Batman Begins/Dark Knight 1. Introduction

**TITLE:** "Doing What is Necessary"

**AUTHOR:** Lady Discord

**RATING:** PG-13 (some violence, rude language in certain cases and mild sexual

references);

**TYPE:** AU (alternate universe);

**MAIN CHARACTERS:** Ra's al Ghul (Henri Ducard), Ryanne (The Unknown Assassin

- OC), Bruce Wayne (Batman);

**SECONDARY CHARACTERS:** Alfred Pennyworth, Dr. Jonathan Crane (The

Scarecrow), Rachel Dawes, Jim Gordon, Carmine

Falcone, Lucius Fox and many more;

**CHARACTERS THAT MAY APPEAR: **Thalia al Ghul, Nyssa Raatko;

**QUOTATIONS: **"I may not understand much of your world, but this man murdered my father and he

must die."

"I have willingly embraced all that my parents have strived to protect me from."

"Only in complete silence can one hear death approaching."

"A tree falling in the forest with no one to hear it makes no sound; but it falls

nonetheless"

"The purpose of any path of enlightenment is to show the student his true face. If it

does not do this, it has failed as a philosophy and is useless."

"What will happen in one's life is already written, but one must choose to be there.

This is the way of Ninjitsu."

**(These quotations are from chapters that have not yet been posted.)**

**TYPE OF PLOT:** Chronological plot (flashbacks may appear at times);

**POINT OF VIEW:** Omniscient writer (third person narrative);

**DISCLAIMER:** I own only what is of my own creation;

**SUMMARY:**

Having been trained to be a ruthless killer from an early age, when she finally obtains her freedom Ryanne puts her skills into practice to find and eliminate the man who had killed her father.

She spends almost twenty years developing her skills and gathering information about the man she is after. In this time she works as a paid assassin, obtaining a very good reputation in the field. But she is not after fame and glory. She prefers to remain a mystery to all, which is why she gains the name "The Unknown Assassin".

After a long and tiresome search Ryanne has gathered enough information to track down her main target. She sets out on the mission for which she had trained for two decades and even though this man is an excellent fighter, she can still overcome him.

But she stops, right before delivering an unexpected and fatal blow, because she can see his face clearly and that face is very familiar to her. For the first time in her life she is confused and incapable of making a decision.

Irony is something fate does not lack, nor is cruelty, because fulfilling one's desires often comes with a great price. After making her decision, Ryanne's life undergoes a defining change and she takes the very path her parents had desperately tried to protect her from.

Back in Gotham, Bruce Wayne is prepared to assume a second identity, that of Batman. Believing The League of Shadows to be a thing of the past, he does not see it as a threat, nor does he give it too much importance. Focusing on the criminals of Gotham, he thinks himself unbeatable under his fear-inspiring disguise, but great threats lurk in the shadows. For fear is felt only by those who have been taught to feel it.


	2. The beginning

( I )

_What makes the perfect assassin?_

_The strength and courage of a man? The litheness and shrewdness of a woman?_

_Or the ability to strike fear into the hearts of your opponents?_

_But what frightens people the most? A foe that can overcome his pain and stand up each time he is hit, stopping only after he has accomplished his task? … Perhaps. _

_And yet such people can be destroyed as well._

_What makes the perfect assassin is not being struck down and continuing the fight although wounded, but being struck down and raising with no wounds._

_The perfect assassin is the one who cannot be destroyed, not because of his good training, but because of his nature. _

There are two essential aspects that define the history of mankind: change and evolution. If one, however, were to examine more attentively the still clouded past of our existence, he would notice that only the material world around us has changed. People have not altered or improved their ways. The mentality of a tyrannical warlord, slaughtering a band of poorly armed farmers on a once green and flourishing plain, now altered by streams of blood and decaying corpses, for his sole satisfaction and greed for power, can still be observed in many wealthy, elegant and prosperous businessmen of today. That does not mean that murder, for example, is simply a loathsome act of pure insanity. There is an art to everything, and the art of creating the perfect assassin is undoubtedly the most difficult one. Nevertheless, since the dawn of civilization, there have been many to practice it and perhaps there are many more who practice it presently.

During the years or even centuries of their existence, many of the secret societies entrusted with the complex task of transforming ordinary men in deadly assassins have come to face the same problem. Despite their training, some of the students would sooner or later fall under the powerful influence of the past each of them left behind, forcing them to renounce, or driving them insane to a point where recovery would be impossible. Thus, the image of the perfect assassin remained only a myth, an illusion, until an old, forgotten idea was brought back to light, and put into practice by a secret organization known as the Lin Kuei. They were willing to make all the necessary compromises only to put their plan into practice and ultimately achieve what no man before them had achieved.

It is known that our actions and ideas, our beliefs and fears do not lack a logical explanation, no matter how hidden it may be. Each and every one of them is deeply rooted in a past experience. We act as we have been taught to act, we appreciate what we have been taught to appreciate and we loathe what we have been taught to loathe, all this in accordance to the unwritten laws and traditions of the society in which we have grown. The truth is that in growing up we do not actually learn anything. All we do is imitate what we see around us, this becoming an essential aspect in forging our adult personality. English empiricist John Locke based his philosophy on a simple, plausible theory, namely that at birth our mind resembles a blank sheet of paper that we will subsequently fill with various pieces of information, which will be gradually revealed to us.

In order for a master to shape his student according to his own will, to make him obey orders without questioning, the student must be a blank sheet of paper. Taking this idea as a starting point, the Lin Kuei put into practice their most audacious plan ever. Healthy infants from all over the world, whose age did not exceed ten days were brought to the organization's headquarters, hidden in the south-western mountains of China. With their parents disposed of by the existing Lin Kuei warriors so that they would have no ties to the outer world, the small children unwillingly embarked on a journey that would shortly bring most of them to the end of their passing through this world. After years of severe training, in which failure meant certain death, no matter the age of the individual or whether the reason for failing an assignment was deliberate or due to physical incapacity, few children grew up to be what the Lin Kuei considered to be the embodiment of the perfect warrior.

Of the initial two hundred students who took part in the program, only twenty passed all the difficult trials, becoming elite fighters and at the same time hollow shells with no personality of their own, no emotions, no desires, no fears and no knowledge of the common way of living. They were puppets in the hands of their masters, trained for the sole purpose of obeying orders and acting driven only by the thought that failure was unacceptable, thus punished by death, and man has always had an instinctual fear of death. At first, among the chosen infants there were representatives of both sexes, for the Lin Kuei also wanted to see if women could endure equally harsh conditions as men and prove to be able assassins as well, but in the end only one female survived. In a typical society, some people would find it peculiar or inappropriate for a woman to live in a secluded place in the company of men, given the fact that there was no other woman among the members of the organization, but here it made no difference. Both male and female warriors shared equal training, equal conditions, equal rights and equal opportunities to prove themselves worthy of continuing to be a member of the Lin Kuei. Between the warriors in training there could be no room for quarreling, envy or appreciation for the simple fact that such things were unknown to them. Contact between them, outside of the training sessions was strictly prohibited and in extreme cases, punished by death.

Sixteen years after the commencement of the program the remaining twenty soldiers had already committed a number of brutal murders that would horrify any man who has lived a normal life, given the fact that they were all mere teenagers. But this was a concept of the outer world, unknown to them. For them, life at present was the same as it had been before and the same as it would be from then on. Under the mastership of the Lin Kuei, the young assassins accomplished various missions for whoever solicited their services. It was only once that something different happened.

In the year when the students involved in the organization's special program all turned sixteen, a man who had not made his appearance for almost two decades came to speak to the Grand Master of the Lin Kuei. The two of them stood in a balcony that overviewed the training hall below, where the twenty students who survived the program were brought to show their skills, being told that the day had come for the most worthy of them to be chosen for a more special and honorable task.

The hall they were in, as well as the entire construction did not resemble the typical Asian monasteries situated high in the mountains, on snowy peaks. The Lin Kuei headquarters, which lay at the foot of a mountain, surrounded by thick woods, was similar to an ancient palace, or temple, with stone walls and tall columns, which had been there for more than two thousand years, ever since the founding of the organization. Nonetheless, the old building had at present newly built annexes, where state of the art technology and scientific research assured that the organization was as feared and powerful in the modern world as it had been in the past.

The twenty young warriors entered the ancient-looking hallway lit by torches, through the main entrance and formed two rows on either side of the path connecting the two entrances. The other one was a smaller entrance, an archway, situated at the top of a short flight of stairs. On either side of the small entrance stood two Lin Kuei Masters, dressed in long, dark-purple, ceremonial-looking robes, their eyes covered by an extension of their hood. Below them, in front of the stairs, there were three ninja warriors clad in black, everything but their eyes being hidden under dark fabric and protective armor.

On the other hand, the young Lin Kuei warriors wore nothing except for plain black pants and, just like the three ninja who could not be told apart, they were not very different from one another. They all had their hair cut short in the exact same way and they were all of almost the same height and weight. The only one who stood out in sharp relief was the girl, being the only one who also wore a black vest. Except for that, her 6 feet stature was more than enough for her to be at an equal level with the other soldiers and she occupied a random position in the row, not at an end or in the very middle.

In the balcony, the Grand Master, dressed in similar ceremonial robes as the other two Masters, stood with his guest, who wore an elegant black suit. The guest watched with interest as his three best warriors fought in turn each of the young trainees, who had to defeat sometimes with the use of a weapon and sometimes with their bare hands their always heavily armed opponents. The outcome was pleasing. Only one of the twenty warriors died at the hand of a ninja, the other ones managing to surpass the skills of their opponents, even if not all of them were able to defeat them. The one who had the greatest difficulties was the girl, whose physical capacity did not prove high enough to block a strike from the more powerful ninja warrior whose skill with a sword was superior to her own. In the end she concentrated harder and the ninja could not defeat her, but for a moment she had been close enough to failure and that was something the Lin Kuei could not tolerate.

"Impressive …… for their age. They have been trained well," the man in the suit spoke to the Grand Master in an old Chinese dialect employed by the Lin Kuei, the language spoken by the first Masters.

"Yes, the program was a success, although only very few completed it," the Grand Master replied.

"There is not always strength in numbers. One very competent warrior can defeat an army."

"True."

"So these are the best of the Lin Kuei warriors."

"Yes. Is there something the matter?" the Grand Master inquired, slightly worried by his guest's apparent lack of enthusiasm.

"Not at all. I will take number 54 and number 87," the man quickly chose the warriors he wanted to recruit, this being the reason of his visit. The numbers he spoke were the only names by which the trainees had been addressed since the beginning of the program.

"Only two? What about number 36 and 125?" the Grand Master questioned.

"Good skills, but they are not yet promising warriors."

"And number 69?"

"Number 69 has not proven to be in any way superior to the others …… and I have no need for women in my organization," the man concluded and turned towards the doorway behind them.

When the examination was over, number 54 and 87 accompanied the three ninja, while the remaining seventeen young warriors were ordered back to their quarters. They had yet to receive any word from their superiors regarding their performance but number 69 knew for certain that she would sooner or later face severe punishment, if not death itself, for the weakness she had displayed, and for the first time in her life, she would not accept it willingly. Though such thoughts would have been strange to any other Lin Kuei warrior who had been a part of the special program, number 69 had had different experiences. In the time she had spent outside of the compound on various missions, she had come in contact with the common world and their way of living, which stirred contradictory thoughts in her mind that had been haunting her ever since. Later on, she met an elderly man whose job was to supply the Lin Kuei with modern weaponry, even though he was not a member. He had not been aware from the beginning of the organization's true purpose and of their special program, but when he met the girl he felt pity for her, seeing how brutally a mere child was tortured for the purpose of learning to suppress her pain that was viewed as a sign of weakness. Therefore, he had sworn to help the girl escape and take her somewhere safe, where in time she could learn to live a normal life.

The girl had knowledge of the man's plan and although she had been reticent at first, in the end she accepted. A couple of months back she had devised a plan to escape the compound, a plan that she reviewed everyday in her mind and now the right time for her to put it into practice had finally come. Once the trainees were ordered out of the training hall, the girl wasted no time in quietly separating herself from the group and following the escaping route she had conceived a while back. She ran faster than she had ever run in her life when she saw how close she was to the exit point, close to the outer world, to freedom.

When she reached the end of the corridor she only had to take a right turn and then getting outside would not be difficult at all, but something unexpected happened. The moment she ran around the corner she froze on the spot when she almost collided with a tall man who did not look like any other Lin Kuei warrior. He was the man with whom the Grand Master had spoken previously, the one who had come to recruit the best of the twenty trainees who had survived the program, but she did not know that, for she had never seen him. She started at him fearfully, thinking that nothing could save her from death now.

The man looked back at her, his plain expression betraying no emotions whatsoever. He then noticed the numerous scars, bruises and burns that had adorned her face for many years. As he stared back at the child, his mind began to fill with distant memories that he had chosen to forget and he found uncomfortable the compassion he unwillingly started to feel for the child's suffering. He wanted to ban these ideas from his mind but the situation was too familiar and he was incapable of doing so. Footsteps and voices could be heard at the other end of the corridor, announcing that a group of men was approaching. The girl instinctively turned her head to look in that direction and then faced the tall man once again, when her hearing was drawn by a peculiar sound. She looked at him and saw that he had pushed a certain brick into the wall, revealing the entrance to a secret passageway.

"Go!" he commanded her, his face still emotionless despite everything that was going on inside his mind.

It was not that he was speaking in a different language and she could not understand him, but both the girl's mind and body were petrified. She could not possibly understand his reaction.

"It is an order, go! Now!" the man added on a more severe tone.

The confused girl stared back at him for another moment or two and then disappeared rapidly into the darkness of the tunnel, the stone door closing behind her.

**NOTE: **

**I'm not planning on making any sort of crossover here, so if you happen to come across any familiar terms, know that I'm only borrowing certain concept that I think will go well with this story, and putting them in a whole new light. **


	3. The plan

( II )

Far from the madding crowd, as one would say, lay the peaceful neighbourhood of Montfaucon, on the outskirts of that European capital known as "the city of light", Paris. It was a small neighbourhood which, although under the influence of the twenty-first century, had managed to preserve its old structures, fashioned according to medieval architecture. Narrow stone-paved alleys connected the secluded oasis of tranquillity with the rest of the world, and on either side stood two or three story buildings with walls of brownish red brick and windows with white, wooden shutters. The only centre of attraction of this forgotten place were the ruins of a once imposing tower and three still intact and beautifully carved stone columns that guarded the entrance, which was now blocked by a heavy metal door. In fact, this was only an unimportant extension of the real point of attraction, a half-intact medieval castle that stood up on the hill, to where the enormously long staircase adjacent to the ruined tower led. Being situated close to a main road and surrounded by a bustling neighbourhood, the castle drew a significant number of tourists all year long, whereas its tower stood alone at the bottom of the small valley, rarely receiving the visit of some lost tourist.

The will of man can be, nevertheless, very strong at times, and so, a young, hard-working and very determined resident of Montfaucon had set his mind on making the old tower and his dear neighbourhood as much of a tourists attraction as the castle itself. Having but little support and few finances, he had only managed to open a small café, right in front of the tower. Bearing the trite name of "Café", the humble bistro was nevertheless appealing, with its yellowish brick walls, contrasting the reddish buildings in the vicinity. A bohemian aspect came from the ivy stretching, here and there, up the wall, clinging to the drainpipe at the base of the roof. There was also a terrace in front, which, surprisingly, was at times, especially in the two free days following the working week, almost full. The Sunday evening of early autumn when Ra's al Ghul's assassination was once again to be planned, was no exception.

On that fateful evening, an envoy of the man who had been brave enough to set his goals as high as eliminating probably one of the most wanted figures in the criminal underworld, stood at a more remote table, in a far corner of the terrace, near a stone wall covered with ivy and other ornamental plants, stretching up directly from the ground, or from ceramic flower pots. He was a man in his mid forties, with short brown hair cut in an elegant manner and no beard or moustache. The dark suit, tie and white shirt that he wore, as well as the briefcase he carried, which he placed at the foot of his chair, made him look somewhat like a lawyer. Stirring slowly the coffee he had been compelled to order when the waiter came to his table, so as not to raise any suspicions, he carefully glanced around, examining each and every one of the customers, wondering whether that was a proper place to discuss such crucial matters.

The closest table to his right was occupied by a young couple, holding hands over the table and giggling while whispering into each other's ears. She was a teenage girl with blonde curls falling to her shoulders from underneath her dark blue beret. Her clothes were typical for her age, tight blouse, short skirt and a skimpy jacket, ostensibly, to keep her warm in the evening that was drawing close. Her companion was a tall, thin boy, looking rather feeble-minded despite his somewhat good looks. He had messy hair that looked more dirty than fashionable under the thick layer of hair gel and his shirt and pants appeared to be slightly threadbare.

At another table, right in front of him, stood a woman with long, dark hair that fell over her chest, on the right side. Her eye were hidden under a pair of black, opaque, exquisite glasses, even though the sun had long ceased to shine brightly and was slowly slipping across the sky, towards the western horizon. Over her black blouse and trousers she wore, more for the sake of fashion, an unbuttoned, white coat with the collar and cuffs adorned with artificial fur of the same colour. Around her neck she wore a purple scarf, and she stood at the table, with her back turned to him, smoking a cigarette and reading what seemed like a romance novel, as he had observed upon his arrival, when he had passed by her to take his seat at the farthest table. At a first sight she looked the typical French woman, though her features did not appear to be quite local.

On the opposite side of the terrace, but still rather close, due to the original narrow space, a table was occupied by an unhealthy looking elderly gentleman, dressed in a brown pinstripe suit and wearing a worn out overcoat of a darker shade of brown. He wore a bow tie, a checked, green scarf and a hat. His face was heavy wrinkled and his bear unshaved. Even with his big glasses, he was making great effort to read a certain article in a newspaper, and at the same time trying to appease his coughing, which manifested in sudden, uncontrollable outbursts. He looked harmless and very preoccupied by what he was doing, the type of person who would rather retread within himself than manifest outwardly.

The remaining table was taken by a young man with dark blonde hair tied in a ponytail. He was dressed in a pair of jeans and a plain shirt. Besides the glasses that he wore, he also had an earring in his left ear. He appeared conceited and bothersome, but what bothered the most the man sitting at the remote table was that the young fellow seemed to be starring insistently in his direction. Then he noticed that it was the woman in the white coat the young man was starring at, but even so, he could not be entirely certain. It is better to be safe than sorry, as the saying goes, and bearing this idea in mind, the man carefully reached to see if the pistol, disguised by his coat, was in its right place, attached to his belt.

Glancing time and time again, both at the customers and at the surroundings, the man was unable to find anything dubious, other than his own paranoid suppositions. It was soon afterwards that the man he had been waiting for had finally made his entrance. He was a fairly tall man, with a light complexion and Asian features. His clean-shaven cheek, smart suit and generally well-groomed appearance gave no clue whatsoever of his real occupation. The man made his way discreetly towards the table and sat down in front of the man he had come to meet.

"I was told he would come personally," the Asian man spoke plainly, but with obvious displeasure in his tone.

"I am afraid some other urgent matters have aroused in the meantime," the other man responded elegantly and with equal displeasure.

"Then you already know my answer. Tell him to contact me personally when he is willing to meet with me." The Asian man was on the verge of raising from the table, when the other man gave him an instant response, preventing him from leaving.

"We trusted you, Mr. Wong. I believe it would be proper for you to return the favour."

Mr. Wong looked the man in the eyes for a moment or two, then answered.

"You betrayed you former employer. Who is to say you won't do it again?"

"That is not something of your concern. You are just a murderer."

"And you are just a lackey. I do not take orders from lackeys."

The two men continued their quarrel, addressing each other disguised insults and subtle threats, all of this done with much care and self-control, that anyone who watched them from a distance would have believed that they were actually having a pleasant conversation.

"Mr. Wong, you have already received half of your payment, as you requested, though you have done nothing so far. It would be a terrible …… shame if you were to turn in the assignment at this point. Your talents would be greatly missed," the man smirked.

"A lame threat," Mr. Wong replied unmoved, and half-amused.

"But one that you should be wise to acknowledge."

"I am not afraid of you."

"Oh, I know very well you are not, and I am not asking you to be. Just bare in mind to whom you must give account of your work."

"So you finally admit to being nothing more than a lackey."

This time the man looked Mr. Wong in the eyes without uttering a word, after which he bent down and retrieved his briefcase, from which he took out a large, white envelope that he handed out to Mr. Wong over the table.

"Let's make things short, Mr. Wong. You will find in here all you need to know."

Mr. Wong took the envelope without commenting any further, while the other man took his briefcase and stood up.

"So you finally admit to being nothing more than a murderer," he grinned with utmost satisfaction as he had managed to prove himself superior to his rival.

Surprisingly, this amused Wong, who barely lifted his head to look at the man when he spoke.

"Take care Mr. Damus. It is getting dark and walking alone at night can be dangerous, even for a man like you."

The grin on Damus' face disappeared and, as if suspecting something, he turned to look at the street behind him. There he saw a tall, muscular man, standing on a bench, pretending to read a newspaper. At the precise moment when Damus looked in that direction, the man lowered the newspaper and stared right back at him, sending a cold shiver down his spine. He recognised the man as being one of Wong's accomplices. Bursting with anger, but also trembling with fear, Damus shot a piercing glance at Wong and without saying another word he quickly left the café, hoping the man on the bench would not follow. Indeed, receiving no signals from Wong, the man did not move from his place.

A couple of minutes later, Wong also left the café, walking down the street towards a darker side alley. Once he had entered the alley, his accomplice sitting on the bench stood up and followed him.

"Are we set?" the large man asked on a hoarse voice when he came face to face with Wong, who was waiting for him in the alley.

"Yes. We have all the information we need. Even more, actually."

Wong handed the envelope to his companion, who opened it and took out a rather blurry photograph of a man who appeared to be talking to another man who was standing at a desk in an office. The photograph had been taken from outside the building, through the window.

"This is Ra's al Ghul?" Wong's companion questioned, pointing to the man who was standing in front of the window. Wong nodded. "He doesn't look very menacing."

"Don't make the mistake of underestimating him. He is much more than he appears to be."

"You'd better have a good plan then," he said handing him back the envelope. Wong sneered and sealed up the envelope.

"Where is Lee? He was supposed to meet us here," he suddenly asked.

"Haven't seen him," the large man responded just as surprised.

"Never mind. He knows where to find us. We must not waste any more time."

With that, the man turned and advanced into the dark alley, followed by his companion. Moments later, they arrived at a stone wall with an iron gate, which Wong easily unlocked and went on his way, stopping only when he realised he could no longer hear his companion's footsteps behind him. He turned and was puzzled to see he was nowhere in sight. Wong made his way back to the gate and checked to see whether, for some reason, he had remained on the other side. Yet, the alley was deserted.

All of a sudden he was overcome by a terrible fear. He was known to be a skilled assassin but he had always preferred to operate from a distance. Now his greatest fears had returned to haunt him. His thoughts unwillingly drifted to Ra's al Ghul's warriors, renowned for their extraordinary techniques of appearing from nowhere and disappearing just as fast, spying on you from the shadows without you ever noticing their presence and then approaching as silent as a breath of air, slaying you before you can realise it.

Staring into the darkness of the alley, he suddenly thought he could see a figure approaching him. Drawing out his pistol and aiming in that direction, he took a few steps forward, only to see that no one was there. Then right afterwards he was startled by the noise produced, apparently, by two objects that had fallen, or had been thrown from above, behind his back. He looked with both interest and fright to see what they were and gasped in shock when his eyes rested upon the severed heads of his companions, lying at his feet. Trying hard to maintain his calm and hold a good grip on his pistol, he thought of returning to the main alley.

He turned around swiftly and took a step forward, his first and final step, for there was something that immobilised him, a sharp pain and a feeling of suffocation. In his last moments of consciousness, he was able to take notice of the sharp blade that had been thrust so rapidly and fiercely into his neck that it came out the other side. Before he would forever sink into darkness, he had the fortune of seeing the face of the one who had been capable of disposing so quickly of a hitman of such skill and fame. He was completely shocked to see that the assailant was someone whom he had noticed staying at one of the tables at the terrace, someone whom he would have never thought could pose a threat to him. The last thing he saw before forever departing the realm of mortals was the assailant snatching the envelope he was still pressing against his body, with his right hand.

**NOTE:**

**First of all I want to thank all those who reviewed my first chapter, namely _Andraya_, _Winged Seraph_ and _Lamby_. Thank you so much!**

**I hope you liked this one as well.**

**Now I want to ask anyone who reads this to review and tell me what you think of it. **

**Also, I would like to hear your opinions. Who do you think killed Wong and for what purpose? **


	4. The rebirth

**( III )**

Clouds of pure white drifted in front of the small, round window, like gracious swans on a serene, blue lake, in a blissful spring morning. Next to the window, a woman sat in a soft, cream-coloured, leather sit. In front of her, on a small, light-brown mahogany table, bolted to the floor, a single, traditional, Japanese, clay bowl, containing an exquisite assortment of tea stood among many scattered papers, two old books and a journal.

For Ryanne, sitting aboard a luxurious, personal aircraft could have never been more unpleasant. With steady hands and calm gestures, though deeply tormented inside, she reached for the large envelope she had snatched from Wong's hands, along with his last breath. She opened it, took out the papers inside, and for a few moments, she simply stared at them, thinking it unbelievable how her search had finally come to and end. After almost twenty years, she had at last in her possession all the necessary information to locate and eliminate her father's murderer, Ra's al Ghul.

As her thoughts unwillingly drifted to the father she never knew, her hands abandoned the pieces of printed paper to grab a more deteriorated piece, with a blurred handwriting. It was a letter she had from her father, probably the only thing she could truly consider valuable. Amusing as it may seem, this mere piece of paper was the cause of her quest for revenge. She had no need to read it again, for she now knew its content by heart.

"_My darling daughter,_

_ If you are reading this letter, I am no longer with you and I miss you and love you, always and forever. It also means I have failed and must place an awful burden on your shoulders. By now you must have discovered the truth about your origins, who your real parents were, myself and Mara, your mother. You are probably confused and wondering why I abandoned you, but the truth is I did it precisely to save you. _

_You see, in my youth, driven by a taste for adventure and a desire to prove myself, which I now deeply regret, I associated myself with a powerful and dangerous man by the name of Ra's al Ghul, who headed an organization known as The League of Shadows. Absorbed by his ideal goal of bringing order in the world, I stood by his side for many years, until I began to question his motifs and the violent means through which he claimed to restore peace and harmony. When your mother became pregnant, it was discovered that she suffered from an illness that might have had dire consequences on the child she was carrying, you, my dear Ryanne. _

_ Desperate as I was to save my child and my wife, I stole something from al Ghul, a miraculous cure of sorts. After that I broke any contact with him, but I knew he would come for me, to punish me for what I had done. You were born a strong child and in excellent health, but regrettably, your mother could not be saved. To protect you from al Ghul's wrath, I entrusted you to a middle aged couple with no children of their own, whom I had known for years. Promising to take care of you until I would consider it safe to bring you home, they took you with them to Yugoslavia, where I hope you have enjoyed a peaceful life._

_Now I sit at my desk, writing this letter to you, should the cruel fate make it so that we shall never meet. They are coming for me, I know it and I am powerless, but I have faith. Ryanne, the burden I spoke off was that of you having to bare the consequences of my actions. If I will not be there to protect you, be vigilant at all times, and no matter where you go. They are everywhere, and if they discover you alive, they will hunt you down until he will have his complete revenge._

_I bid you farewell now, my dear daughter, praying that fate will be kind and grant me the immense joy of seeing you at least one more time._

_Lord Edward Barrington"_

Not surprisingly, fate did not grant Lord Barrington the pleasure of seeing his daughter one last time, nor did it grant Ryanne the chance to lead a normal, peaceful life. Shortly after her foster parents brought her to their home in Yugoslavia, she was kidnapped by the Lin Kuei warriors entrusted to acquire newly-born children, who were to be enrolled in their special program.

Sixteen years later, there was a knock on Mrs. Vlatko's door, announcing a most unexpected visit. The old woman slowly made her way to the door and asked on a soft, trembling voice that betrayed her age:

"Yes? Who is it?"

"Ryanne," came a brief answer.

Moments afterwards, the door slowly opened with a screech, and the old woman's wrinkled face popped out to meet the scarred, but otherwise smooth visage of a rebellious looking teenage girl. Her appearance, as perceived by the old woman, was rather boyish and inappropriate, with her short, messy hair, her ripped jeans, black t-shirt and leather jacket, although the girl had, nevertheless, distinguished feminine features.

What frightened the old woman was the girl's cold stare, the lack of any emotions whatsoever. Without exaggeration, the first thought that crossed her mind when she laid eyes on the girl, was that she would attack and kill her on the spot, such was the fury that tangled like a wild flame in the girl's eyes. The woman had no time to react, but fortunately for her, the girl had other intentions. She bowed her head before the woman and handed her a folder.

"I have gained possession of evidence attesting that this is the Vlatko residence."

"Yes, this is the Vlatko residence," the confused old woman answered while receiving the folder. "Who are you looking for?"

"I wish to meet with Mr. and Mrs. Vlatko. The files here present also attest that they are my parents," the girl standing in a very stiff position, with her hands behind her back, answered each question coldly and mechanically.

"Sweet child," spoke the old woman moments later, with a sobbing voice, as tears began to run down her cheeks. "What has become of you?" the woman reached out to caress the girl's cheek with her palm, a gesture which the girl found strange and confusing, but since it did not pose a threat, she permitted the woman her emotional outburst.

The woman soon invited the girl inside and for ten minutes they just sat in silence, Mrs. Vlatko on the armchair and Ryanne on the sofa.

"Can I get you anything, dear?" Mrs. Vlatko decided at long last to break the silence, seeing how Ryanne was looking around very perplexed.

Ryanne suddenly turned to look at her, which startled the feeble woman. This was most uncommon, for Ryanne had never before experienced the pleasure of having something she desired. In fact, she had not been taught to have a will of her own. She only knew to accept without questioning whatever was given to her. After much mental deliberation, in which time she appealed to the few knowledge she had of the common world, she gave a quick response, on the same mechanical tone.

"Water."

"Just water? Wouldn't you like something worm? Tea, perhaps or ……"

"Just water …… please," she repeated, the intonation she used for uttering the last word inclining towards a question, as if she was not certain that was the appropriate thing to say.

"Where have you been, child?" the woman asked gently, after returning from the kitchen with a glass of water which she laid on the coffee table, in front of Ryanne. For a few moments she waited, looking into Ryanne's eyes who glanced back at her, and when she had finally abandoned all hopes of revealing the mystery, the girl started talking. Slowly, but accurately, Ryanne acquainted her mother with the story of her life, as it were, telling her not only what she knew from her own past experiences, but also what she had been told or what she had discovered. In turn, Mrs. Vlatko told her about the night she had returned at home to find her husband lying dead in a pool of blood, and the baby girl nowhere to be found.

"Tell me about the common world," Ryanne concluded. "I want to learn to be a common person. How do you perceive the notion of family and that of feelings?"

Old Mrs. Vlatko was left speechless by such a question. These were things one could understand only by experiencing them, things that could not be put into words. Nevertheless she tried, but even after three hours she still felt that Ryanne had not understood much of what she had said. Casting a glance to her wrist-watch, Ryanne suddenly sprung to her feet.

"I must go now."

"No, Ryanne. Stay here, where you are safe," the woman pleaded, grabbing the girl's wrist.

"If they find me here, they will kill us both."

"Who?"

"The Lin Kuei. I have betrayed them, and the punishment for betrayal is death."

"Dear Lord, but you are only a child," the woman burst into tears, embracing the girl and holding her tight in her arms. Although she found it odd, Ryanne imitated the woman's gestures and embraced her as well.

"I will return and we will leave this place."

"Leave? And go where?"

"Somewhere safe. They will find me here."

Being brief as always, once she had said all that she had to say, Ryanne left her foster mother's embrace and headed towards the door. Turning to look one more time at the woman who had remained motionless, Ryanne opened the front door and left without saying a word. When Mrs. Vlatko quickly went outside to watch her leave, Ryanne was nowhere to be seen.

Later that night, Ryanne returned, feeling inside what the common people would describe as joy. But she only perceived it as an inner tranquillity, an easiness of the soul. When she began to approach the house, her inner state suddenly changed. She walked to the door and just as she was on the verge of knocking, she stopped. Although everything appeared to be in order, it did not seem so, and Ryanne had always relied on her senses and her intuition, without ever being wrong.

Slowly backing away from the door, she sneaked around the house, making her way to the back yard, where shadows danced in the dark, deadly shadows that would kill her if she did not move with grace and agility in the utmost silence. Walking in a crouched position and constantly making sure that the darkness of the night concealed her presence, she managed to climb up a tree, in front of which stood a man clad in black, his eyes being the only visible part of his body.

Ryanne climbed onto a branch that was closer to her target, wrapped her legs around it and let her body fall downwards. A she stood hanging upside down, just above the sentinel, she took out a metal cord, holding each end in one hand. In a fraction of a second she lowered it around the man's neck, twisted it and then removed it, allowing the man's lifeless body to fall to the ground. She unwrapped her legs, performed a back flip in the air, and landed on her feet with no great effort.

Silently approaching another sentinel, she sprung forward, whipping the left wrist into the man's trachea to prevent outcry, by impeding the pumping of the stream of air in and out of the lungs. Simultaneously she drove a pocket knife that she was carrying, into the man's kidney horizontally. Once the blade had pierced the full length of the kidney, she withdrew the knife and set the body on the ground.

Moving around the corner, she spotted another guard standing not too far away, with his back turned to her. Grabbing a small rock from the grass, she threw it in some bushes, right of where the man was staying, but not too close to him. This was to break the silence of the night and distract his attention from hearing the swishing sound made through the air by the knife that she threw in his direction.

Retrieving the knife impaled into the dead man's neck, she approached a wooden grating for climbing roses, fixed on one wall of the house and used it to climb up to the second floor, where she entered through an open window. The house was sunk into a bizarre tranquillity, and considering the guards she had just killed, only the worse could be expected. Exiting the room she had crept into, Ryanne tip-toed her way along the narrow corridor and down the staircase, descending into the main hall, from where she saw Mrs. Vlatko lying on the floor.

Probably for the first time in her life she acted without first planning carefully her every move. Seeing the woman she thought to be her mother in such a state, triggered inside of her unknown emotions. Her desperation made her deaf and blind. The only thing she knew was that she could not lose her mother, and the only chance she had to live a normal life. She rushed towards the woman, totally forgetting about being silent, and dropped on her knees next to her.

"Mother?" she asked on her usual plain tone and with no facial expressions that could denote her interior struggle.

The woman, though in great pain, opened her eyes and turned her head to look at the girl, her face lit by happiness and at the same time deepened into sorrow.

"I don't want to lose you," Ryanne uttered a phrase whose connotations she had yet to understand, but which she had heard to be appropriate in situations alike.

"You will not lose anything, child. Ryanne ……," she whispered with a dying voice, clutching the girl's arm with the last strength she had left in her body "I am not your mother."

Those were the final words with which Ryanne's step mother descended into death, leaving behind a disorientated and devastated child. Starring into the still opened eyes of the dead woman that seemed to hypnotise her, Ryanne was pulled out of the trance she had fallen into only by the sound of footsteps on the wooden floor.

Before the man could get too close to her, she sprung around rapidly and pulled the rug from under his feet. As he lay down, she sprung to the fireplace, grabbed a poker and drove it through the man's foot, causing him to shriek in pain. Afterwards she threw herself upon him and, while pressing his chest with her left hand to prevent him from moving, she started punching him with her right one. Once she had rendered him unconscious she removed the poker from the man's foot and impaled it into his heart.

Another man approached her, and though he believed he had not given away his presence, Ryanne heard him. She did not shift from her previous position, as not to alert the man, and attempted to concentrate and be as agile as before. Conceiving a plan of attack in her mind, she finally turned to confront the man, thinking she would take him by surprise. But it was the man who took her by surprise …… for he had a gun.

Three loud shots boomed out and her body suddenly fell numb. She could feel pain more intense than she had ever experienced. Her legs could not sustain any longer the weight of her body, so she collapsed. The man holding the riffle walked towards where she lay and although she could only see his eyes, she could tell that he was smirking. Pulling out a smaller pistol, he aimed it at her and fired a bulled straight through her skull.

In the few moments of consciousness she had left, an unknown sensation took control of her being. It was as if a flux of intense energy was running through her body, much more intense than in the case when one electrocutes oneself. When the body is injured, it naturally proceeds to heel itself, appealing to every resource it has at its disposal. If the injury is too great, the healing process fails, no matter the number of resources. In Ryanne's case, something extraordinary happened. In its frantic search to find a cure, her body discovered hidden resource of immense potential, which had laid inert up until then, for her body had never undergone such great damages.

Waking up from her slumber, Ryanne found herself in an abandoned warehouse. Next to her was the old man who had helped her escape and had promised to take her see her parents.

"It's all right. You're safe now," he spoke to her with a slight Texan accent.

"What happened?" she muttered, with a sleepy voice.

"Damn bastards set the house on fire. I barely got you out. Say, what happened to your

t-shirt? Has three holes in it and it's stained with blood, but you got no marks on you."

The puzzled girl starred back at him in disbelief and then looked at her t-shirt. The man was right. She lifted it up and …… nothing. Not even a scar.

"I don't understand. They shot me."

"Well, it don't matter. Important thing's you're safe. Now try to get some rest."

"I must go to the house," Ryanne sprung to her feet.

"What for? It all burned down."

"She said she was not my mother. Perhaps I could find some information of my true mother."

"I don't think there's much you could find there," the man replied, but before he could finish, Ryanne was already out the door.

Mrs. Vlatko's house being in a more secluded region of the small town she dwelled in, the fire brigade or other local authorities had not yet arrived at the site when Ryanne got there. Nothing except a great pile of rubble and ash was left. For almost two hours, Ryanne searched aimlessly among the debris. It was most absurd. Should someone have asked her what she was looking for, she would have sincerely responded: "I don't know".

Nonetheless, she was not without luck, for just as she was about to leave, her eye caught sight of something shining beneath the grey ash. She went to investigate and discovered a metal case. Taking out her pocket knife she attempted to open the sealed case, managing to cut her palm in the process. It was not too big a wound but still she had to find something to bandage it with. Ripping a part of her t-shirt, she proceeded to wrap it around her palm, but as she wiped the blood away she noticed with utmost stupefaction that there was no wound. It was unbelievable. For the second time, injuries that she knew she has acquired had simply vanished.

The only thing that was able to draw her attention from this mystery was the content of the now opened case. Inside it, Ryanne found her birth certificate that attested clearly who her real parents were: Mara and Edward Barrington. There was also a black and white photograph of a man and a woman, and according to the writing on the back, the two were Ryanne's parents. A second, larger photograph showed a grand mansion, looking more like a castle. The writing on the back said that the mansion was the Barrington residence, in England. A full address was also written down. The case also contained a set of keys and an envelope inside of which was a folded piece of paper that read: _"My darling daughter ……"_.

Upon her return, Ryanne showed the old man what she had discovered and once again, he offered to accompany her. The next morning, everything was prepared for their departure. Ryanne sat in the front sit of the car, with the metal box on her lap. At one point, she found herself starring back at her own image in the rear-view mirror. Thinking back at the wounds that had unexplainably vanished from her body, she decided to try something. She took out her knife, and since pain was most usual to her, she made a cut on her chick, precisely on one of her scars. What followed made Ryanne gasp in surprise. Hardly had she made the cut, when the opened wound began to close before her eyes and in a few moments it was as if there had never been a deep wound there; even the old scar was gone.

"Okay! Ready to go?" the old man asked as he climbed into the driver's sit. "You look different. How did you hide your scars?" he asked all of a sudden, noticing a major change in Ryanne's appearance.

"I cut them," she answered, serious as always.

Knowing the girl to be weird, the man did not pursue the subject any longer, and quietly drove off.

In England, finding the Barrington residence was not easy, nor was getting inside, but the keys that her father had left for her in the metal case were of great use. The mansion, though in good conditions, seemed to be abandoned. The gardens surrounding the house had not been tended for a long time and weeds had spread everywhere, whereas inside, most of the furniture was dusty and covered by white sheets.

The old man had not accompanied Ryanne to the mansion, but found a safe place to hide in a suburbia of London. After what she had read in the letter from her father, Ryanne wanted to make sure she did not lose the only person she could trust. Making her way across the dark halls of the mansion, Ryanne took notice of a second presence. There was an old man, dressed in a shabby, long, overcoat walking about with a flashlight, just like a watchman that wants to make sure everything is in order.

A knife flying through the air, passing before the man's eyes, impaled itself into the wooden wall. Of fright, the man dropped the lantern, which was picked up by the one who had thrown the knife.

"What are you doing in my house?" Ryanne questioned harshly, casting the flashlight in his direction; the old man was beyond surprised.

"This is not your house. Who are you?" the man found the courage to speak.

"I am Ryanne Barrington, daughter of Lord and Lady Barrington and this house is rightfully mine."

"Can you prove that you are who you claim to be?" the bewildered man asked just to make sure, though he knew there was no one who knew the name of Lord and Lady Barrington's only child, and the girl had to be telling the truth.

As a response, Ryanne threw the metal box at his feet. Inside, the man found all the evidence he needed to convince himself that the girl was telling the truth.

"Who are you?" Ryanne questioned him while approaching with rapid steps, frightening the man whose heart had barely settled.

"My name is Peter Tompkins. I have been under the service of the Barrington's for more than fifty years. I was a gardener. Now, ever since the …… incident, I have been coming here from time to time, to make sure everything is in order."

"What incident?"

"Lord Barrington, he ……," Mr. Tompkins found it difficult to speak of such matters to the girl.

"He was murdered," she stated coldly.

"Yes," the man bowed down his head, remembering the sad event.

It was in that moment that Ryanne made the silent vow to avenge her father's murder by any means necessary. The time she spent living in her father's house helped her acquaint herself with the common life, as she called it, as well as with the refined habits of the upper-class, to which she belonged, just as her parents before her. Mr. Tompkins and a nephew of his of about thirty years of age, who became butler for the new mistress of the Barrington residence, were Ryanne's mentors. Unfortunately, old habits are very difficult, if not impossible to change, and due to her upbringing, no matter how hard they tried, they could not manage to transform Ryanne into a true Lady.

Realising she could not put her plan into action by leading such a tedious lifestyle, she decided to journey to the far east, where she hoped to perfect her skills, strengthen her body, enrich her knowledge and clear her mind, in order to better understand the world in which she had took refuge and to succeed in her plan of revenge. Indeed, in her journeys she had learned many things and her life had changed greatly, but one thing still tormented her. She had made her life's goal to find Ra's al Ghul and now, as her personal aircraft was taking her to where her greatest enemy dwelled, she was struck with fear. If she succeeded in killing him, she would also destroy her very purpose in life. What was to become of her afterwards?


	5. Our lost friend

**( IV )**

Ryanne's personal aircraft landed on an isolated track near a small town in the Himalayans. Looking out of the window she glanced in the distance at the snowy mountain peaks. She knew that on one of those peaks, hidden from sight, where few have traveled, lay the hideout of her greatest foe.

Moments later, Ryanne emerged from the aircraft dressed in a long, snow white winter-coat with a hood, her nose and mouth also covered by a thick scarf. Every item of clothing she wore was white, including her boots and the backpack in which she had put enough food and water to help her survive the journey through the mountains. Her weapons, two sais, several shurikens –ninja throwing stars-, her samurai sword and two Beretta 9 mm semi-automatic pistols were hidden under her long coat.

The mountain wind was calm and refreshing where they stood, but Ryanne knew very well what strong blizzards she would have to face high in the mountains. After she had told the pilot to return and not wait for her, without another look back or any second thought, she sat out on her mission. There was no turning back now. She would do what she had set out to do and deal with the consequences later.

At the end on an almost five day's journey, Ryanne got to her destination only to see that she had once again reached a dead end in her quest for vengeance. The monastery serving as a training facility for Ra's al Ghul's secret organization appeared abandoned and almost entirely destroyed in a fire. Nevertheless, Ryanne was determined to at least look around the ruins in search of some clues. As she approached, climbing up on a rocky and more abrupt side of the mountain and then crawling through a narrow tunnel, she eventually found herself in some sort of basement, where the massive wooden pillars that had been long fixed into the rock still stood strong supporting the base foundation of the construction.

Sneaking along the pillars, always hidden in the shadows, Ryanne spotted one guard dressed in a black ninja outfit and wearing protective black armor. She was quite puzzled upon seeing this man, for his uniform was identical to that worn by the warriors with whom she and the other young Lin Kuei trainees had to fight in order to prove their skills. This had happened twenty years before, the same day that she had escaped from the compound.

Coming up to him from behind she rapidly put her hands around his neck and broke it with one rapid movement. Any of her weapons could have been used for the kill but she wanted to avoid tearing apart or staining with blood the outfit which she then removed from the man's body and put on herself. She hid the man's body and her white camouflage clothing under a pile of ruble and then, clad in black but carrying her own weapons instead those of the guard Ryanne climbed up one of the pillars and got inside the main floor of the compound through a large crack in the floor.

The view above was desolating, the wind blowing sparkling flakes of snow through the cracks in some of the walls that survived the fire. The main supporting pillars were partially damaged by the fire and still sustained the construction. Some staircases leading to the upper floors could still be used, though there were some portions where great holes in the floor of the stories and the roof gave a clear view of the sky all the way from the basement.

To her delight, Ryanne saw that there were many men walking about, working to rebuild the monastery. Maybe Ra's al Ghul was there as well and her journey hadn't been for nothing. She made her way upstairs and despite the fact that she was now dressed like all the other men walking about, she still preferred to go around rather than straight forward, always keeping close to the wall and to the protective shadows. The only weapon she carried was her sword, having left the sais and the pistols with her clothes, not wanting to draw any attention to herself by carrying even the slightest item that would differentiate her from the others.

Two guards walked passed her as she moved confidently, just like the others, along a balcony that was still intact. Nothing about her made them even consider the possibility that she was not one of them, so they went passed her without saying a word or casting a glance in her direction. The men were talking in a peculiar language she was not familiar with. Taking into consideration their geographical position her first instinct was to assume it was of Chinese origin, but she spoke some of the dialects and that did not resemble anything she had heard before.

Then the men suddenly stopped to supervise the labor of the other men below and to Ryanne's surprise, one of them spoke in English.

"Only that Ra's al Ghul is dead," one of the men unexpectedly responded in English to his comrade's previous statement.

It was like she had been magically turned to stone. The man's words ripped through her like a knife and she stood still for some minutes before she could move again. The strong message that the words carried prevented her from perceiving the ironical, amused tone on which the man had spoken, for the member of the League of Shadows undoubtedly knew better. Ryanne turned and saw the two men looking down at other men, not working but taking out a burnt body from under a pile of debris. Having failed to notice the man's ironical tone, she was now certain that the dead man below was none other than Ra's al Ghul.

Half an hour later Ryanne was climbing up an abrupt cliff, having successfully left the compound as quietly as she had infiltrated it. Dressed once again in her white outfit and carrying all of her weapons, she slowly climbed with the help of customary mountain climbing gear, her mind and soul blank, incapable of producing a single thought, a single emotion. She pulled herself higher and higher to the peek, advancing aimlessly into an unknown direction. Only the vibration of her cell-phone attached to her belt made her snap out of her state.

"What do you want McCabe?" she answers coldly as always, seeing the name of the caller on the screen.

On account of the relationship between them, it would not be completely inappropriate to associate McCabe's profession with that of an agent. Paul McCabe was the link between Ryanne and her employers, the one who would tell her who she had to kill, when and where, also providing her with the necessary information and equipment and receiving for this a fair share of the overall price.

"I have another assignment for you and …… well, I missed you," he added his usual joyful remarks meant to have an entertaining effect.

Ryanne never did find anything entertaining in his remarks and without even an ironical smile, she ignored it as always.

"The assignment will have to wait. I am in the heart of the Himalayas, it will take me days to get back to civilization."

With a final pull she reached the ledge of the cliff and pulled herself up. A pair of dark boots was the first thing she saw and as she raised her eyes to acknowledge the person standing there she was taken aback to see McCabe, smirking down at her with his cell-phone to his ear.

"I know. That's why I couldn't wait. So how was it? Did you do it? Is it finally over, the great revenge scheme?" he gesticulated pathetically while questioning her with both curiosity and excitement on the outcome of her mission.

"What is the assignment?" she asked plainly as she passed him, paying no attention to his questions. She made her way through the snow towards a cleared, small path in the distance, tracing back McCabe's earlier footprints.

"What?" he replied confused.

"The urgent assignment you mentioned, the one that made you follow me here. What is it?" McCabe's beating about the bush drew from her an irritated reply.

"Ah … there's no assignment. I lied, I was dying to know how this ended up, so I called in on a favor from an old acquaintance of mine, and here I am."

She stopped where she was and slowly turned her eyes at him, her expression being one of surprise and fury.

"Well?" he asked anxiously when she had starred too long at him without producing an answer.

"He was dead."

"Oh, wow! Very good! There really isn't anyone out there you can't best, is …… Wait! What do you mean 'was'?"

"He was dead when I got there," she replied without looking back as she walked further away towards the path.

"You know who did it?"

"I was unable to retrieve that piece of information."

"I see … So now what? Go home, get back to the old business?"

"I cannot leave this place yet."

"Why?" She only stopped for a moment and turn to stare into his gleeful eyes with her cold piercing ones. He knew that look very well and understood she did not want to be questioned. "Never mind …… but, just so you know, I'll be staying with you."

"Now you won't."

"Yes I will … since I don't actually have a means to get back. On the other hand I did get us a place to stay for a few days."

"I doubt that. People here are very skeptical and reserved towards outsiders."

"Not necessarily. It is only a matter of making the right offer at the right time."

"What are you saying?" they had almost reached the cleared path when Ryanne turned to Paul once more.

"Ryanne, I don't think you've met Nawang. He has been kind enough to show me around these parts," he remarked sarcastically as his arm raised to point towards a native teenage boy who started back at them rather confused.

After shooting a death glance at Paul, Ryanne turned to the boy and greeted him on his own native tongue. This seemed to greatly please the boy who quickly responded giving out a rather long greeting, or so thought Paul who was standing aside, looking bewildered, understanding nothing of the words the boy spoke. Ryanne however understood him perfectly and once the boy started walking, leading them back to the village, she demanded an explanation from Paul.

"The boy told me our friend has not wakened yet but he will be most pleased to see that we have returned for him."

By the tone of her voice and the way she was looking at him, Paul knew that her statement had actually been a question and she was expecting an explanation.

"Yes, well, that's the thing I was telling you about," he began hesitantly, unsure of what her reaction would be. "When I arrived at the village I found out that they were treating an injured man, a foreigner, probably some explorer who lost his way in the mountains. I told them he was a friend of ours whom we've been searching for some time. It was the only way to get them to help me go look for you."

"But you do not know this man."

"Never seen him in my life."


End file.

Batman Begins/Dark Knight, Adventure, Drama