strongest men alive - were he to encounter some Prometheus dust, for instance, he could still easily deadlift 1300lbs.
Similarly, his resistance to pain and injury is absolutely astounding. Bane has a remarkable pain threshold, and on the physical level this allows him to almost entirely ignore most minor to moderate wounds. This doesn't mean, mind you, that injuries won't stack up or have their effect. A broken limb is still a broken limb, for instance, and can't be used properly after it's injured. Nevertheless, this makes him a very difficult person to stop in a fight.
Finally, his size and bulk belie just how quick on his feet Bane is. He's got excellent reflexes, and moves with the sureness and grace of a tiger - this will lead into the points made later about his fighting ability.
Mentally, Bane replicates this fortitude. In some ways, Bane has achieved the kind of self-mastery over his mind that certain religious philosophies advocate. His self-discipline is absolutely iron. He is virtually impossible to intimidate, and has even learned to guard his thoughts against intrusion by psychic individuals through dissembling and other techniques.
More generally, Bane is also extremely intelligent. While he has never been formally educated, he is a self-taught polymath and polyglot; he is fluent in twelve languages, including two dead ones, has a very wide grasp of philosophy, chemistry, practical biology, engineering, mathematics, geography, history and military strategy and can learn and assimilate new information very quickly provided he takes the time to properly study it.
One of the more unusual skills Bane has developed is the art of reading a person's body language. It was from this that he figured out who the infamous Batman was, for example. Combined with this is his memory - Bane's abilities of recall are almost eidetic, which is useful for a variety of reasons. These two skills grant him several advantages - they make him very difficult to lie to, they allow him to recall certain things told to him with perfect clarity, and they grant him a further advantage in fights.
Speaking of which, one of the things Bane has made an extensive study of is the art of violence. Turning his size and speed to practical purposes, he has mastered no less than twenty different forms of hand-to-hand fighting to the point of complete expertise. Even more worrying for his opponents, he has used this knowledge to form several entirely unique fighting styles of his own.
The running theme of Bane's fighting styles, however, is simply - brutality. Bane knows which parts of the human body can be broken most easily, how to do it, and what effect that will have on the fight going forward. He also understands very well how the art of intimidation can help him in a fight - and there's few things more intimidating than a shattered arm, or a crushed ribcage.
Pain is a great ally to Bane, and he knows how to deploy it to maximum effect. He rarely uses this directly for interrogative purposes due to his ability to "read" people, and he's not a sadist who tortures for sport. Instead, Bane uses agony as a tool, a way to achieve something wider - whether that's in breaking down the resistance of an opponent, to send a message or to enforce his control over someone.
Despite him favouring close combat, Bane knows how to use a wide range of weapons and is a good marksman. He is familiar with most US-issue military weaponry or things that are meant to mimic it, as this was what was most widely available in his home country of Santa Prisca. In addition, he is a very capable combat medic and can offer triage for most wounds one might expect to take during combat.
Bane's former weapon, and now his greatest curse.
Venom is an unstable metasteroid, an extremely powerful and dangerous medical drug that massively enhances a person's strength, speed and resistance to damage.
When Bane uses Venom, his strength increases to the point where he could hoist 15-20 tonnes over his head, his running speed improves to the point where he could move at 35mph over short bursts, and he even gains mild regenerative abilities as the drug causes his body to heal at an intense rate. He couldn't replace an amputation, but cuts and piercings will seal up in a matter of minutes.
To administer the Venom, Bane carries a sophisticated injector system on his body. He activates it through a button on his wrist, which then sends a jolt of the substance directly into his bloodstream via a thick hose connected to a port on the back of his skull. He can also theoretically injest Venom through the mouth, though this takes longer to take effect.
While Bane no longer uses Venom due to its addictive properties, he still keeps this equipment on him as a matter of habit, and still knows how to make Venom should the need - for some reason - ever arise.
One of the properties of Venom is that it is highly addictive, with the subject forming a chemical dependence on it after only a few uses. Worse, prolonged use can begin to affect both the central nervous and cardiovascular system; the subject will, so long as they continue to use the drug, begin to hallucinate, feel sensations of unwarranted grandeur and experience bursts of virtually uncontrollable rage. In the meantime, their heart will be pushed to ever more extreme limits, something that it can only withstand for so long.
Bane has managed to kick the habit, so to speak, but the fact is that he is still addicted. The temptation to use again will always be present, and it is a constant low-level battle he must fight again and again to prevent a relapse. While his willpower is extraordinarily strong and his physical health above-Olympic in its conditioning, neither is strong enough to totally overcome the effects of Venom if he does take it again; Bane would begin to exhibit some of the symptoms of his addiction fairly rapidly in this situation.
Bane is still killable, you just have to be quite good to do it. He's a man of flesh and blood, and beyond the various ingenious things humans have invented to protect themselves from their own weaponry he's still likely to have a bad time if exposed to bullets.
While he is not averse to working with others - he can even be cultured and charming when he wants to be - Bane is somewhat aloof when dealing with people, and tends to lead a fairly solitary life. The thing about lone wolves is that they're vulnerable, and while Bane's phenomenal abilities offset this somewhat they don't protect him from simply being overwhelmed by an opponent with a better support network.
All the self-taught knowledge and insight into the people around you can't necessarily make up for a narrow view of the world. Bane still clings to the mentality of Pena Duro, that the only sure way to survive is to be the strongest and most uncompromising person in any given area. Within this field of experience he is brilliant, perhaps without peer, but outside of this avenue he suffers from the same struggles as any other institutionalised individual.
i don't know the date of my birth
they never told me that
i suspect they didn't think i would survive long
perhaps they never even recorded it
The man sits, alone, in the quiet of the cell. It has been many years since he has been back here. The prison itself has been abandoned for some time. The regime that repurposed it from the colonial Spanish have found new, better ways to deal with political prisoners - though no less cruel. It is not especially the cruelty that bothers the man, though he is of course a victim of it himself.
It is the question of power. And, though he is still grappling with this, of identity.
i still dream of it sometimes
the shadow, a demon that stalks me
once, i thought i recognised it
it had the form of a bat
The officer shivered, trying to remain composed as his captors brought him to the great iron door of one of Pena Duro's cells. Forcing the words out, he spat defiance at the people around him.
"Bastards! You will get what's coming to you - you think you're being clever, don't you, locking me in here? Oh yes, a little dramatic irony, imprisoning me in the place we used to send you traitors - very clever, very clever! Well, when I am freed, I promise you that Pena Duro will seem like a holiday compared to what we'll do with you then!"
Some laughed, but most simply ignored his outburst. Still, he ranted on, summoning what bile he had left until the door in front of him was opened and he was shoved roughly through. Landing on his hands and knees, the officer heard the door slide back into place behind him. So there it was - he was trapped.
It was only as he rose to his feet that he saw the form sat, cross-legged, in the middle of the cell. Opening its eyes, the figure stared directly at him. A shiver rose up his spine.
"Do you remember me, Jorge?"
The officer opened his mouth to speak. At that moment, however, he realised that he did remember, and his voice failed him. Rising to his feet, the monster in front of him stretched slightly, as if completely ignorant of his surroundings.
"I see that you do. Good. Then you know how this will end."
Mouth still agape, Lieutenant Jorge Eichner of the Santa Priscan Army pressed himself against the steel door, cringing up against it as the man approached him.
"I am not an unfair man. I am, as you can see, not armed. You, however..."
A slot opened in the door behind Eichner, and a combat knife slid through, clattering on the floor between the lieutenant's legs. He stared down at it, adam's apple working furiously in his throat.
"You see? I offer you a chance, Jorge. Kill me, as you should have killed me the instant I was born, and you get to go free. Fail to kill me, and I will break you like rotten timber."
A moment of silence passed. Then, with a scream, Jorge scooped up the knife and lunged.
Bane saw the attack coming, of course. Jorge Eichner was out of shape, a life of stolen luxuries having softened whatever military training he may once have had. He seized the lieutenant's strong arm at the wrist, twisting it just enough to force it to go taut. Then he slammed his palm into the officer's elbow joint.
As the arm broke, Bane twisted it further, wrenching flesh and tendons. The scream that burst out of the victim's mouth didn't even sound human - it was high and whining, the noise of a panicked animal. Bane paid no attention, continuing his work. With a final wrench, he tore the lieutenant's forearm free from his body. Hot blood splashed across Bane's chest. The severed arm, fingers still twitching faintly, dropped the knife it had been holding.
As Jorge folded up into a foetal position on the floor, Bane regarded him for a moment. After all these years, he had expected... more. Eichner, he had learned, was the man who'd passed sentence on his mother, sending her to die in this hellish place from the comfort of his position in the military courts. Bane had hoped for at least something approaching catharsis from this fight.
In the end, though, what he had was a snivelling old man, missing an arm and unable to offer him the fight he craved. Placing his boot on the officer's neck, Bane took a deep breath, then stepped down suddenly and with force. A squeal, the crunch of bone, a last rattle of air through a broken trachea, and it was all over.
in the end i know so little about myself
despite being present for my entire life
and nothing i have yet done answers these questions
And so the man sits, meditating on the future. It seems fitting, really, to come full circle in this way. The animals that wore human skin, the Junta and its cronies, had been the ones to create him. They had been the ones to pass sentence on him before he had even been born, to transfer the father's punishment to the son in the traditional manner of false moral authority. Now, in the traditional manner, the monster had returned to destroy its creator.
But what then?
He had pursued the demon that haunted him to Gotham, found the Batman there and defeated him - only to be beaten in turn, when a force he could not himself control had proved to be part of Bruce Wayne's arsenal. He had sought meaning in the cabal of Ra's al Ghul, in the arms of the old terrorist's equally uncompromising daughter, but had found it in neither. He had sought his father, and found him to be a cruel old despot not unlike the very men who had imprisoned his son in his place.
And now he was back in the place of his birth, a blank slate - tabula rasa. Perhaps by freeing Santa Prisca, Bane could find an answer to this question. Perhaps he could then find a better purpose, a more complete path to walk, than simply being the most dangerous man in prison.
Deep in his contemplation, Bane does not see the tendrils of darkness snake across the floor towards him.
an animal, that was what ra's considered me
a cunning animal, but an animal all the same
he was a fool, though, as are all aristocrats
he could not see the truth
that what defines a man is his search for himself