2014.04.20 - The Court of Owls - Sins of the Father

Beneath the bowels of Gotham, in places not even the Batman knows to look, the Owls hold their court.

Though tonight -- there are no owls, here. The silent partners in the Owl's one-man campaign against an interdimensional threat are not present; many of them have, in fact, already been killed. A grim necessity: The Court of Owls was always just another tool. Another means to an ends. The hierarchy wasn't going to be happy when they discovered Nega-Bruce's deception; a fact that he's well aware of. Taking them out ahead of time was just another contingency.

Something he didn't form a contingency plan for, though: Shen Kuei finding Lincoln March's cave. Or shooting Jason Todd. Or, in fact, Jason Todd even showing up in the first place.

The ancient subway station has been long abandoned; once, stain glass windows were backlight by the hum of lights, with the heels of Gotham's rich and elite clicking against the tableau of colorful floor mosaics. Now, there's nothing here but the steady growl of a distant generator -- floodlights arranged here and there -- computers, weapon stations, war-maps -- and several medical beds. One of which is currently occupied by an unconscious Jason Todd, strapped down and carefully monitored, swarmed in bandages and given a steady IV drip.

There is another device, nearby -- a large, unusual machine that resembles... some sort of Frankenstein-like apparatus. Several 'blocks' of metal -- antiquated control panels -- with vacuum tubes emerging from their front; they are connected via thick insulated copper wiring to a set of long steel rods, separated by five yards of space. A laptop is hooked up to the anachronism -- where Edward Nygma has been given the opportunity to work. Breaking through the previous Owl's encryption protocols.

This is the dimensional tunneler -- a device capable of piercing the veil between worlds.

"Nygma." It's the Owl -- otherwise known as Nega-Bruce. His brilliant yellow eyes open from the dark corner of the ancient, abandoned subway station; soon, they are snuffed out -- the hood removed with a hiss, exposing his grizzled, scarred face. "Any luck?"

Strafing Nygma -- keeping silent watch -- are 14 'Talons', their suits in various states of disrepair. Their eyes are out; they stand as silent guardians, watchmen who wait for their Master's order. Other Talons -- in far less functional states -- are scattered around the room. The process of repairing them has been very slow... and they don't have a lot of time before the Owl launches his plan.

-

It's probably not very good that Edward's riding a fine line between 'excited' and 'terrified for his life'. He's slept little, eaten enough to keep him fueled, and otherwise has been chasing the tail of this encryption, taking notes on his own, bizarre short hand as he goes. He hasn't shaved-- and for a guy known for being both a dashing rogue AND not particularly manly, the guy can grow a beard in no time flat. Genetics are a marvelous thing, he supposes, when he has time to spare half a thought to anything that isn't his new project.

"It's a multi-key, multi-layered code. You need a passcode to prove you have a passcode for the passcode. Honestly, the security bloat is grotesque.. This isn't efficient or streamlined at all," Edwar said, not looking up from his work. "It's honestly rather brute force. I don't think the original Owl had to work as you did-- he was a bully, as opposed to.... well, a bully with an unerring sense of justice." The Owl and the Bat were very different creatures, but the Owl had left his mark....

"And you?" he asked, finally looking up from his work; he's not bothered by the undead Talons; he'd figure out something with their tech eventually, to hamper them -- as he was cetainly making other notes in his strange shorthand about how to combat the Owl he had here. He had no intention of dying for this man's crusade or helping him kill anyone. Death or Cake was not a choice, after all.

-

The comparison between Owlman and Bruce Wayne gets no reply. It is, after all, a valid point. "I did not expect Shen Kuei's interference. The majority of my army has been incapacitated. The likelihood of slaughtering Gotham's criminal elite in a single night has been... deeply compromised." Nega-Bruce reaches out toward one of the larger computer consoles, tapping the keyboard with his claw-like fingertips; the monitor flashes -- a map of Gotham. Little blots revealing the location of tracked criminals; a pained smile on his face.

"Two Talons against Joker. That's almost funny."

And then, as the smile vanishes, Bruce turns back to Nygma: "Of course, no plan survives first contact with the enemy. I've shifted my priorities. This is no longer about killing Gotham's criminal elite; that will come later."

Bruce's eyes darken: "This is about killing Batman."

-

Edward's fingers stop on the keys; it's not an unexpected conclusion -- indeed, its in his notes. Once he saw the halved force of Talons return, he knew that the Owlbat would have to change his parameters.

"He's an innocent man who has striven to protect his city," Edward said, looking up over the edge of his glasses. He wasn't sure he wanted to risk pointing it out, that he was killing a man who did no wrong... but, well.

In for a penny, in for a pound. He was reformed after all. Doing the right thing, Edward knew, had it's cost. That's why it was called the higher road: going up a hill always took more effort than rolling down.

-

"Innocent?" Bruce fires back -- a hint of ire in his tone. "He's a half-measure, Nygma. Extending the city's pain for the sake of his own moral cleanliness. How many people have died just so he can keep his hands clean? How many--" Bruce's mouth snaps shut; his eyes turn back to the monitor. Tapping away at the computer. Bringing up the assault plan.

"I lived like a criminal to understand them; I lived in the shadows to understand them. I acted like a monster to understand them. But I never did truly understand any of these things, Nygma. It took an entire world dying in front of me to show me that."

"Because I was never a criminal, I was never in the shadows, I was never a monster. Not truly. These things were always just masks -- masks that I could take off when I grew tired of them. But I'm done with masks, now. I'm done with spectacle -- with toys -- with games. I'm just here to save as many people as I can."

"And I know -- I know -- the Batman of this world will never understand that. Not until it's too late. Which leaves me with two options: Let the world burn in front of him so he can finally understand why this is necessary... or kill him."

-

Typical villainous diabtribe. Edward ticks off a 'he so crazy' checkmark in his head, as well as 'got to get the hell away from here' (which already has a lot of mental checkmarks anyway), following up with 'he's going to get his ass kicked'.

"Just a simple question. You know me; or maybe you don't. Did I reform in your world before the big invasion?" he asks, looking back at his work. He's got a decoder running, decompiling and recompiling code to see if it can find the key within.

Edward was the worst person to monologue at; he hated sharing the stage, and refused to let this Batman sell him on his 'noble quest'. So he distracted the Owlbat from it with a different sort of qustion... one that Edward didn't actually care that much about, but would make Owlbat think about something for five seconds.

-

For whatever it's worth, it works -- Nega-Bruce does pause, eyebrows crunched together -- glancing over to Nygma. "You reformed," he tells him, followed by: "You also got yourself killed fairly quickly. Turns out solving riddles doesn't help much against an invasion of murderous superhumans." And then Bruce is turned back to the screen, claw-tips continuing to tap-a-tap-tap. Before...

...sigh.

"...Nygma, I know you're going to betray me. I know you're also still going to solve the encryption problem, because it's a riddle, and you can't resist riddles. But I want you to do something for me. Something personal." And then the Owl is reaching into his suit -- a small, sleek pocket -- withdrawing something. A folded letter...?

"If this doesn't work. If I don't succeed. I want you to give this to him." Bruce turns his head, nodding toward the unconscious heap of Jason Todd on the medic table.

-

"Well, so long as we're clear on everyone's roles in this charade," Edward said, arching one brow as he did not look up. Batman - any one of them - had his number, and though he rankled at being so predictable, he knew it was true. He needed the answer. The request, though... that earns a pause.

"You are asking the man who has walked out on his family, abandoned a daughter he can barely remember to pursue a life of crime-- to be your errand boy for the son -- and they are your sons, we both know that -- that you'll die before you tell him you love him yourself?"

Edward relished the brief silence, a tense span of heartbeats, before he muttered to himself: "Though this may get me all my fingers broken, it's giong to be worth it..." He took a breath, and then said, louder: "No. Survive, and tell him your own goddamn self."

-

Rather than rage, Bruce's face twitches with something else. Amusement.

"--I think you've forgotten who I'm going to be fighting tomorrow, Nygma. Whatever happens tomorrow, I'm not going to be dying." The amusement was just a flash in the pan, though. It's lost beneath a slightly softer expression; discontent, maybe. Regret? "--I'd tell him if he were conscious right now. What he needs to hear. That if this fails..."

Bruce turns away. Back to Todd. "...either way, I'm not the father figure he needs. He looks to me because he sees someone who, like him, is enveloped in pain and hate. The thing he doesn't get is -- I don't want him to be like me. I'm doing this so he -- so everyone else -- doesn't have to."

Then, back to Nygma. "Look at us. I'm pretty much Darth Vader and you're the goddamn Riddler. This is what we have to look forward to. I'm asking you to help me at least get one kid out of this, intact."

-

"That moniker is retired."

Edward sighed. He sat up, pulling his glasses from his face, and stretched; his back popped audibly-- and he got up, weaving past equipment and mute Talons to approach the other man.

"You're not what he deserves, no," he said. "Congratulations. I'm not the father my daughter deserves, and God only knows what Johnathan McHeigh's father was like. You are the father he has. If you can't be a hero to a boy, to save one life, how can you expect to save the world?"

He looked across the room to where Jason Todd lay, in his drug-induced sleep. He'd seen the second Robin enough to put the clues together... he knew who he was. How he got here? He had some ideas, but none of them were good or pleasant.

"I'll do it on one condition. You get Johnthan McHeigh out of the pit you've help create for him, and I'll deliver your stupid letter."

Morals were and like a sweater that itched; they make you move in ways you never expected just to make them settle.

-

"--McHeigh's father was a member of the Court of Owls," Bruce replies, although he follows this up with nothing else -- as if the cryptic answer was enough to explain his actions on their own. Those calm, tranquil eyes swing up to regard Nygma as he approaches. And...

"...did you know that the Court of Owls trains their initiates -- brainwashes them, as children -- to kill their own parents? As a way of breaking all ties with the outside world. It's their first mission as a Talon."

For a moment, Bruce lets this announcement linger in the air, his eyes still locked upon Nygma. Letting the implication sink in. Before:

"I broke that tradition by killing McHeigh's parents myself. The Court doesn't know. They're actually rather upset with him; they think he goofed up. It'd be child's play to take him out of their hands and put him in another household, though."

Bruce turns back to the console, resuming his typing. "Consider it done."

-

"My household," Edward said, extending his handfor the letter. "I'm uniquely equipped to deal with people who have-- mental illness issues. If I can't deal with him, I know a lovely lesbian couple that moved up to Boston who'll be glad to help, if I make the right calls. Their... past criminal history eliminates from a lot of adoption agencies and foster care."

Still, he was satisfied, at least. Johnathan McHeigh would be safe -- ad out of the clutches of that vile Dr. Riddle. The man made his skin crawl.

"You should still tell him yourself," he added, and turned away. "Nobody is the father anyone deserves... even when faced with a monster," Edward turned away once he had the letter, to go back to his station, "we still crave their love and approval, even when we know it isn't worth anything."

Somewhere, Ellis Nashton felt a chill run down his spine, and had no idea why.

-

To this, Bruce Wayne does not respond. The letter is handed over; his eyes watch Nygma as he returns to his station -- silent, brooding, thinking. His brows crunch back together as he turns back to the screen in front of him. For several long moments, he does not move.

It's only about a minute later that Nygma can once again hear his fingers tapping on the keyboard, returning to his plans.