“Tanks and planes cannot stop us from detonating our device,” he warned. “Send an emissary to discuss terms of access for supplies and communication.”

Captain Parker figured that was his cue. After a hasty conference with his superiors, he marched toward the apex of the bridge, his hands held open in front of him. Washington was anxious to hear the terrorists’ demands, so he walked until he was within spitting distance of the enemy. The lead terrorist had the shaggy, undisciplined look of a professional mercenary—and the dead eyes of a stone-cold killer.

“How many of you are there, son?” the captain asked, receiving only a sullen glare in response. Staring the man squarely in the eye, he attempted to give the terrorists a much-needed reality check. “You don’t have enough men to stop twelve million people leaving that island.”

“No. We don’t,” the mercenary conceded. “But you do.”

The captain snorted.

“Why in hell would we help you keep your hostages?”

“Because if people start crossing the bridge, Gotham gets blown to hell.” He didn’t sound like he was bluffing.

Confronted with such a ghastly scenario, Parker tried to think of a compelling counter-argument, but failed. It was hard to argue with an armed nuclear weapon.

The President of the United States addressed the nation:

“The people of our greatest city are resilient,” he said. “They have proven this before, and they will prove this again.”

Lying helplessly upon his cot, untold miles away from Gotham, Bruce watched the broadcast. All day and night, images of the burning city had seared themselves into his anguished brain. Aerial photos revealed a ring of fire circling his city. Experts and commentators soberly weighed its chances of survival.

Bane’s nightmarish invasion of the football stadium had been replayed constantly, until Bruce knew every moment by heart. He had recognized the reactor core, of course, and knew just what it was capable of doing.

“We do not negotiate with terrorists,” the President continued, “but we do recognize realities…”

Tears streamed down Bruce’s face.

The darkened streets were all but deserted, as Gotham’s cowed citizens took seriously Bane’s admonition to stay indoors. Blake warily drove toward home, while Gordon slumped beside him in the passenger seat. The detective tried to avoid the craters, cracks, and rubble, but Gordon still flinched at every bump. The rough drive had to be hard on his wounds.

They listened grimly to the President’s speech.

“As the situation develops, one thing must be understood above all others. People of Gotham, we have not abandoned you.”

Blake scowled at the radio. “What does that mean?”

“It means we’re on our own,” Gordon translated. “I have to get in front of a camera—”

“Sir, they’ll kill you the second you show your face.”

“The mayor’s dead,” Gordon said. “I’m the symbol of law and order. Bane says he’s giving Gotham back to the people. They need to know that I could lead.”

Blake frowned.

“Bane’s never going to let that happen.”