The low murmur of shuffling cards echoed faintly through the hallway as Dick made his way down the stone corridor. The Court's base, with all its ancient architecture and hushed menace, had begun to feel familiar-dangerously so. He passed a row of iron sconces and rounded the corner into the Grandmaster's outer office.
Pauline and Sam were already there, seated at a table just outside the chamber door, playing cards.
Sam looked up with a grin, flicking a cigarette out of an ashtray and giving Dick a lazy nod. "Look who decided to show."
Pauline didn't look up. "Don't sit. We won't be here long."
Dick folded his arms and leaned casually against the wall. "What's on the menu today? More torching cars? Midnight owl poetry slam?"
Sam smirked. "Don't get excited, junior. It's collection day."
Dick raised a brow. "Collection?"
Before Sam could answer, the door to the Grandmaster's office opened with a low creak. The Grandmaster stepped inside the room, as imposing as ever in his dark robes and pale owl mask. Behind him, the older man-Frank, the quiet one with cold eyes and years of blood on his hands-followed like a shadow.
Everyone straightened.
The Grandmaster stopped at the center of the room, hands clasped behind his back. "Today's task will be simple."
His gaze settled on Dick.
"You'll be their driver."
Dick gave a slight nod, waiting.
"You'll escort Pauline and Sam through three scheduled collection stops," the Grandmaster said, pacing slowly. "Each of these establishments owes the Court for protection, silence, and privilege. Pauline and Sam will handle the negotiations. You will keep the engine running and your mouth closed."
Dick didn't flinch. "Got it."
The Grandmaster's voice lowered slightly. "If any of them attempt to delay... or shortchange us... your job is to ensure that we still leave with what we came for. Are we understood?"
Dick nodded again. "Crystal."
"Good." The Grandmaster turned to Frank. "Give them the ledger."
Frank stepped forward and handed a leather-bound notebook to Pauline. The old man didn't speak-just gave Dick a long, appraising look. The kind of look that said, I've seen men like you fall apart in rooms darker than this.
Dick met his gaze evenly. No cracks.
The Grandmaster continued, "Return by nightfall. The Court doesn't like being kept waiting. Not even for its own gold."
With that, he turned and disappeared back into the depths of the sanctum.
Pauline flipped open the ledger, scanned the three names, then shut it with a snap.
"Let's go," he said, standing up.
Sam followed, pocketing his cards. "Hope you like playing chauffeur, rookie."
As they exited into the tunnel system, Dick slid behind the wheel of the same black, unmarked vehicle they'd used the night before.
He checked the rearview mirror as Pauline and Sam climbed in.
This wasn't just a collection job.
This was another step deeper into the Court's world-one more day pretending to be the man they wanted.
But every stop would bring him closer to the rot underneath it all.
And every coin they collected was another feather in the mask he planned to eventually burn.
The sleek black car glided through Gotham's lower east side-where money changed hands in whispers and smiles were just polished threats. Dick kept his eyes on the road, his hands steady on the wheel, but his ears tracked every word Sam and Pauline mumbled behind him.
"Elizabeth Hunt first," Pauline muttered, flipping open the ledger. "Casino owner. Flashy. Proud. Always late with payment."
Sam grinned, rolling his dagger across his knuckles. "She'll pay this time."
Dick didn't ask what that meant.
He already knew.
---
Hunt Royale Casino - 1:32 PM
The casino stood like a beacon of corruption-tall, glassy, loud. Inside, the air was thick with cigarette smoke and artificial charm. Slot machines chimed endlessly. Dealers smiled without blinking.
The moment the three men entered, the floor manager stiffened. His eyes darted toward the security booth, then toward the back office.
He knew who they were.
Everyone did.
Within minutes, Elizabeth Hunt herself stepped out from the VIP hallway-early forties, sharp black suit, crimson lipstick, and a tension in her stride that no poker face could hide.
"Pauline," she said smoothly, though her voice betrayed a crack. "You're early this month."
Pauline smiled without warmth. "Aren't you lucky."
Her gaze flicked to Sam-who offered nothing but a smirk-and then to Dick, the unfamiliar one. "And this?"
"Our new driver," Sam said flatly. "Don't worry about him. He doesn't bite."
Elizabeth didn't relax. "Let's talk in my office."
---
Inside the Office
The walls were decorated with framed chips and photos of high rollers shaking hands with celebrities. The illusion of power and legitimacy. The lies of the rich.
Elizabeth moved behind her desk, slowly, like every inch she put between herself and them mattered.
"I assume you're here for the usual," she said, tapping nervously on a drawer.
Pauline sat down casually. "Cut the drama, Liz. You're short. Again."
She opened a drawer and slid over a thick envelope.
"It's all I could pull together. Business has been slow."
Sam picked up the envelope, weighed it in his palm, then tossed it on the table like it was garbage.
"This is half."
Elizabeth's jaw clenched. "I'll have the rest by the end of the week. I swear it. I just need-"
THWACK.
A cry tore from her throat as Sam's dagger pinned her hand to the desk-sinking through flesh, wood, and down to the bone.
Dick flinched. Instinct screamed to act. To stop it. But he didn't move. Couldn't move.
Not if he wanted to stay in this game.
Elizabeth gasped, blood spilling onto the glossy wood. "I said I'll have it!" she screamed.
Sam leaned down, eyes inches from hers, his voice ice-cold. "We've heard that before."
Elizabeth's eyes burned-not with defiance, but with panic. "I swear, Sam. It'll be here. You'll have double next time."
Sam slowly pulled the blade out. She whimpered, clutching her hand, blood soaking through her sleeve.
Pauline stood. "See? That wasn't so hard. Consider this... motivation."
Sam flicked the blood from the dagger and tucked it away, as casually as a man adjusting his cufflinks.
"Let's go," he said.
---
Back in the Car
They got in without a word.
Dick drove.
He kept his breathing steady, face unreadable. Inside, however, every nerve in him burned. The old Nightwing inside screamed at the injustice, the cruelty, the senseless pain.
But he buried it.
He had to.
From the back seat, Sam broke the silence.
"She's lucky I like her."
Pauline gave a low chuckle. "She'll pay. Pain opens wallets."
Dick didn't speak.
But behind the mask and under the weight of the Court's command, he made himself a quiet vow:
One day, he would tear this entire operation down.
And Elizabeth Hunt would know she wasn't forgotten.
The drive to the next location was silent. Not tense-silent. Sam leaned back in the passenger seat, feet up on the dash, toying with his dagger like it was a fidget spinner. Pauline sat behind Dick, thumbing through the blood-stained ledger with a kind of ease that made Dick's stomach twist.
The address had been scribbled cryptically in the book:
> "Office 6B, City Administrative Annex. Rear Access Only."
Dick already knew what that meant before they pulled up.
The Mayor's Office.
Not the public entrance. Not the press-facing, polished façade.
The back.
The real entrance-the one only people like them used.
---
City Administrative Annex - Rear Loading Dock - 3:24 PM
A rusted security gate buzzed open with a groan as Pauline held up a small silver pin-the owl insignia engraved with eerie delicacy. The guard on the other side didn't even speak. He just stepped aside.
Dick parked in the shadow of the building, heart pounding.
They weren't just leaning on criminals now.
They were owning the infrastructure.
The corruption was deeper than Bruce had ever anticipated.
Pauline was already stepping out. "You two stay here."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Again?"
Pauline looked at him. "Unless you want to get your pretty knife bloody twice in one day, shut up and enjoy the break."
With that, he disappeared through a reinforced security door at the far end of the corridor.
---
Waiting Outside
Dick leaned against the hood of the car, arms crossed, his face calm but his thoughts racing.
Sam lit a cigarette.
"You always this quiet?" Sam asked, puffing out smoke.
"Just focused."
"Hm."
A beat passed.
Dick glanced sideways. "So we're collecting from the mayor now?"
Sam grinned without looking at him. "Court doesn't discriminate. You work for them, you pay your dues. Even if you're on the six o'clock news shaking hands with the governor."
"That's a lot of risk for exposure."
"Not when you own half the GCPD and three out of five judges," Sam replied. "We're not a gang. We're a religion. People don't even realize how far our roots go."
Dick said nothing.
The silence was broken by a sudden thump from beyond the wall. A dull, heavy bang-like furniture being knocked over or a body hitting the floor.
Sam raised a brow, but didn't move.
"That'll be the mayor making his donation."
A few seconds later, the reinforced door swung open again.
Pauline stepped out, his suit slightly disheveled and a thin line of blood trailing down the back of his glove. In his other hand, a thick envelope-stuffed full, sealed with a red rubber band.
He tossed it toward Sam. "Count it."
Sam flipped it open, thumbing through the stacks. "All here."
Pauline wiped his hand with a cloth and tossed it into a nearby dumpster like it was just another used napkin.
"Let's go."
Dick got behind the wheel again.
He didn't need to ask what happened in that office.
He already knew.
And each stop was making it harder to keep the mask in place.
The last stop of the day had felt too quiet from the beginning.
A hotel on the outskirts of Gotham-The Bramble Oak Inn. A place that used to serve politicians' mistresses and traveling mobsters, now owned in name only by a shell corporation tied to the Court's financial web.
Dick parked in the gravel lot outside the side entrance. The place looked abandoned from the front-paint peeling, shutters crooked, weeds curling through the cracks in the stone steps.
But the Court kept tabs on what mattered behind the curtains.
Pauline and Sam exited the car without a word. Sam tucked his dagger into his coat with a dramatic flourish. Pauline cracked his neck.
"We'll be ten minutes," Pauline muttered, disappearing through the side door.
Dick leaned back in the driver's seat, his eyes scanning the building, the lot, the treeline in the distance. Something felt off.
Twenty minutes passed.
Then thirty.
Then a full hour.
Dick's instincts started to hum-something had gone sideways.
That's when he heard it.
Gunshots.
Three sharp bursts.
Then yelling.
Then the sound of glass shattering.
Dick threw the door open just as the side entrance slammed open and Pauline stumbled out, gripping his side. Blood seeped through his fingers.
"Shit," he growled, staggering toward the car.
Dick ran to catch him, catching the older man under the arm.
"Sniper?" Dick asked quickly, scanning the roofline.
Pauline winced. "No. Penguin's men. Bastards set a trap. Wanted us gone for good."
Just then, the door burst open again-this time with a tall man in a leather trench coat, chewing on a toothpick and holding an SMG like it was an afterthought.
"Step back," the man warned, grinning like a shark. "This hotel belongs to the Penguin now. Your guy inside? He's a fun hostage. We take fingers after the first hour."
Dick tensed.
The man waved the gun casually. "You show up again, we bury you. Court's done here."
Then he ducked back inside.
Pauline, seething, shoved a pistol into Dick's hand-his own backup piece.
"Get in there," he snarled. "Get Sam out."
Dick blinked. "You want me to go in alone?"
Pauline spat blood into the gravel. "You're wearing the damn mask now. Earn it."
Dick glanced down at the gun. A sleek, matte-black pistol. No serial number.
He wasn't sure what bothered him more: the fact that Pauline trusted him to do this... or the fact that he wasn't surprised that the Penguin was making moves against the Court.
He flicked the safety off, checked the mag, and nodded.
"Cover me."
Pauline leaned against the hood of the car, bleeding but upright. "You get him out... you and I are gonna have a long drink tonight."
Dick didn't reply.
He was already running toward the side door, mask on, gun drawn, mind sharpening like a blade.
If they wanted to turn Gotham into a chessboard of violence-he was going to flip the whole damn table.
The musty stench of old carpets and gunpowder choked the air inside the Bramble Oak Inn. Dick Grayson moved like a shadow through the hallways, hugging the walls, pistol steady in his grip. The building was dim-only half the lights worked-and the deeper he crept, the more bullet holes and shattered furniture he saw.
He hadn't wanted to bring a gun.
He definitely hadn't wanted to use one.
But this was war now.
And war didn't ask for permission.
He spotted the first thug near the stairwell-mid-30s, thick build, bad posture. The guy turned and shouted-
"He's in here!"
-right before Dick fired.
BANG!
A clean shot to the leg. The man dropped screaming, clutching his thigh.
More shouting erupted from down the hall. The gang wasn't as organized as the Court, but they were desperate-and desperate men were dangerous.
Gunfire burst from the hallway as Dick rolled behind a fallen shelf. Splinters erupted around him. He returned fire with surgical precision, clipping a shoulder, hitting another in the hip. Always non-lethal.
Always controlled.
But then, chaos broke through the pattern.
Out of the side room, one of the Penguin's crew-lean, fast, wiry-burst through with a duffel bag clutched to his chest. The money.
The Court's money.
Dick locked eyes with him through the chaos. The guy didn't even hesitate-he bolted, heading through the kitchen, crashing through the back door.
"Damn it," Dick hissed.
"Forget him!" a weak voice shouted.
Dick turned to see Pauline dragging himself toward the door, now covered in even more blood.
"I'll get Sam! You get the money!" Pauline coughed hard. "Move!"
Dick hesitated only a second before sprinting after the thief.
---
Back Lot - Seconds Later
The thief leapt into a silver sedan, engine already running. Tires screeched as he tore out of the parking lot.
Dick didn't stop.
He vaulted over a dumpster and made it to the black Court car, the keys still inside.
He floored it.
The engine roared to life, and the car shot forward onto the dark winding road that curved along Gotham's outskirts. The silver sedan was weaving through back roads, clearly thinking it could lose anyone unfamiliar with the terrain.
But Dick wasn't just anyone.
He was Nightwing.
He knew Gotham's veins like his own.
---
The Chase
Headlights carved through the dusk. Trees blurred past. Dick stayed low, narrowing the distance inch by inch. The duffel was visible through the back window, bouncing with every swerve.
The thief looked in the mirror.
Saw him.
And panicked.
The silver car jerked hard, turning off-road into an abandoned service lane leading to an old quarry.
"Idiot," Dick muttered.
He followed.
Gravel sprayed. The car ahead fishtailed, and just as it hit the narrow turn toward the cliffs, the back wheel clipped a rock-sending it spinning into a ditch.
Dick pulled up behind it, jumped out, and drew his gun.
"Out. Now."
The thief-bleeding from the forehead-stumbled out, hands raised.
"I don't want to die-"
"You're not gonna die. But you're not keeping that bag."
Dick stepped forward, yanked the duffel free, and checked inside.
Still full. Still intact.
He pulled out his burner phone and texted a coded phrase to Bruce:
> "Nest holds. Returning with feather."
Then he called Pauline.
One ring. Two.
The old man answered, grunting.
"Did you get it?"
"Got it," Dick said, breathing hard. "Where are you?"
"Bleeding. Alive. Sam's with me. Meet at the safehouse on 14th."
Dick looked down at the thief, still on his knees in the dirt.
"You move before I'm gone," Dick warned, "I'll let the Court deal with you instead."
He left the man there, started the car, and drove back through the dark.
His hands were shaking now-not from fear, but from everything he was willing to do to stay inside the Court's walls.
And everything he was risking to bring it all down.
The drive to Safehouse 14 was a blur-shadows, headlights, and the faint buzz of adrenaline still coursing through Dick's veins. The duffel bag full of blood money sat on the passenger seat like a loaded confession. Pauline's words echoed in his ears.
> "Meet at the safehouse on 14th."
But as Dick pulled onto the quiet street, just two blocks from the target location, a shape dropped from the darkness above.
THUD.
The windshield cracked slightly as something slammed onto the hood.
Before Dick could react, the door was yanked open-
And Batman dragged him out by the collar.
Before he could speak, the Dark Knight threw him against a brick wall in the alley and then-without warning-grappled the both of them up to the adjacent rooftop in one clean movement.
They landed hard.
"WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?"
Batman's voice wasn't cold.
It was furious.
Dick winced, yanking the owl mask off his face, tossing it aside like it was burning him.
"I had no choice-"
"You contacted Barbara!"
Batman shoved him again, this time less violently but no less angry.
"We agreed: no contact. No contact. You compromised the mission."
"She was worried-"
"She's always worried, Dick!" Bruce snarled. "You think I don't see it? You think I don't know how she looks at your empty chair in the Belfry every night? You think I want to lie to her? But that's what the job is! That's what infiltration means! Everything depends on them believing you're one of them."
Dick stood there in silence, breathing hard.
The city buzzed beneath them. Far off, a siren cried. The moon bathed Gotham in its usual eerie silver.
"I had to hear her voice," Dick finally said, quietly.
Bruce closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them, he looked more tired than angry. More human.
"I get it," he muttered. "But if they suspect anything, they won't just kill you. They'll kill her. And then they'll make you watch."
Dick looked away. He knew that. He knew that better than Bruce thought.
"She's still safe," he said. "And so far, the Court still trusts me."
Batman crossed his arms. "Then give me what you have. Now."
Dick nodded.
"Penguin's trying to muscle in on their outer holdings. That hotel ambush today wasn't random. Someone tipped Penguin off to the Court's collection route."
He tossed the duffel bag on the rooftop beside them.
"Payment from the mayor. Casino funds. Protection money. They're re-establishing control through violence and fear-and they've got leverage on everyone. Judges, cops, councilmen. And they're expanding."
Bruce stared at the bag, jaw tight.
"They still don't trust me fully. I'm low-level muscle right now-errands, threats. But they're watching me. Testing me."
"You'll stay dark from now on," Bruce said firmly. "No more direct contact with Barbara. Any info goes through dead drops. You want to protect her? Stick to the mission."
Dick gave a reluctant nod.
"I'll reach out once I'm deeper. But this-"
He picked up the mask again.
"-this is just the beginning."
Batman looked at him long and hard, and-for a brief moment-his expression softened.
"Stay sharp, Grayson."
He fired his grapnel and vanished into the skyline.
Dick stood alone on the roof, owl mask in hand, city lights flickering below.
And in his heart, a war between the man he had to be...
...and the man he swore never to become.
The Court's underground lair had the chill of a tomb-cold stone walls, flickering gaslight sconces, and silence that seemed to judge every footstep. But as Dick and Pauline stepped through the heavy oak doors, dragging the duffel of reclaimed cash behind them, the quiet gave way to subtle murmurs. The masked figures lingering in the hallways turned their heads slightly, acknowledging their return.
They passed beneath the stone arch engraved with the Court's motto:
> "The Court sees all, and forgets none."
The Grandmaster awaited them in the main hall, standing beneath the great owl statue that towered over the inner chamber like a silent deity.
He stepped forward slowly, cloak flowing, cane tapping against the stone floor.
"Grayson," he said, voice echoing. "You have proven yourself again."
Pauline winced as he handed over the duffel, his side still bleeding through the bandage hastily wrapped in the car.
"The Penguin's men tried to take what's ours," he grunted. "But Grayson handled himself well. Recovered the money. Fast, clean."
The Grandmaster gave a small nod of approval. "Loyalty in action. We notice such things."
Dick bowed his head, hiding his expression behind the emotionless porcelain of the owl mask. "Only doing what was expected."
"No," the Grandmaster replied, "you're doing more than expected."
He turned his back to them, gesturing toward the towering stained-glass window high above.
"In time, you will be trusted with more than petty collections. The Court remembers its true warriors. The Talon is not a title. It is a destiny."
Dick felt something tighten in his chest-but he forced a small nod. "Understood."
"Rest. Tomorrow, there is more work to do."
---
Later - Dick's Quarters
The door shut behind him with a hollow click. Dick dropped the pistol into the drawer, pulled off the owl mask, and sat down on the edge of the bed.
The walls were bare stone. The only light came from a single antique lamp on the desk.
He reached into the lining of his travel bag-an old trick he'd used back in Spyral-and carefully pulled out a thin, laminated photograph.
It was a candid shot.
Barbara.
In her chair, laughing at something he'd said, one hand brushing her hair back. The city skyline behind her, soft light in her eyes.
He stared at it for a long time, thumb running along the edge.
The Court wanted to mold him into one of their weapons again. Wanted him to forget who he was, who he loved, and why he ever put on a mask in the first place.
But this photo-this moment-was the anchor.
"Just a little longer," he whispered, as if she could hear him. "Then I'll come home."
He placed the photo gently under the false bottom of the drawer and locked it.
Then he leaned back in the stiff mattress and stared at the ceiling.
The Grandmaster had praised him. The Court was accepting him. The mission was progressing.
But each step forward...
...pulled him further into the dark.