April 21, 2065, 11:05
Tech Dealer's Hideout, Burnley District, Gotham City
Elias Kane slipped through the rusted door of a derelict warehouse in Burnley, his patched jacket soaked from the unending rain. The air inside was thick with the hum of overclocked servers and the tang of burnt circuits. Holo-screens flickered with stolen Enforcer feeds, showing drones patrolling Gotham's neon-lit slums. Elias clutched the holo-disc, Bruce Wayne's warning still looping in his mind: The Court of Owls... Trust no one.
The tech dealer, a wiry man named Jace with a cybernetic arm whirring softly, sat at a workbench littered with scavenged tech. "Kane," Jace rasped, his voice a smoker's growl, "you bring trouble every time you show up."
Elias tossed the holo-disc onto the table, its surface glinting under the flickering lights. "I need this distress signal traced. It's coming from Wayne Manor, and I need to know why."
Jace plugged the disc into a cracked terminal, his cyber-arm interfacing with the system. The distress signal's frequency pulsed on the screen, a jagged red line. "Old tech," Jace muttered, "Wayne Enterprises, pre-2050. This is coming from the Batcave something's waking up down there."
Before Elias could respond, the warehouse's lights died, plunging them into darkness. A low hum vibrated the walls, and Jace's terminal sparked, frying itself. Elias's goggles flared, detecting movement multiple heat signatures, closing fast. "Get down!" he shouted, tackling Jace as the warehouse door exploded inward, shrapnel flying.
Masked figures in white owl masks Talon assassins, the Court of Owls' enforcers stormed in, their blades glinting with a sickly green glow. Elias rolled behind a server rack, his pulse disruptor humming to life. He fired, a blue arc crackling through the air, but the Talons moved like specters, dodging with inhuman speed. One slashed at Jace, who screamed as the blade bit into his cyber-arm, sparks flying.
Elias vaulted over a table, kicking a Talon in the chest, and sprinted for a back exit, the holo-disc back in his pocket. He burst into the rain-soaked alley, Talons in pursuit, their owl masks glowing faintly in the dark. The Court of Owls wasn't a myth and they wanted him dead.
June 10, 2040, 01:22
Gotham Docks, Industrial Sector
Damian Wayne, now 26 and clad in the League of Shadows' black-and-emerald armor, crouched on a crane overlooking Gotham's docks. The salty air stung his face as he surveyed a Court of Owls shipment below crates of bio-weapons meant to destabilize the city. Ra's had sent him to prove his loyalty, to strike at the Court's operations and send a message.
The League's assassins flanked him, silent as ghosts, their blades gleaming. Damian's heart pounded, not with fear but with conflict. He'd abandoned the Batsuit, but Bruce's voice haunted him: Justice, not vengeance. Ra's demanded blood; Bruce demanded restraint.
Damian signaled, and the League moved, descending like a storm. He swung down on a grapple line, landing amidst the Court's guards, his blade flashing. He disarmed one with a precise strike, then spun, kicking another into a crate with a splintering crack. The guards screamed, their guns blazing, but the League was relentless shadows that killed without sound.
A Talon emerged, its owl mask a stark white against the night, and charged Damian. Their blades clashed, sparks flying as they danced across the docks, steel ringing like a death knell. The Talon was fast, but Damian was faster, his League training honed to a razor's edge. He feinted, then drove his blade through the Talon's shoulder, pinning it to a crate. "Where's the Court?" he snarled, but the Talon only laughed, blood bubbling from its lips, before snapping a cyanide tooth.
The docks erupted in flames as the League set charges, the bio-weapons destroyed. Damian swung to a rooftop, watching the fire spread, the city's neon skyline glowing in the distance. He'd struck a blow against the Court, but the cost was heavy blood on his hands, Bruce's ideals fading like smoke.
April 21, 2065, 11:18
Burnley District Rooftops, Gotham City
Elias sprinted across the rooftops of Burnley, his boots slipping on rain-slicked tiles as the Talons pursued, their grapple guns whining. The city's neon lights blurred below, a maze of holograms and Enforcer drones buzzing like angry wasps. Elias's goggles flickered, mapping a path to the Neon Bazaar he needed Zara Voss's help to survive this.
A Talon lunged, its blade slashing at his back, but Elias dove, rolling across a skylight and kicking through a rusted vent. He dropped into a derelict apartment, landing amidst moldy furniture, and scrambled through a broken window onto a fire escape. The Talons followed, their masks glowing like death omens, their movements eerily synchronized.
Elias leaped to a lower roof, his pulse disruptor firing wildly, a blue arc catching a Talon in the chest. It staggered, but another tackled him, pinning him against a chimney. The Talon's blade pressed to his throat, its voice a hiss: "The Court sees all, Kane."
A shadow moved fast, lethal and the Talon's grip slackened as a cloaked figure from the Batcave slammed into it, sending the assassin sprawling. The figure's mask glinted, its voice modulated: "Run, scavenger." Elias didn't hesitate, vaulting over a ledge and swinging onto a holo-sign's frame, its flickering ad for Enware implants buzzing beneath him. The cloaked figure fought the Talons, a whirlwind of fists and blades, giving Elias the seconds he needed to escape into the neon-lit chaos below.
September 3, 2045, 22:55
Court of Owls Safehouse, Gotham Underground
Damian, now 31 and a seasoned League operative, stood in a cavern beneath Gotham, its walls carved with owl motifs, the air thick with the scent of damp stone and fear. The Court of Owls had escalated their operations since his strike at the docks, unleashing a plague on the Narrows that killed thousands. Ra's had ordered a direct assault on their leadership, and Damian led the mission, his emerald cloak billowing as he moved.
The Court's Grandmaster, a gaunt man in a feathered mask, sat on a stone throne, surrounded by Talons. "You cannot stop progress, al Ghul," the Grandmaster sneered, his voice a cultured drawl. "Gotham belongs to us."
Damian didn't reply, signaling his assassins. The cavern erupted blades clashed, Talons lunged, and the League countered with brutal efficiency. Damian fought the Grandmaster, their duel a blur of steel and fury. The Grandmaster was skilled, his owl-shaped dagger slicing Damian's arm, but Damian was relentless, driving a knee into the man's gut and snapping his neck with a sickening crunch.
As the Court's forces fell, Damian planted charges, the cavern trembling as explosions echoed. He swung out through a tunnel, the safehouse collapsing behind him, but the Grandmaster's words lingered: Gotham belongs to us. The Court wasn't defeated just wounded. And Damian's hands were stained redder than ever, the line between justice and vengeance erased.
April 21, 2065, 12:03
Neon Bazaar, Old Gotham Slums
Elias stumbled into the Neon Bazaar, his arm bleeding from a Talon's graze, and found Zara Voss at her usual booth, her cybernetic eye glowing red. The market buzzed around them smugglers haggling, drones hawking bio-implants, the air thick with synth-alcohol fumes. Zara slid him a stim-patch, her gaze sharp. "You're a walking death warrant, Kane. What now?"
Elias slammed the holo-disc onto the table. "The Court of Owls they're real, and they're after me. That distress signal from the Batcave what's it mean?"
Zara's eye whirred, interfacing with her datapad. "The signal's a beacon Project Trinity, some Wayne Enterprises black ops. It's drawing attention, not just from the Court. That cloaked figure? Word is, it's tied to the Batman's legacy maybe a Wayne, maybe a ghost." She leaned closer, her voice a whisper. "The Court's been running Gotham since Bruce Wayne died. They'll kill to keep their secrets buried."
Elias's mind raced. The Court murdered Bruce, and now they wanted the Batcave's secrets Project Trinity. He pocketed the disc, Zara's warning ringing in his ears: "Find Trinity, or you're dead." He slipped into the crowd, the weight of Gotham's shadows pressing down.
September 4, 2045, 01:15
Batcave, Beneath Wayne Manor
Damian returned to the Batcave after the Court assault, his League armor scarred, blood dripping from a gash on his cheek. The cave was silent, its systems dormant since he'd locked them five years ago. He stood before the Batsuit, its black armor untouched, a relic of a life he'd abandoned. Oracle 2.0 flickered to life, its voice soft: "You've returned, Damian. As I predicted."
Damian's fists clenched, his emerald cloak pooling around him. "I'm not him," he growled. "I never was."
Oracle 2.0's hologram shifted, displaying a file: Project Trinity. "Bruce's final contingency," it said. "A neural imprint of his mind, embedded in the Batsuit, to guide the next Batman. You were meant to be his successor."
Damian's breath caught. Bruce's mind alive, in the suit? He'd rejected the cowl, but the cowl hadn't rejected him. He left the cave, the suit untouched, but Oracle 2.0's words followed: "The Court will return. And so will you."
April 21, 2065, 14:30
Batcave, Beneath Wayne Manor
Elias returned to Wayne Manor, the holo-disc's signal guiding him back to the Batcave. The manor was a ruin, its gothic spires crumbling, rain pooling on the cracked marble. He descended the spiral staircase, his goggles flickering as the cave's systems hummed to life, the distress signal pulsing louder.
The vault where he'd seen the Batsuit was open, its black armor gleaming under flickering lights. Elias approached, his hands trembling, when Oracle 2.0 flared to life, its voice a synthetic echo: "Elias Kane, you've activated Project Trinity. State your purpose."
Before he could answer, the cloaked figure appeared, its mask glinting, a blade at Elias's throat. "You're not worthy," it rasped, but Oracle 2.0 interrupted: "He seeks the truth. As Bruce intended." The figure hesitated, then lowered its blade, stepping back. "Prove it," it said, vanishing into the shadows.
Elias touched the Batsuit, and a neural link activated, flooding his mind with Bruce Wayne's voice: "The Court of Owls killed me. Project Trinity is Gotham's last hope." The cave trembled, alarms blaring something was coming. Elias gripped the suit, the weight of Batman's legacy now his to bear.