At wee hours of morning, downtown looms quiet as a cemetery but for a few suspicious souls lingering on the streets. They fritter about, quickly darting behind a metallic door for certain shady dealings.

But the residential areas are vibrant, brilliant even without the light of the sun. The lights shoot up to the sky, parting the grey clouds. This reminds Talon of his times in the circus - the crowds conglomerated together with their cotton candy and popcorn, the steady beating of the drums, and the exhilarating cry of the trumpet at the hands of the circus master as he parts the curtains.

Talon swings himself across the night sky, his face hidden by the hood. His movements are almost eel-like, swerving amongst the ocean of buildings. Occassionaly, the dancing lights would almost touch him. Out of instinct he'd jump away, yet at the same time he yearns to grab them.

Seeing the rainbow lights staining his gloves, he could not resist lifting the corners of his stiff mouth.

Light, the sustenance of the Flying Graysons.

Better if there were applause.

The voice finally speaks. And to his surprise, he says what Talon is thinking.

Applause suits us, as the night sky. Come; let's go to Wayne Tower, the tallest building Gotham. Let's see if our skills had eroded.

Talon acquiences despite the discomfort; he should be going down, sinking himself deep into the centuries-old sewage system to search for the maze. It is hidden behind the walls of the underground system; going up does not help.

Batman is likely trapped there, stumbling amongst the white walls with no food and water, constantly assaulted by attacks from all around; at the same time the Court of Owls would be cheering, screeching their delight.

The maze is not only used for punishing those deemed guilty by the Court, but also for examining their newest Talons. No matter how stubborn, no one will be able to stand against the tortures of the maze and will bend to the will of the Court. Talon knows first hand that feeling of helplessness and desperation; he doubts if Batman were still alive.

His thoughts clarify as he rises in height, a bird newly hatched from its imprisonment of shells. It is like that voice said - the sky suits them.

That Dark Knight is perhaps the key to their escape from the Court. Alone, Batman casts fear over the Gotham nights, unsettling the centuries-old owls to the point of issuing his extermination. He must have some interesting secrets.

I need Batman's secret. I need safety for Jason and me.

For the first time, Talon is thinking for himself.

The top of the Wayne Tower is the highest point of Gotham and the pride of the entire Wayne family. From his position, streets are mere ribbons of light that wrap around Gotham like a Christmas present - full of surprise and exuberance.

Similarly, the buzzing of traffic fades to white noise, and instead he can only hear the whooshing of wind. Coldness seeps through the edges of his armour, caressing his skin. The clouds float low, almost within touch.

A bit cold.

You like?

......

Admit it!

"You've not changed - always reaching for the heights," a voice says from behind him, raising the hair on his neck.

It's his teacher's voice; no wonder he sensed nothing.

His teacher, the prosecutor.

The prosecutor of the Court is second only to the judge, and the leader of all the Talons. He needs not carry out any missions; instead, he'd stand by the judge's side, adjust his blankets, push his wheelchair, announce his verdicts, maintain order - an assistant rather than an assassin.

His teacher is not one to voice  his own opinions, but neither is he one relegated to silence. Other than the judge, no one knows much about him, or how strong he is. But given that he had created the Court's two strongest Talons - Numbers 139 and 140, no one doubts his capabilities.

Or at least, during his time with his teacher, Talon has not seen any Owl arrogant enough to challenge this shadowy prosecutor.

Talon does not turn immediately. If his teacher wanted to kill him, he'd already be dead. He bade his time, hoping that his inner voice might give him a clue to the necessary social interaction.

His teacher does not mind his silence. Voice gentle with a touch of noble accent, he speaks through his snowy white mask. "My dear student, I knew you'd be alive. But I didn't expect you to look so well. Batman is kinder than he looks."

"......"

"Why do you not return? We all miss  you."

"......"

"I was the one who sent Jason to find you. Took a lot of effort. As you know, since his resurrection, his whole person has become..." he pauses, grasping for the right word. "...Uncontrollable. The judge initially didn't want to use him."

"......"

"I also heard that Jason was wounded from saving Batman - heavily wounded. Have you seen him?"

"......"

"Are you just going to reply me with silence?"

Recognizing the prelude to anger, Talon takes off his hood. He bows. "Teacher." He does not realize the reluctant tone in his voice.

His teacher senses this. His anger fades at Talon's apparent awkwardness. He shifts his weight. "You've  changed, Dick," he says, mocking.

Talon glances at him.

His teacher catches the subtle response, and his mockery fades. He takes a few steps forward. "Don't worry. I am happy for your change," he says kindly. "You are recovering, my child."

"......"

"And I am guessing that Jason is by your side? Recovering in Batman's lair?"

"......"

"Don't be nervous; I'm glad you are alive. After all, you are my sole personal property within the Court - my sons, my students, my family."

The earnestness in the prosecutor's voice makes Talon hesitate. The word "family", especially, shakes him. Originally standing taut, he shuffles his feet - a nervous habit from his days as Richard Grayson.

"I have my reasons for releasing Jason."

"....." Though Talon does not reply, his eyes betray his curiosity.

"Think about how I've treated you in the past? You've never been brainwashed - until that happened to Jason, and you made the right choice."

The prosecutor sees the omittance of brainwashing as a reward, unsettling the Talon. Objectively speaking, however, his teacher did do the best for them - teaching them everything he knows, preventing the Court from turning them into the living dead. No matter his original purpose, he did protect them, if only for a short while.

"You won't understand what I'm saying now, for you have not yet awakened completely from the brainwashing. You do not yet have the required constitution I need." He pauses. "Jason is an exception. He's passed the test of the Lazarus pit, and so the Court could not alter his sense of self."

"You. What do you want."

Surprised, his teacher says: "I thought you'd forgotten how to speak."

"I can. You don't. Know everything."

"Very well. You are probably curious as to why I am explaining myself to you."

"......"

"You need to ask "why" for this conversation to continue." His teacher tempts him, drawing him out. "You need to ask questions. Silence will not help you. Where is the sweetheart I used to know?"

Talon waits a few seconds, wanting to ask his voice for advice. The voice does not reply, however, for since he has started to interact with other people, it has taken to disappearing at the worst of times.

Should he trust his teacher? His teacher should have killed him, a traitor, but instead he is calmly talking with him. Does he have other goals? But without him, Jason should have died a few years ago. Saving Jason was never part of the prosecutor's job, nor that of any of their teachers, for that matter.

What does he want?

"Don't space out, my child." His teacher takes a few more steps forward and reaches for Talon's shoulder. He exhibits no malice, and his voice is kind - that of a parent talking to their child. "Dear Richard Grayson, ask me why."

His teacher's hands are icy, absent of the warmness of a living body; they steady him, however, encouraging Talon to follow his thoughts.

"W-Why?"

His teacher nods, satisfied. "I need you to help me," he continues slowly. "But just you isn't enough. As a result, I would like both you and Jason to come see me. Jason will know what I need, and how my need will benefit you all. Believe me, when you've become Richard Grayson once again, you'll realize the validity of my decision."

"He's wounded.... Not awake yet..." Talon says, dejected. "Badly wounded."

My little wing... is he alright? Would the Batman's Talons hurt him?

The prosecutor snaps his fingers, bringing Talon's thoughts back to the present.

"I'll give you this to inject into Jason." The prosecutor pushes a syringe into Talon's hands. The liquid within the needle glows green as it slowly trickles within its glass prison, a flicker of starlight in the darkness.

Talon does not recognize the contents, but the syringe looks familiar; a long time ago, someone gave him something like this.

The prosecutor says: "This is water from the Lazarus Pit. It will help Jason recover quickly, but will cause him some pain."

"Pain?" Talon, startled, releases his grip; the syringe in his hands is now hot coal. He hesitates; something that causes Jason pain can't be a good thing.

A second before impact, the prosecutor catches the syringe. He shakes his head in disapproval, stirring a sense of guilt within Talon.

"Dear Dick, don't be afraid. The water of the Lazarus Pit will no longer eat away at Jason's sanity - but for a slight side effect. You have to think of it this way, all medicine comes with side effects, and yet the benefits outweigh the costs. So, please don't attribute Jason's oddity to some nefarious plan of mine, okay?"

Talon strains to catch the tiniest hint on the prosecutor's face, but comes up fruitless; the man's face is a blank waxy mask.

What other choice does he have? Other than Jason, this person is the only one he could trust.