He's awakened by voices.

"Father, he's a Talon, a killer from the Court! He's murdered countless people - we have no need of saving him!" One voice is young, belonging to that of a boy yet different from the average child in a way he could not quite place.

Maturity. The kid is far more wise than his age may suggest. An inner voice answers..

He has gotten used to it. Whenever he's awake, this voice will speak, resonating back and forth in his head with no intention of stopping. It also sounds like him, using his own voice to tell him of certain things - normal things for the average person, but to a Talon who's constantly cryogenically preserved, they are outlandish.

Time passes quickly in the real world. He comes and goes without lingering, and when he awakens once more, who knows how long has it been since? Sometimes for a mission he would hide in the darkness for an entire day, staring at these strange new things. If his voice could still answer his questions, then it meant he hadn't been asleep for too long.

As a result, he never asks the dealer for time; he has his own.

Sometimes the voice would appear in his dreams. Like that voice, its face is identical to his as well. But that face looks to be one that often smiles, gesturing animatedly whenever he speaks. Odd. Those expressions can't possibly belong to his face. It was as if watching a mirror, but the mirror belonged to Wonderland.

He knows not whether this is good or bad, but he doesn't want the voice to leave. Without Jason, the voice makes an adequate companion.

Jason is number 139, his former friend.

Talons have no right to friends; their mutual relationship is that of competition. But he would always try to avoid confronting Jason; they were so close at one time, after all. The voice tells him, you cannot harm your friends and family; they need your protection.

Absurd. Jason is strong even among the Talons; he has no need of a fellow Talon telling him what to do.

"I agree with Damian. He's been constantly brainwashed with no sense of self, not to mention he's a loyal supporter of the Court. Saving him is like attempting to wake someone who's brain-dead." Another boy's voice speaks up. This one seems to be going through puberty, a hint of rasp still evident.

Wrong. We are anything but. Jason and I are the worst Talons at the Court. The only reason we are still alive is because they can't find anyone better to replace us.

He does not ask the voice why; there is no need to. Success or failure, his mission is solely to kill Batman - that is his only reason for existence. As long as he is still alive, the mission continues. Too bad he's been injected with muscle relaxants and is unable to coordinate his movements. The drugs won't last long however, in his modified body.

Patience. Talons never lack patience.

"I trust that he has not yet been completely brainwashed." Batman's voice, without the cowl, sounded like that of an average middle-aged man. "While fighting, he purposely avoided a child that had stumbled across us by accident. It was only because of this weakness that we managed to capture him."

The young boy growls in defeat. "Yeah, he's really strong, and this means he must be eliminated! If you can't do it, then I'll..."

"Damian!" The man says.

The older boy interjects. "B, what are you thinking, exactly?"

The man pauses for a moment before continuing. "To have a sense of virtue after brainwashing, he is a person who is not only steadfast in his beliefs, but also one who still retains his humanity. Perhaps this Talon will be able to tell us things about the Court - we still know too little."

"He won't." The young boy has calmed down. His voice is adamant. "He must have gone through strict training, along with countless brainwashing. There is no way you'll be able to get him to talk."

"Not necessarily," the older boy says. "I read a psychology book - it says that humans have stronger positive emotions than negative. Should this Talon still retains his sense of morality, then we can use that to free him from their control."

"Hn. With the time spent reading, you should have trained more. Look at your arm; you actually let that Talon break your arm, Drake."

"Well since I'm wounded, why don't you take responsibility for this Talon? I trust that your ways will only turn him mute. Permanently."

"Challenge accepted! It's not like I only know how to fight. Just you watch!"

The sound of footsteps fade.

Ah, the little Damian is angry - how uncute. Let us anticipate his methods; see if he can save us.

Save? I think I have a broken femur, a cut on my forehead, and perhaps a slight concussion. These are normal. I don't need treatment.

To save our spirits. You and I both desire freedom; we desire turning back to normal.

He wants to say something else, but a light pierces his vision, making him squint. Someone has undone the black fabric tied over his head.

Talon blinks behind his owl hood, adjusting to the brightness. He finds himself tied at the wrists and the ankles by magnetic cuffs, all his weaponry removed. Not a single one of his hidden gadgets could be reached. He's tied like a hog, lying flat in a deep cave. Other than the shrill shriek of bats, he senses the beeping from Batman's impressive equipment.

He's in Batman's lair.

The cave's owner, Batman - always wearing that pointy-eared cowl - studies him. Beside him stands Red Robin. The boy has a sling for his broken arm, bruises still apparent at the corner of his mouth. He looks pathetic. If it weren't for the fact that Red Robin is no ordinary child, Talon would have felt uncomfortable about his wounds. The voice tells him: That's guilt.

But he has no time for guilt, for Batman and Red Robin are calm, their emotions carefully hidden. That is not a good thing; fear or anger makes people expose their weaknesses. Calmness, on the other hand, signifies either extreme power or absolute control.

They genuinely want to help us; they have no need to torture us like the others. They have the power to subdue us, so they need no fear. I like them; they are powerful yet not abusive. Hard to come by, wouldn't you say?

Talon is unable to answer. He's not allowed personal opinions, unless such things are useful for his mission.

"I know you are awake." Batman speaks in his normal voice, as if unafraid the Talon would be able to find his identity through it. "Anything you want to say?"

From experience, Talon remains silent. He cannot betray the Court. The inner voice, however, started yelling: Help us, and Jason, my Little Wing!

Red Robin shrugs his good shoulder. "Seems useless right now. We need  more time to awaken him. But I think during this time, the Court will send new Talons. You need to be careful, B."

"I know." Batman nods, and then summons a tall and thin elderly man.

The newcomer possesses a noble bearing, yet the at the same time an air of humility. He doesn't need his inner voice to tell him that this man is a butler. He's seen butlers before in the homes of targets he's previously eliminated. A good one can maintain their admirable loyalty to the end. A bad one is like a leaky faucet.

The old butler nods, and then lifts Talon with ease; he maintains his fluid manner of walking, forcing Talon to reevaluate his prior assessment. They arrives at a secluded metal door. Talon wonders what might be behind, and how he might resolve what's to come - torture machines, perhaps? Or a sealed room with neither light nor sound. Or perhaps hungry beasts waiting for dinner.

But what awaits him is not like what he has imagined; it's a bedroom. The ceiling is higher than normal, with gentle light undulating from somewhere above. The walls and the floors are soft, with no chance of hurting himself. A bed and a small white table have been bolted to the floor. A second metal door leads from the room.

Wow, Batman sure is generous! Look look! There's even a washroom with a door! But I bet there are security cams everywhere.

The butler places Talon gently onto the bed. He strips him of his dirty armour, inspecting his wounds in the process; at the same time, he checks Talon for any additional hidden tools. By the end, even the blades hidden beneath his skin and the chip planted into the back of his neck have been dug out.

Talon watches, helpless, as his last hope is taken from him. The effects of the muscle relaxant is just starting to wear off. He can't let himself be manipulated like this - this is more humiliating than death. He starts to squirm; though his movements are minimal, they are enough to interrupt the butler stitching his wounds.

Don't panic. They are just taking precautions. I think you lose control more easily than you let on - perhaps you might hurt someone else, or yourself.

"Oh dear, don't move, you'll feel more pain." The butler easily subdues him, injecting him with a tranquilizer.

The drug takes effect rapidly, blurring his vision. Before he blacks out, he thinks:

Talons don't have pain.

He doesn't know how long time passes; when he reawakens, his wounds have all been cleansed, stitched, and bandaged. Even his clothes have been changed for a comfortable cotton set. He stares at his naked hands, intrigued. He has some hair on his arms, and he can see the vessels bulging under his skin like the gnarled roots of an ancient tree. His fingers are strong, able to easily strangle an adult male. His fingernails are a healthy pink, and have even grew a little.

Talon does not expect to find anything useful in the room, but out of habit he inspects every corner. His efforts aren't entirely fruitless - he finds several cameras embedded into the walls.

He leaves them alone; taking them apart will only make Batman more wary. He needs them to let down their guard, make a fatal mistake, and he will be able to escape and finish his target.

Weapons though... if he waits longer, he can pull off his fingernails for that.

Do you smell that? Look, there's food on your table!

Talon tilts his head towards the tiny table. A white plastic plate contains a freshly cooked steak, some artfully arranged broccoli and a small pile of shelled corn. He tests the plastic fork. Useless. He loses interest and turns away.

Smells good! Still warm too! They sure timed it well.

Rigidly, Talon sits at the table and studies the palatable-looking food. He picks up the fork again, prodding it against the table. The fork bends, soft and useless like an earthworm. He frowns, irritated.

Oh God, stop caring about that fork, look at the food! We haven't eaten real food in how long? All that nourishment fluid and liquid food urgh...

Finally he listens, turning his gaze back to the food. He starts thinking of all the ways he could use the plate.

Try it! They wouldn't drug it - they would have done that without resorting to this. Look at the colour of the steak! This reminds me of the one at the French Restaurant we went with Jason, remember?

He remembers. Everything. Brainwashing does not mean amnesia. The memories still sit there, but the emotions associated with them have been forcibly extracted. The Court have turned them into a film reel, and he an impatient and nitpicky audience.

Jason's really smart. How old was he then? Ten? So young yet his mind is full of strange ideas - ways to get out of trouble and more. Only thing is that his temper was quite something... making people think that he only knows how to pick fights. I still remember how he stole the wallet from that lady cook at the restaurant.

He didn't take the money, instead dragging us to the restaurant she worked at and pretending to simply have found the wallet. Then he said a bunch of crap about having not eaten for two days, kicking us to do the same. She gave in and shared with us leftovers from the tables.

The yummy cakes, steaks, bread... and onion cream soup!.... Those people were so wasteful, but without them we wouldn't have gotten it instead.

We liked the cakes and the chocolate, while Jason always preferred the meat. He always chides us for liking stuff that were useless, saying how bread and meat were better against hunger. He'd then stuff them down our throats.

But sweetness makes people happy, mom had said.

Jason was much more observant than he lets on; he found the business card deep in the wallet. I thought he would only care about the cash. Oh, and he told us to keep it a secret so as to not alert the others, leaving us with nothing. Sometimes he'd steal roses from people's gardens to give to that cook.

If Jason wanted to, he could be really good at pleasing others. I think he genuinely liked that fat lady cook. She was such a kind person, more kind than his own mother. She'd gift us her son's old clothing, or some gently used classic books. I didn't like reading them, but Jason did.

After that we'd risk walking through several blocks to eat there, to visit that kind lady.... until she was stabbed to death by muggers. It was such a shame. I really liked her. I wish I were there: maybe things would have been different.

While the inner voice babbles, Talon picks up the fork and starts to eat. As usual, he can't taste anything. The broccoli feels like plastic, the steak rotten wood. Worst is the corn salad, the grains tasting like silica beads. But none of this affects Talon's appetite.

Eating is for survival. Other than missions, everything else takes a backseat when it comes to survival.

But the voice continues.

Mmm... they are so good! It's been so long since I've eaten anything good! Too bad they gave us so little - I can eat a whole cow!

What do they taste like? Talon wants to ask, but keeps silent.

I wish Jason were here. He'd want to try the food. Maybe he'll even be picky. Wait! Let's guess who's gonna be cleaning up this botched mission, shall we? Our chip has been destroyed - the Court will know everything soon. What will the Prosecutor do?

According to protocol, the Court will send another Talon to follow up, and to eliminate the failed Talon. But if the Court's best assassin has already failed, who will they send?

Jason, definitely.

Talon hears the voice laugh. A sliver of cruelty crawls into the innocent facade, a predator's claws showing under the soft fur.

If not Jason, we will keep killing off the Talons they send, until they wake him. Then we can beg Batman to save him, like he is saving us.

The voice falls silent for a moment, as if savouring the taste of food. Then it speaks again. We haven't seen him for so long. I miss him.

Talon does not speak, slowly finishing off the last scraps on his plate.