Damian peruses the security cameras, worried.

Since this Talon has been secured in the room, he's been acting resigned, comfortably enjoying everything Alfred provides. Calm and collected, he does nothing other than sleeping and eating, and leaning against the wall with his legs crossed and eyes closed. He neither speaks nor tries to escape, nor does he attempts to sabotage the security cameras in the room.

He has lost all interest in anything after the first day, when he had tried to find a suitable weapon.

Now he treats himself as an inanimate object, a part of the prison.

This isn't what Damian wanted. He hoped to see fluctuations in the Talon's emotions upon being thrust into a foreign environment. Then he'd be able to take advantage of the exposed weakness; emotions usually get most easily manipulated when forced into a corner. But he has underestimated the training provided to the Talons by the Court of Owls. They are no less capable than the League of Assassins.

So Damian decides to loosen their control of the Talon. He tells Alfred to start providing him with ceramic plates and metal forks.

It's not just that he trusts Alfred's abilities. He plans to also hide behind the door, ready for action in case the Talon escapes. But he shall not let his father nor older brother know about this; they will scold him for putting himself in danger.

For a better result, I'll require more desperate measures. Damian tightens his hold on his favourite sword.

That night, a different response is finally elicited from the Talon. With faint interest he studies the sharp fork in his hands, and then turns towards the door, as if able to see Damian's stubborn shadow behind it. Talon feels as if he's playing hide-and-seek with a child.

Finishing the excellent dinner, he places the fork back and waits for the butler to take it away. He returns to his wall and sits. Instead of closing his eyes like usual, he stares at Alfred, his gaze reminiscent of a predator in the dark.

From Damian's understanding of this Talon, he would snatch the fork away as soon as Alfred lowers his guard, and puts the blade to the butler's throat. Using Alfred as a hostage, he would threaten them to let him go.

Nothing happens.

As soon as the heavy metal door closes, Talon once again closes his eyes. The butler glances at the hiding Damian before leaving. The boy, agitated, feels as if he'd been tricked.

"Drake, I don't need you to make fun of me. I'm just... nothing has even started yet." Damian huddles in the armchair too big for his body and glares at his one-armed brother.

"I didn't say anything." Tim raises an eyebrow and puts the tray beside Damian's hand.

Taking the service for granted and grabbing a handful of the tiny biscuits, Damian mumbles: "Your coming here means you are making fun of me."

"I never thought of it this way. Me, you, and Bruce are all in this together."

Damian lets out a mixed noise. "Where's father? He wanted to keep this Talon, yet he rarely shows up."

"How come I remember the fact that he is your responsibility now?" Tim leans to look at the screen. The Talon doesn't move. If it weren't for the timer in the upper left corner, he'd think it a statue. "And, Bruce went to investigate - for example this Talon's background... and the Court of Owls. Rather than playing doctor, I think Batman is better at detective work."

"This Talon is... stubborn. I don't think knowing his background would affect him at all."

Tim ponders for a moment, and then makes a suggestion: "Too many comforts will only make him think this a trap. What he lost was self-autonomy, not intelligence."

"Are you making fun of my intelligence?"

"Relax. Don't act like I guessed right." Tim turns, and leaves Damian alone with his thoughts.

The next day, Talon has a new friend.

Alfred has moved a television into the room and opened the switch, in case the Talon has no desire to. He leaves behind no remote.

Talon opens his eyes, apathetic as he studies the colourful screen. A new test. On the other end, Damian is busy changing channels, trying to elicit any kind of change by showing different shows and commercials.

A new game has begun; let's see who loses first this time.

Sappy soap operas, crude talk shows, calming classical music, provocative rock-and-roll... Talon is unmoved by the assault of colour and sound. He even closes his eyes. Damian punches the keyboard in frustration, blaming Drake for yet another bad idea.

But what he doesn't know is that the voice has been talking within Talon for hours, noisy as a chorus of frogs in a pond.

Thank God! Just what I wanted. The service here is the best! I haven't seen TV for a long time. The shows nowadays, man.... wait wait! Don't change the channel! I still want to watch. Oh, this band just released a new album? I've not seen them for six years. Hm I don't want to see skeletal models doing the catwalk, change it now....

Annoyed by the inner tirade, Talon closes his eyes.

Don't close your eyes! Let me watch....

An undulating melody starts, accompanied by a smooth female voice husky with honey. "Morse's Nicotine Candy, great for relieving you of your desires without the harmful side effects of cigarettes. Stay healthy."

Talon opens his eyes.

A commercial is playing on the TV, the quality a notch lower than the rest of the programming; clearly it has some history. Talon is familiar with the commercial; he was once a loyal customer.

Time seems to rewind to ten years ago. Richard Grayson polished the wine glass as he listened to this commercial on that obsolete TV model. The light was dim, flickering as bar patrons linger late into the night. A sizzling smell emanated from the back kitchen. He had no appetite however - he's tired of the tiny bar's onion rings and deep-fried peanuts.

Jason pushed open the door and entered. He slumped at the counter. His hands shook, between his fingers a stub of cigarette picked off the streets. He told Dick he'd left his mother at home with enough money for cocaine. Desperate resignation shadowed his face. Jason lifted his head to look at Dick, tears welling up in his eyes. Instead of falling, they clung stubbornly to his lashes.

Aha, so you do remember. I thought you'd forgotten.

To ensure their mobility, brainwashing does not alter memories nor intelligence, but rather reincarnate them into the Court's loyal protectors and absolute assistants. The Court will guide them to a better future, they were told. As a Talon, he cannot be affected by memories nor be burdened by emotions or self-doubt.

You still have me though. And so you can still be saved.

The TV no longer changes channels, instead looping the commercial and turning the reincarnated assassin back into that helpless child. This makes the Talon irritated; he could imagine that colourful Robin exploiting this weakness. The voice in his mind doesn't help, once again recounting his past.

That candy was expensive. We tried hiding that for the longest time from Jason - but I think he figured it out at the end. He's always been sensitive to market values. But at least having had that candy, his reliance on cigarettes lessened. He was thirteen - still growing. We can't let his lungs be blackened by smoke.

Even without the voice reminding him, Talon can recall how small Jason was back then. Jason. Number 139. He suffered unimaginable hardships from birth, a boy carrying the responsibilities of a man. But he's free from that life now. He's been reborn for a better purpose - as a Talon.

No. Being a Talon is not better. The Court has been fooling everyone, making us believe that to give our lives for them is for the greater good - that it is worth it.

What kind of life did 139 have before becoming a Talon? Engrossed in that kind of terrible environment, his father became a criminal, his mother an addict. All his friends were just as disillusioned, ill-educated, and unable to amount to anything in life. His only outcome would have been to follow in his father's footsteps to prison, or become like his mother. Or perhaps worse than both combined...

Enough! Jason is stronger than anyone! I believe he has the capability of becoming a good person.

You mean you wanted him to be a good person. You wanted to take the place of 139's family, to become his closest confidante. You used your leverage to guide him towards what you believe is the better path. You spent all that effort forcing him to quit smoking, to avoid drugs, to support himself - even to abandon his mother. It's your expectations that burdened him.

I had to take him away from that life. He deserved more. I can turn him better!

You are not a saviour.

No! I did it because I must! Otherwise Jason would be just another child left for dead in the streets! All we wanted was to live... what could possibly be better than that? I don't want to see those I care for die... I don't want to be left behind again... I don't want to be the only one left!

Everyone will die eventually, lying by themselves in a casket.

The voice does not answer.

His control snaps. Talon rushes forward and smashes the TV set. His careful mask finally splits open, revealing a sliver of despair.