Do you not hear my voice, resonating with authority, no cackling glee at the anarchy that springs from collapsed governments. Not after you see my face for the first time, my new face, the mask, see the eyes, all that's left of me, blaze with fire, resolved and rational, no laughing, crazed spark but a passion and such knowledge, always one step ahead. So now I listen in interest as part one of this plan rolls into action. The work of Ra's al Ghul must be completed, for the league, for vengeance, for her and for me. Gone was the youthful, rugged face of old, now replaced by a fearsome war machine, driven by his own will, stopped by nothing, fearing nothing, gaining all. I had been demolished for her at the hands of her tormenters and now she built up a new man, a stronger one. Because with her, in the months that followed, once I put on the mask she built me up, the broken man. One feared by most, hated by many, loved by few. I had left the young man in hell, left him there as a soul now shed, and here now stands a monster. I was good, terrifyingly good at what I did, and my name drew fear from the eyes of the leaders of thugs and warlords. I trained her, and she trained me, and then I left, a mercenary, mass murderer for hire. They put me back together, reassembled me bit by bit, and finally as the mask came on, and her blessing with it, I found myself again. She came back, and the light in her eyes, joy to find me here, alive, mixed with the horror and sorrow of seeing the wreckage that had been my body, the shattered bones and flesh that had been my face, splashed onto her face to create the most beautiful work of art I could ever had imagined, a masterpiece, dedicated from her to me. Too much to bear, everyday I died and every night I rose again, a cruel curse of Prometheus on earth. He did the best he could, but there was still pain.
#No one cared who i was until i put on the mask cracked
I took the beatings, took the broken body with a cracked soul and dragged it into the light and to the old doctor to heal. And I said it with joy in my heart, knowing she would be safe. I told her to rise, to rise and to flee, to leave me. I don't know what prompted me to save her that day we met face to face for the first time, but maybe the day when I was cast into hell, the doctor who had saved me still remained seared into my memory, and I swore to protect her, always. No one cared who we were, we were only another set of quick hands and hungry mouths, but I always made sure she ate first, and ate well before I ate mine. I looked after her, became her loyal friend and protector, and in turn she gifted me with hope. Then she came along, one of the few who saw my face, and she remembers it, the way it was before the mask. The old mans apprentice watched with wary eyes until I was a young boy. A tall, old yet strong doctor grabbed me and ran with me in his arms to a cell high above the crowds, where he looked after me until I could walk, talk and steal food when needed. The legend of the pit is that my parents were mobbed and swallowed by an angry mob, but someone saved me. Born into a shattered dark, I was thrown into the pit a young boy with my family, barely an infant. I have an agenda which I will see fulfilled, one that cannot merely be labelled a madman's whim.īefore I put on the mask I was strong. No psychopath would ever have made it beyond the first red light, and they would have been dragged, laughing manically through the prison halls, always wanting an end with no purpose, always yearning for the most theatrical means. For who have met one insane as a jack in the box, yet with a mind and a will that has disassembled governments, dragged whole nations through the mud and left them there to rot. Many have met me and have declared me psychotic, but insane is a word that cannot be stamped on my file. Down in that hell, I had forgotten all but survival and a few precious memories that I clung to like precious jewels, refusing to let those images of sunshine and laughter slip from between my fingers, because with it would slip my sanity. A face once handsome and proud, smashed and battered, split and shattered. Hidden behind this mask is a face that few alive have seen, and even fewer remember. And when I found myself, I found my purpose. Because when I put on the mask, for the first time in years I was whole again, and out of that deep, dark pit in hell, I found myself. No one cared who I was until I put on the mask.