"God has not abandoned Gotham, letting Lincoln March return to his candidacy! With admirable bravery he protected Mr. Wayne, but was critically wounded himself. But! He has returned! Lincoln, you have my vote!" The anchorwoman laughs, her thick foundation unable to disguise the creases on her face. Only she knows whether she's attracting to Lincoln March himself or his face.

The second star in Gotham, Lincoln March has brought a measure of hope to the struggling people. His parents had been murdered in a mugging, and yet he managed to rise above this personal tragedy, from the orphanage, to build an economic empire right below the snobby noses of Gotham's nobility.

"My dream is to bring hope to Gotham and build an entirely new city!"

The TV replays his motto in sync with the fanatic screams of his supporters. As the scene broadcasts across six screens of various sizes in the display window, Jason jeers, watching the reflection of his face twist grotesquely. This was just like the short stories of O. Henry, where the characters plod on with predetermined paths under the illusion of free will.

At nine in the morning, the streets comes alive with the outpouring of business elites armoured in suits and headphones, their incessant conversations peppered with polite laughs hidden under a stifling cloud of competition.

Lifting his head, Jason studies the business building standing next to a magnificent emporium. Other than Wayne Tower, this building is one of the most recognizable in Gotham; Lincoln March somehow manages to book an entire floor for his company.

No  matter how time flies, he'll never be suited to working at a place like this.

Jason sighs, tossing his cigarette butt into the trash. If it had been anywhere else, he'd have thrown it onto the floor. But the orderly chaos of the area stopped him.

The receptionist is a blonde lady with perfectly arched eyebrows and winged eyeliner, lending her face an imperious, regal look. She glances up as he comes in and melts into a practiced smile: " May I help you, Sir?"

Jason starts, unused to be treated with such respect. "I'm looking for Lincoln March." Inadvertently he lowers his voice, unwilling to disrupt the calculated silence but for the flipping of pages and tapping of keyboards.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Just let him know it's Jason Todd."

"Our policies don't allow me to do so unless you have an appointment," she says, methodically picking up the phone as she studies Jason, who feels like a frog splayed out for dissection. "But given your seamless visage, I'll make an exception."

He's wearing the clothes Alfred had lent him. Jason manages a smile, remembering how Dick mentioned he could be quite charming when smiling. He had protested, saying he only looked malicious.

"A malicious cutie." Dick had said.

The thought makes his smile relax.

Within a few minutes, the lady transfers him to a man in a full suit, who soon transfers him to a woman in a pencil skirt, who then gives him to another suited man - dammit, both genders are starting to look identical to him.

After nearly passing through the entire floor, Jason is finally led to the head office.

It's much smaller than he'd imagined: two document cabinets, an ordinary desk, a window that faces Wayne Tower. There are no plants and no display cases filled with awards. As for Gotham's future mayor, he's standing by the window looking down at the people scurrying below - at the worker ants.

"Jason, my prized pupil." Lincoln shifts, the image of the vibrant politician from television vanishing into the calculating man standing before him. "I was just thinking when you'd come find me."

"I cannot believe when I woke up that you are about to take over this city," Jason sinks into the sofa in front of the desk, his face grim. "Should I call you Mr. March or "Teacher"?"

Lincoln March, prosecutor for the Court of Owls, pulls close the curtains. The room darkens, the small space a cage. What an ideal place for nefarious plans. He sits, ignoring the glares from Jason. He hasn't changed, wearing his air of polished manners like a cologne. Jason has always hated it.

"So how did you hide your corpse face?" Jason jeers. He knows the prosecutor's real face better than anyone: a face supposedly loyal to the Court, yet hiding countless secrets.

Lincoln studies his warm hands, the screen beside him reflecting the pinkness of his face. He flashes his image a smile, satisfied.

"I should thank you, Jason. If you hadn't been resurrected by the Lazarus Pit, my research would not have made such progress." He takes out a syringe from a drawer, a glowing green liquid shimmering within. It looked no different from the artificial plasma the Court has made before. "Due to your data, I created this - a resurrection potion, if you will. Though only temporary, at least I'm still sane."

"Is this what you told Dick to give me?"

"What you got was a hundred percent genuine Lazarus Pit water. No substitute would have worked on you, given you've been exposed to the real thing."

"You don't want to risk yourself, coward."

Lincoln smiles, not caring about Jason's anger. "For my plan, I cannot put myself in danger. One day, I'll be able to make something that will permanently revive me."

Jason glares at Lincoln, sensing something amiss. His teacher has changed; he's become arrogant and talkative, and fake in his actions. A darkness lingers in his eyes, and yet their owners do not realize it.

Why is it that everyone thinks they are smart enough to scam everyone else?

The thought plagues Jason's mind. He remembers Dick's dead eyes and stiff mouth, and his deal with the prosecutor.

"I don't care what you've done, but you broke our deal!" he gritted his teeth. "I said, you are allowed to do whatever you want with my dead body, but in exchange, you are not to touch Dick! But what have you done?!"

Lincoln leans against the back of his chair, bored. It's as if Jason were a newborn kitten. His expression is reminiscent of that of Bruce Wayne's when faced with the paparazzi. Only then did Jason realize the similarity between the two - black hair, blue eyes, a handsome face and an imperious air between the brows.

The man shakes his head. "It was you who trespassed into my lab, exposed my secret, and saw my face. If I'd wished it, you'd have been dead then. And yet you had the nerve to blackmail me into the deal - which I kindly kept for all this time."

"Son of a bitch..." Jason jumps up, his hands shaking. He hates himself for his naivete.

"Shhh, child." Lincoln taps the desk. "I'm not finished. Sit."

The Prosecutor's gray-blue eyes are lively, and yet Jason still cannot see the life in them. The man said nothing else, and yet Jason could not resist the stifling force that presses him downward, back into the sofa.

"Good," the man nods. "You are still a good soldier."

The humiliation stings Jason.

"I kept my promise. I did not brainwash Dick." Lincoln's smile marrs into something sinister. "It was he who found me, with your body. He begged me to bring you back, and in exchange, he's willing to accept the Court's judgement. And I succeeded. Look at you, my best creation. A resurrected dead. A true Lazarus!"

Jason feels his organs clench together into a ball, the pain spreading through his heart as he gasps, struggling to pull air into his lungs. His head sags, unable to bear the weight of the truth. He lowers his head, his fists clenching so tight that his nails break the skin of his palm. Yet the pain does not subside.

Annoyance. Despair. Anger. The three emotions weave together into a hammer that pounds at his temples.

Why does this always happen? Why cannot Dick just listen for once, and leave the Court by himself? They'd talked about this...

Jason is going to throw up.

Lincoln studies him, amused and expectant. He twirls a pen around his fingers. "My dear pupil, have you not realized? The two of you are tied together in this, two boulders rolling off of a cliff. Neither of you can stop on your own - you can only fall together."

"Shut up."

"Don't deny it. Without the other, you could have achieved much more than what you have now. You'd have been the Court's best assassins, each with the capability of taking over my position. And yet look at you now. You can only hide in the lair of the enemy, dreaming of the day that you might be free."

"I told you to shut up!"

"Not every couple is suited to be together." Lincoln's smile vanishes, replaced by a measure of earnestness Jason has never before seen. "If you don't want the situation to worsen, it's best to decide now."

"Decide what." Jason knows the answer.

"Believe me or the Batman. I can tell - Dick prefers the Batman." Lincoln shrugs. "But that's what I expected. He's always following his conscience, trusting himself to do the right thing. And yet you know that doing the right thing cannot always solve the problem."

"Why should I believe someone who's cheated me before?"

"Because you have no choice." Lincoln sneers. "Batman is only Gotham's Dark Knight. But the Court existed far longer than Gotham itself. Our influence is everywhere.... You should remember what I once told you. Can a single hero fight against the entire world?"

"..."

"Problem is, this organization is too old and too rotten. It needs a revolution to rejuvenate it. And I need new blood to help me achieve this. And in return, I will grant your wish."

"...." Jason replies with silence, unable to rebuke him.

"Follow me." Batman turns without another word.

Dick blinks at the receding back, slightly hunched. Confused, he turns to Tim, as if asking for advice.

"Go. I think B wants to ask you about the Court. He's been researching them incessantly as of late." Tim does not glance up from his book. He's busy with this chemistry homework, even explaining to Dick some of this thesis despite the latter's confusion.

Hesitant, Dick stands up, his brows knitting in a frown. He's worried about Jason, who'd been gone since morning. It's been three hours now, and he's still not back.

Tim lifts his head from his book. "Honestly, I don't know why you are so worried about Jason. He's strong. The Talons could do nothing to him." Only Jason could make Dick fret like this.

"He's died once, right in front of me." Dick says, the confession startling Tim. "I'm... scared he's going to leave me again."

"You can't hold on to someone forever." Tim swallows what he wants to say next: And your interdependence is a bit unhealthy.

"It's weird hearing this from someone younger than me." Dick smiles. He turns and strides to catch up to Batman. They crossed the cave to reach the lab. A naked male corpse is strewn across the operating table, his armour and weapons locked in display beside him.

Dick caresses the knives and the poisonous needles, and studies the corpse. He doesn't recognize him.

Batman is clad in his gray bathrobe, the bandages around his torso peeking from beneath the fabric. His unshaven chin lends him a look of fragility.

"You still haven't told me how you escaped the maze, by the way." Dick edges closer, but not too much. "No one could escape it. Not Talons or anyone else."

"I blew up the pool, and used the sewers connected to the pipe systems."

"Whoa." Dick is impressed. "And what about him?"

"He's the Talon that attacked me in the maze. I broke his neck. His body showed up in the sewers a few days after I escaped. I assume he got washed down with the pool water."

Dick nods. "He's been abandoned. Otherwise he'd have been resurrected."

"Tell me about the maze."

"In addition to punishment, it's a rite of passage for all assassins before becoming Talons. Our goal is to survive within the maze. There's no sense of time there, just light, and walls that never recede. They send Talons after us. If we died, we were eliminated. If we lived, we'd be brainwashed."

Batman does not reply, but he turns, as if encouraging him to continue.

"The Talons you've encountered are all reanimated corpses. There are only two living Talons." Dick says.

"Their control over you isn't absolute."

"That's because I didn't go through the brainwashing process until much later, and not for very many times."

"Why?"

"I don't know." Dick tilts his head, feeling the concern in Batman's eyes. "We should have been. But our teacher demanded that we be kept intact. Though we did get injected with a drug that limits our freedom."

"But there's none in your body now."

"A gift from Jason," Dick says, a sliver of mirth and sadness mingled in his eyes. "He rarely gives me anything. I don't even know how he got the cure." Dick mumbles something else, too incoherent for Batman to discern.

Bruce does not press him further. He turns his attention back to the computer screen. "According to genetic analysis, this body is that of your maternal grandfather."

"What?"

"Remember that circus you were in? It's one of the places from which the Court selects candidates to be Talons." Bruce tosses something to Dick.

It's a wisdom tooth. Engraved on the side is the golden emblem of the Court of Owls. "They'd choose children from the circus. If you hadn't left, you'll get this on your teeth as well."

"Then my parents....?"

"Maybe it's because they didn't want to give you up."

Dick stares at the blackened tooth, and manages a smile. "Is this my fate then?"

"I've never believed in fate." Bruce says, blue eyes gentle. "I'll never hand my life over to the whim of those man-constructed fantasies. Dick, you may not have had the power to change the past, but you can choose your future."

"My future..." Dick's grip on the teeth tightens, the golden emblem glimmering.