Proverbs 4:23 "With all watchfulness, keep thy heart, because life issueth out from it."

It had taken him a while to notice it, the difference between himself and the other Talons. One specifically, was his eye color. The fact that the two were different -blue and gold - unnerved some of his fellow Talons. His Master had told him once that his eyes were just a failure in his conversion that would change as he grew older. That the blue would eventually fade into a powerful yellow. It was one of the only explanations the Court had ever given him. At first, he thought it was out of pity, but as he grew older, -and his eye never changed- he realized it was some sort of sadistic game the Owls liked to play.

But as Talon grew, despite the words of his Master, some things never really fell in line. His eyes, one always remained blue. He liked to think that the blue was his old self fighting back. Dick Grayson, from somewhere deep inside his broken mind, trying to break free. He liked to believe. But, his eye wasn't always a clear cerulean, sometimes when he was stressed or in too much pain, it's hue would flourish with bright gold colors. Brighter than his other eye ever was on a regular basis. Shimmering like the stars his Mother used to show him at night. But Talon's eyes weren't what made him different. Just unique.

It definitely wasn't the lucidity that crept along the edges of his brain, pushing away dark shadows. The alertness to the objects and sensations around him. Talons as a whole tended to move sluggishly as if they were trapped in a fog -when not on a mission,- but it was the zombie-like deliberateness that Talon himself lacked. If the enemy knew what to look for, they'd be able to spot the bird's sleeping brain. The dead brain. It's what gave people like Deathstroke and Joker an advantage over Talons. Something changed the way their brains functioned during the conversion. It always took them longer to process and react to information, although in battle it never seemed like that. It had been forcefully trained out of them. Their bodies moved surprisingly fast. Instinct, you could say. A downfall of the reanimation process, his Master had said, the desecration of the brain. It was the one fault that made up the perfect weapon. But, Dick was different.

However, a Talon's movements were never of their own accord, no matter how sporadic they seemed. Always controlled, always directed. The Talons never acted unless ordered to do so. Free will was nonexistent. If an enemy was ever lucky enough to catch a Talon, torturing it for information was useless. The pain was something Talons had learned to expect, so much so, that it was part of their daily lives. Torture was counterproductive when they were only ever given a name and face, hidden away inside a folder. Never were they given the reason, and they weren't "awake" enough to ask. The Owls made sure of that. If you wanted anything useful, you'd have to find members of the Court, and that was next to impossible.

But Dick's free will was still there, hidden deep inside his bones, away from prying eyes. He could still -mostly- think for himself. Movement was something he had a hard time making his own, though. He'd fall back into the patterns of obedience when in front of higher members. No matter how much he'd like to spit at the masks and claw their eyes out, scream at the way they'd ruined his body, it was like a cat had caught his tongue. Like a puppet in a show that had no control over anything. He hated it. So, he fought to control his own body, winning the battles every now and again. The punishment was always worth the risk, in his fragile opinion.

The Court had taught him how to dance, they'd taught him how to fight, but they hadn't taught him to fly. That's what made him better, far more dangerous than the other Talons. More options were presented when fighting. Flips, handsprings, rolls. He always managed to keep an element of surprise, making him one of the only Talons that had never been caught, and the most known. Dick fought his way to the top. Not to make his Master proud, but to survive. He became feral and cruel, and over time, most of his kills brought him a sick form of pleasure. Something he'd come to despise deep inside, an old shell of emotion from someone locked away long ago. Someone that still fought to be free.

There was something before the Court, he remembered. Dick knew it was there, in his head, just like his name had been. He just didn't know how to find it. No Talon knew how to find it. It had been erased during the first procedure. But Dick was different. He was aware. His memory wasn't the thing that made him stand out. The blurry little thing he sometimes managed to find on good days -not that he had many of those. Muddled and gray, like a window on a rainy day. It was repressed.

No Talon was allowed to remember. Memories and the emotions tied with them only got in the way of the mission. It was not theirs to keep, so the Court took it away. But Dick's was a stubborn, persistent little thing, refusing to be erased.

He could still remember the smell of salted peanuts and buttered popcorn so well, that he could almost taste it on his tongue. The loud music and roaring animals as they chimed the bells around their collars together. He could hear the laughter of thousands as they took to their seats, voices filled with awe and wonder. Children's pointing fingers tugging on the shirts of their parents, trying to show them everything as they watched, wonderstruck. No matter how faint, he could still feel the joy that rang throughout the tents. But it was all covered in a white, hazy fog. The sounds blended together, creating a headache filled with bursting noise he wanted to forget. The pain would travel from the back of his head before settling right behind his eyes. Throbbing there for hours, taunting him with things he could barely reach. Some Talons had said his memory was a blessing, Dick disagreed. If you could read his mind, you would be in tears.

It was a curse. The climax of their flight, the emptiness and suspense held within the crowd, not one person daring to make a sound, for fear of disturbing their flight. He remembered clearly one instance in which his parents said it would ruin the moment. The sounds of the crowd. You always wanted them to be stunned into silence, holding their breath in anticipation. In amazement at how a simple human could do things like that. But that perfect moment they cherished so much left nothing but the snapping of a rope echoing throughout the tent. What a coincidence, Dick thought. Loving something so much only to be lied to, let down and discarded by that moment they held so dearly.

It was quiet for a few minutes after he remembered, no one quite believed their eyes. Time seemed to freeze at that moment. The image burned into his brain like an old photograph. Everyone had turned and thrust their arms out to him, eyes wide and pleading. The soft brush of his fingers against hers. His name, a breathless whisper on her lips. A reassuring smile painted painfully across her cheeks. Frozen

The flow of time is always cruel. It constantly moved forward, stopping for nobody and picking no favorites. Down they went, fast and hard. Down they went, bones grinding and shifting. Morphing into unnatural positions, even for them. The blood that sprayed across the ground as their organs popped and ruptured. The metallic scent that overwhelmed the area, leaking bile into the backs of many throats. The smell of death. He remembered it all. Down, down they went. His parents.

But it was still silent. The moment they cherished so much was still there but in a dark and twisted way. Nobody moved, except him. Bobbing and weaving between the shocked members of the crowd. Pushing and shoving, fighting with the arms that dared to grab him until he stood at the foot of the ring. Fresh, warmblood leaking into his softly padded shoes. His Mother had made them.

He remembered the screams. Loud and piercing. Horrified shrieks from children feeding off their parent's anguish as they realized what had happened. They hurt his ears, but everything was numb and shaky. His word was distorted, black fading in around the edges of his vision, threatening to take over. The blood was leaking too fast, he noted.

But the screams soon became a minor distraction compared to the real cries.

His own heart-wrenching sobs.

At first, he wasn't even sure if it had been him screaming. His voice had never sounded like that before. Guttural and raw, filled with hopeless emotion. His vocal cords were tearing but he couldn't stop himself. His ears were ringing, but their blood was still leaking. Leaking all over the ground, seeping into his clothes, his hands, his face. But it hadn't been him screaming. Everything had gotten so quiet, or maybe he'd been so loud.

But their blood was still leaking. Why wasn't anyone doing anything?

Their blood was still leaking!

Out of all the things his brain could have remembered, it was the death of his family. And so, Talon decided long ago that his memory was a curse.

But it wasn't what made him different.

Everyone was bound to remember something. Something that scarred them -traumatized them- deep in the past. Just like him. He was no different from everyone else. It was a fact. How else would someone be picked to be a Talon? There had to have been an opportunity.

But out of all these oddities between himself and the others, the only one that was real, the only one that mattered, was his heart.

His heart was what made him different. His mother used to tell him he could find love in empty hearts. That he could find trust in even the coldest of hearts. That was before her's poured all over the ground.

His heart was something special, and it had finally been broken.

=====

The air was cold -sharp and biting- but his skin was already so numb and without feeling that he barely noticed it as he flung across the rooftops. His skin was like the rest of him -numb without feeling- as he fell into the emotionless, protected shell he crafted so long ago. There was a mission to complete, but the exact purpose of said mission had seemingly left Talon as quickly as Jason had.

Talon was in Gotham now, running a cheap protection mission for the Light. It was a test to see his skills, he assumed. It might have offended him that they even thought they needed to test him, but at least it took his mind off Jason -and Deathstroke. If the man really knew as much about Talons as he'd claimed, then Slade would still most likely be after him. He'd need a plan, but that could be made once Slade made himself known.

Everything Dick -Richard- had worked for -accomplished- since leaving the Court, had been ruined. All the progress he'd made as Nighting, his new relationships with the League, however strained, and his friends -all of it was gone. It wouldn't be long before the rumor of what he is spread like wildfire. People loved to gossip, especially superheroes. What would the League do? Lock him in a cell and throw away the key? See how long it took for him to really die? They'd probably tie him down with weights and throw him in the ocean to drown repeatedly as his Grandfather had. Talon would bet money that they wouldn't even give him a chance to defend his actions.

The second Batman found out that he was the Talon that tried to kill him, he'd be done for. That's why Talon had to destroy the Light. He had to prove to Batman that he could be good. He could be Nightwing again after all this was over. He needed to be reformed, not thrown in jail. He had to prove this to Batman -and Jason.

Talon's first real friend had been driven away, and he was alone again. Jason found out Dick was a monster and left. Right when Slade ripped the blade across his throat. When Dick died and Talon came back, Jason left. Nobody ever wanted Talon, not even his Master wanted to keep him. Not after his failure. Jason left Dick alone and fighting a losing battle. Fighting with himself.

But Jason didn't know Talon could come back, he'd never told him. Dick never wanted to be pitied or looked at like a wounded animal. Rejected. He only wanted to heal, but it was too late. He couldn't go back now, not while he was like this. A monster, switching in between Dick and Talon like someone who just couldn't pick an aesthetic.

Did Jason even want him to come back? He'd left Dick alone in the warehouse, lying on the bed covered in a white sheet. Maybe he was so upset and went out to get fresh air and came back to find Dick's body gone. But why would he be upset over Dick's death, it wasn't like he was anyone special.

Dick was dead, Nightwing was tainted, and his best friend was gone. So, he went out like any good Talon would, and got himself a mission.

Kill the Light, as he had promised Batman, and Kill the Court, as Talon had promised himself.

======

"There must be some misunderstanding, there must be some kind of mistake. I waited in the rain for hours, and you were late." -Genesis, Misunderstanding

One week. It had been one week since Slade killed Wing. One week since Jason lost his only friend and decided to kill his old mentor. "It must be put down.!"

One long week and Nightwing's body was still missing. Blue blood rushed around his fingers, mocking his weak attempt to keep it at bay.

He needed to find Batman and ask him what the fuck a Court of Owls was supposed to be, and what the hell a Talon was. That's what Deathstroke had been calling Wing before he killed him. Maybe it was the reason why he bled blue and never talked. Jason just wanted to understand why his friend had been so scared of it. Why tears damn near fell from his strange eyes when Jason saw them.

Why Wing didn't trust him enough to tell him. "His eerie yellow eyes, now filling with tears."

But Jason had no idea who took Wing's body. He sipped on the lukewarm coffee he'd bought an hour ago. His mind racing with grief and anger, distracting him so much that he'd all but forgotten about the coffee. But he paid for it, so he was damn well going to drink it, old or not.

He was in Gotham, doing his best detective work at tracking down the Bat. So far, he'd barely caught a glimpse of the man. Without the help of Slade, Jason couldn't just pop up in their little mountain base either. However, with the impatience that's been brewing inside of him for this last week, Jason was just going to blow something up.

Easier said than done.

He clicked away at the keyboard, continuing his search on 'bat-tracker.org.' Desperate times called for desperate measures he supposed. But so far, this ridiculous website was working. Why people wasted their lives on things like this was beyond him, but it was making his search go much faster.

The user 'I-am-the-night,' seemed to spot Batman on the top of Wayne Tower every night, the time-varying between midnight and one, depending on the crime level that night. It looked like the first part in Jason's new plan was falling into place.

Find the Bat.

There was just one problem, Red Hood couldn't just show up in Gotham uninvited without causing some kind of ruckus amongst other crime lords. He'd need a plan.

Step one was to blow something up. The rest of the steps he didn't know yet, but they would come to him in time. Jason was great at plans.

But not great at keeping friends.

Jason closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath, doing his absolute best to center himself. Cold, vacant eyes stared up at him, blaming him. Why? They cried. Why? He released his breath and sharply stood up, drawing the eyes of people around him. He'd been there too long. It was time to blow something up.

======

Timothy Jackson Drake was thirteen and a half when his mother was murdered. It happened in the evening, right after dinner, when his parents had decided to have a movie date. Just his mother, father, and a Talon that had been tied down and shackled.

Tim knew every detail. Had watched the security camera feed hundreds of times. Over and over. But what happened, his mother's murder and Talon's failure to save her never warranted the punishment his father wrought. Never.

But Tim had no say in his Father's actions. His Father had always been a bit cold, but with his Mother gone, things just escalated out of control. His Father snapped.

Tim tried everything he could to save that Talon. It had never asked to be like this. To turn into an assassin with nothing resembling a personality. It was just a cruel twist of fate. A bad hand. And Tim really tried to fix that.

He really did. But he couldn't control his Father.

======

Talon was shackled, bound by his hands and feet, restricting all movement and leaving his skin damaged and red. A rusted metal gag had been shoved into his mouth, preventing any rare noise from gracing his lips. Talon never spoke unless he was spoken to first, so the gag was a bit unnecessary. But, if it made his Master more comfortable, Talon would have to deal with it.

He'd been brought upstairs for the first time in years, but not much had changed. The carpet was still ugly and the plants were still dead. The young owlet Tim wasn't here, which brought forth a weird feeling inside of Talon, but he didn't dwell on it. He wasn't allowed to see the little owlet. His Master had been agitated and brutal lately, beating Talon even when he'd done nothing wrong. But his Master was always right, so Talon always found himself deserving.

Upstairs was nice, -no matter the terrible decor- far better than his meager cage and cold, dark basement. The soft carpet beneath him felt nice and Talon figured it would be a nice place to sleep. He'd like to try that someday. Sleep in a bed, or on a patch of fluffy carpet.

A hard fist suddenly cracked across his face, making a small split in his lip that bled slightly, but healed as quick as the wound had arrived. Talon never stayed injured for long, something he surprisingly found himself missing. It was a part of being human, which he regretfully wasn't any longer. He wasn't alive any longer.

"Pay attention pet, I can't have you missing something and getting us killed, you useless piece of shit," His Master spat, "The only purpose you have in your pathetic, meager life, is to do as I say," the man paused, grabbing a fistful of dirty, matted hair. Talon couldn't remember the last time he'd been allowed to bathe. "So, guard us." His Master threw Talons head to the side.

Talon made a muffled sound, which his Master took as agreement, the gag was still preventing him from words. But how could he protect if he was bound like this? How could he attack? Talon wasn't allowed to ask questions. He wasn't allowed to think like he already did. He wouldn't be able to protect his Master's family if Talon was always chained up.

"Good," His Master spoke after a second of consideration, turning to his wife, Tim's mother, "Are you ready to watch the movie, honey?"

Talon ignored their conversation, instead allowing his eyes to roam the room that surrounded them. The shadows felt different from the ones near his cage. These were cunning and hostile, and Talon would have loved an opportunity to speak with them, but the gag and his Master forbade that. The beckoning shadows would have to wait. Their secrets would come out eventually. They always did.

He sat there, unmoving, for a while as the movie played. Talon hadn't been expecting anything to happen. Who would want to harm his Master? He was such a high member in the Court, but still relatively unknown to newer members, that he was basically always in a protected little bubble. Like a porridge that was just right.

But it was the Court, apparently, that wanted to harm his Master. Talon watched as a milky white feather drifted to the floor and a pit of dread began to fill his empty stomach. Was the Court really after his Master or were they just here to punish him? His Master must've been complaining about a 'bad' Talon. A rotten egg.

But it was true, another Talon was here. Another Talon was in his Master's house and he was bound to the floor, unable to move or call out. How was this fair? Talon tried to wiggle or rattle his chains, attract the attention of his Master, but they were too tight. He couldn't do anything. Talon couldn't do the one thing he was trained to do. Protect the Drake's at all costs.

He could do nothing at all. But Talon watched. He watched with wide eyes as the new Talon crawled over to the open window, his suit draped in red ornaments glittering like a dancer's on stage. Red was the color of an old Talon, a skilled Talon. Someone Talon himself probably couldn' beat. It was the color of a predator. Talon himself still only wore silver ornaments, not having yet graduated fully as a Talon. But once he did, and his training was complete, he would wear gold, standing proud as the Gray Son Of Gotham.

The new Talon noticed him as he crawled in, holding a finger across his lips with a soft smile hidden behind it, demanding silence. But it was when the other Talon started to creep closer to the couch where his Master sat that Talon knew he had to do something. After all, his only purpose was to protect his Master.

Talon growled, low and deep. Threatening. The gag muffled it some, but it was still able to catch the attention of his Master. Who was immediately irritated.

"I thought I told you to be quiet," he spoke from his seat on the couch, "Don't make me repeat myself," He finished, turning the volume up on the T.V, but remaining comfortably on the couch with an arm around his wife. Exactly what Talon didn't want.

The elder Bird had frozen at the voice, staring directly at Talon. Seeming to be lost in thought. It crept forward after a moment, finally deciding what to do, and stopped in front of Talon, a wide, sadistic grin splayed on its face with golden eyes dancing in excitement.

Gasping like it had just heard the most shocking news, It leaned into Talon's ear, "Did somebody make Daddy angry?" It taunted quietly, "Uh-oh, I wonder what Grandmaster would think, one of his little Talons being so disobedient." It trailed off, bringing a finger to his lips in what was supposed to be a thoughtful gesture, "Is that why you're all tied up? So out of control that you are all but useless in protecting your master?" It chuckled, licking its lips hungrily.

Talon glared harshly at his elder, doing his best to not show any fear. But Talon was unsure of the other's plan. Talon wasn't disobedient, but Grandmaster would listen to the other Talon before himself, that he was sure of. He still wasn't the Gray Son of Gotham. Until then, he would be easily replaceable.

"Tsk, tsk, little birdie," The elder Talon started again, bringing up his hand to pinch Talon's chin, like a Mother would to a child, "You need to start paying attention to people when they talk to you," The Talon shook his head, "What a disappointment, here I was, looking forward to fighting someone regarded so," it paused, tilting its head to better look at Talon, "highly, only to find an abused, caged bird."

Letting loose a low growl, Talon shifted in his chains. Silently demanding to be cut free. Even if it was only to slaughter this Talon. At least he'd be able to stretch his limbs.

The other Talon, seeming to sense his distress, smiled, "I'll tell you what, Little Bird, after I kill your Master's wife, I'll let you out for a little 'playtime' later on," It hissed in what could have been laughter, "That is if you survive your Master's punishment."

And with that, the Talon stood and walked silently behind the couch, a knife already gleaming in his hands, and spoke, "Janet Drake," Talon thrust forward in his chains, growling and screaming behind his gag, "The Court of Owls has sentenced you to death."

Talon's Master shot to his feet at the sudden voice, moving protectively in front of his wife, his face turning red in anger and surprise, "What is the meaning of this? On what grounds did the Court reach this sentence?" Jack asked as his wife fled further behind him, her back resting against their cold stone fireplace.

The elder Talon flipped his knife in the air, a taunt, but also a show of relaxed dominance, "Yours." The Talon launched forward, letting the knife in his hand fly free as he shoved Jack to the floor, landing beside his chained protector.

As it was the only thing he could do, Talon spectated, like an old Roman citizen watching a gladiator fight. He almost felt like Batman, the silent guardian that always showed up one second too late. Or in this case, not at all. Just like he had with Talon himself.

Jack scrambled to his feet in time to see the Talon drive a second knife through his wife. The first had pinned her to the cold stone by her shoulder, and the second buried itself deep into her throat. It only took a moment for her blood to spray across the soft, ugly carpet. And a moment for her body to fall with a wet thud. The Elder Talon had removed his knives and was wiping them clean on a white cloth as he approached. Proof that the target had been killed.

The attacker looked from Jack down to the younger Talon, smirking, "Thanks for the help, Little Bird, I'll see you soon!" It waved after placing the knives and cloth safely away, leaving the pair behind silently.

"YOU!"

======

"Again."

Woosh. Splat. Thud.

A few moments of silence.

"Again."

Woosh. Splat. Thud.

Yet another period of silence.

"Again."

"Dad, I don't thin-"

"Quiet!"

"Da-"

"I said to be quiet! Now, again."

The basement smelled strongly of iron and sweat. Small puddles of blood lay scattered across the cement, painting a gruesome scene for those entering. The blood barely got the chance to dry before a new layer would be flung across the floor again.

But the basement was cold, damp, and smelled of iron. The cages had been removed and replaced with a set of chains attached to the wall. Close by was a steel table, covered in various tools, some more painful looking than others. The lights had been turned up to an uncomfortable level of brightness, even for a regular human. But it was all done for a purpose. Pain.

But at the center of the basement lay Talon. Freshly dead and actively healing. His throat had been torn open once again, leaving the mutilated flesh struggling to sew itself back together. Talon had lost count on the number of times he'd died in the last few days.

A few paces to his left stood Jack Drake, Talon's Master, radiating displeasure and hostility all while remaining scaringly stoic. Talon's eyes slowly fluttered open, both gleaming a bright yellow and watering heavily. The light was meant to burn.

This was something that had become some sort of cruel routine for Talon, since the incident. The murder of his Master's wife. The elder Talon that had killed her was still in the wind, probably frozen by the Court to prevent any more resistance from Jack Drake. But Talon laid there weakly, awaiting another harsh strike from the blade already dripping with his oddly colored blood. Awaiting another punishment for something he had no control over.

But it never came.

"Talon," His Master spoke, "I think it's time we add some spark to this little session, don't you think?" He grinned maniacally, "Why don't we test how well those abilities of yours really work."

The corners of Talon's lips cast downward slightly, the closest thing he could get to a frown. How was this fair? Even the Court only punished when it was really necessary. How did he deserve this?

"Come, follow me to your chair."

And Talon, not wanting to make his Master angrier, followed, dragging his abused body -that had completely healed- to his next form of punishment. His 'chair' was indeed a chair, but it had wrist and ankle straps to hold him down, and, as an added bonus, a strap to keep his head still. As Talon was tied down, it seemed as though that head strap was going to be utilized today.

His Master walked around the chair, admiring his handiwork, "Since you refused to speak up or do anything when my wife was being murdered," He paused and picked up a small, curved blade, similar to an eagle claw, from the table next to where his cage had once been. Now, Talon was 'stored' by being hung from the chains his Master had nailed into the wall. "You're going to speak now, just to make sure your voice really works," he sneered, "And then we'll see how long it takes before your voice just stops working. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master," Talon rasped, swallowing the opinion he wished to voice. He could just fight back. It would be hard to kill Jack. He could fight back.

His Master stalked forward and roughly grabbed Talon's jaw, forcibly opening his mouth, placing a metal bite in to keep it open. "I wonder how much I can take off before it stops growing back?" The knife was inserted and Talon stilled, eyes wide. His Master couldn't be serious. Could he?

"I don't want to hear you whisper," He growled, "I want to hear you scream."

He jerked his hand back. Blood oozed. A gut-wrenching scream.

Talon's tongue fell to the floor.

"Again."

======

Batman sat at his computer, eyes fixed solely on the surveillance footage that was emailed anonymously to him. How they got a hold of his email -the one the Commissioner used- in the first place, however, was a matter to be looked into later.

It disgusted him, what was on the footage. How could someone do such things to another person without feeling anything at all? In the video was Jack Drake, Tim's Father. Batman had always had his suspicions about Jack being part of the Court, but this all but confirmed it. It was a shame the Joker had gotten to him first.

The real question was if Tim knew. Did he know who his Father had gotten involved with? Tim must've met the Talon growing up, his parents were probably grooming him to take their place. But Jack had to have been an important member if they'd given him a Talon to keep. Why else would he have one?

But here he was, Tim's father, torturing a Talon, -a fairly familiar one at that- with a wide grin on his face. As the video progressed, Batman had to give the Talon props on his pain management. Having your tongue cut out, throat slit, and bones broken would be more than enough for anyone to scream. But this kid refused.

It was when Jack started breaking bones, taking them out, letting the Talon heal, and then cutting him open again to put them back, that Batman was taken aback. Horrified. Yes, the Talon could heal, but what had he done to deserve this? The video was already at the hour mark, and Jack didn't seem to be getting tired.

Talon was struggling, no matter how much he could heal, Batman could tell it was starting to take a mental toll on the boy. The video had no sound, but from Jack's body language and the way he moved as he spoke, Batman could tell the man was furious.

The boy looked so familiar. Was this the same Talon that had tried to kill him a few months back? Bruce paused the video and zoomed in to compare. The hair was a bit long and matted, and his face was thinner -quite similar to a person's that had been starved- he noted, but the more Batman looked, the easier the truth came.

They were the same person.

Tim's father owned a Talon, and that same Talon tried to kill Batman. The Talon that Batman had tried to help. But he watched the video. He saw how Jack 'killed' him.

So who saved Talon, and why?

======

Red Hood was on the top of Wayne Tower, covered in soot and smelling of smoke. He'd laid out some gasoline and wood pallets into the shape of a bat onto the roof he resided. It might have been a bit dramatic, but at least it got his point across. He didn't have time to wait around.

Blowing up a building as he'd originally planned would've only made the Bat angry, which wouldn't give Jason the chance to talk with him at all. He needed to find Wing's body, and Batman would know how. But he couldn't tell the man Nightwing was dead and that Deathstroke killed him. It would be too suspicious.

Jason didn't need the Bat following him any closer than he already was. It was bad enough he had to come here without his Little Bird. He was going to find a way to bring him back, even if it killed him. Jason would not let his friend stay dead.

"Red Hood."

Looks like Jason wouldn't have the chance to conjure up a lie on Wing's whereabouts now. Batman only ever disappointed occasionally, apparently. For once, the man was on time.

"Batsy!" Red hood yelled out in false excitement, arms wide as if he was going to hug an old friend, "What a surprise, I see you got my message?"

"I don't have time for games, Hood, what do you want?" Batman grunted, looking around the roof, "Where's Nightwing?"

Red Hood dropped his arms suddenly, walking until he stood a few feet in front of the Dark Knight, all playfulness gone. Jason wasn't in the mood to play games anymore either. He had a man to kill and a friend to save.

"Wing's not here right now, look like you're going to have to deal with my wonderful self," Red Hood stated, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I want Information." He stated bluntly.

"On?" Batman growled back, getting impatient.

"The Court of Owls."

His Mother always said, "As long as there was life, there was hope," And Talon believed her. Until he woke up dead.

TADA! I did it. Let me know what you think and if you had any favorite lines or scenes.

Also, comment on what you think is going to happen next.

I was going to have the parents in this chapter but decided to save their scene for the beginning of the next one. 

Til next time, 

Rachel :)