INT. COURT OF OWLS BASE – TRAINING ROOM – DAY
The training room is a stark, brutal space, all concrete and chrome. It's empty save for a few discarded punching bags and a scattering of various weapons on racks along the walls. The only light comes from a single, high-intensity lamp, casting long, stark shadows.
Dick stands in the middle of the room, now clad in the black, form-fitting armor of a Talon. The armor is sleek, deadly, and suffocating. It feels like a second skin, but a skin not of his own choosing.
He's holding a practice blade, a heavy, blunted piece of steel, and he runs his thumb along its edge, the action a familiar, almost comforting habit.
His mind, however, is anything but comforted. It's replaying the events of the previous night on a grim, endless loop. The Grandmaster's last gasp. Evelyn's cold, triumphant smile. The sound of Talons' daggers finding their marks. And then, the echo that haunted him most of all: his own voice, low and commanding, ordering the death of the loyalists.
He had given the order. He, Dick Grayson, had ordered a massacre.
He had done it to protect himself, to gain Evelyn's trust, to dig deeper into her plans. But the justification, no matter how logical, did nothing to silence the screaming in his head.
The faces of the men he had condemned to death were burned into his memory. The fear in their eyes. The betrayal in their hearts.
He grips the practice blade tighter, his knuckles white. The Talons' armor feels less like a tool and more like a cage. A cage he had willingly walked into. A cage he had just helped build. He had always been the one to save people. Now he was the one who sent them to their deaths.
The Talons' blade felt heavy in his hand, a physical manifestation of the weight on his conscience. He had traded his soul for a seat at Evelyn's table, but he had no idea if he could ever truly find his way back.
INT. CAR – GOTHAM STREET – MORNING
The car is parked discreetly down the street from the Belfry, the engine idling softly. Pauline sits in the driver's seat, a half-smoked cigarette between his fingers, while Sam stares at a tablet, his face illuminated by the screen's glow. The digital file is open to a detailed profile of Barbara Gordon.
"Barbara Gordon," Sam mutters, reading from the screen. "Daughter of Commissioner Gordon. Former Gotham City librarian. Now a programmer and head of her own non-profit. Spends her time with local charities and works with inner-city kids. A regular angel."
Pauline snorts, flicking his cigarette out the window. "Yeah, I've met her type. They're never as clean as they look. Especially if Grayson's involved."
"The file says she's in a wheelchair," Sam adds, a hint of genuine confusion in his voice. "Paralyzed from the waist down years ago. A shooting."
"And yet Grayson keeps running to her," Pauline says, his eyes fixed on the Belfry's entrance. "It's the only place he goes when he thinks no one's watching. There's something more to this girl than her resume."
He turns to Sam, a cold, calculating look in his eyes. "So, we wait. She'll leave eventually. We'll pick her up when she heads back to her apartment tonight. No one knows her connection to Grayson. No one knows her connection to us. It'll be a clean extraction."
Sam nods, his gaze returning to the tablet. He scrolls through photos of Barbara—smiling, laughing, helping others. He knows the kind of leverage she represents. She's not a soldier; she's a civilian. A weakness. A pawn.
Pauline starts the car and pulls away from the curb, driving slowly around the block to maintain their surveillance.
"This just got a whole lot more interesting," he says to himself, a grim smirk on his face. "Let's see what our boy Grayson does when we take away his crutch."
INT. THE BELFRY – BATHROOM – MORNING
The sterile white tiles of the Belfry bathroom are cold against Barbara's knees. She grips the sides of the toilet bowl, her body heaving with a wave of nausea that leaves her weak and trembling. She leans back, her head resting against the wall, a sheen of sweat on her pale face. The black and green sweater she's wearing feels heavy and constricting, and the brown pants seem to weigh her down.
She takes a few shaky breaths, the taste of bile still in her mouth. Lately, this has been her morning ritual—a violent, exhausting bout of sickness that leaves her drained and helpless. She closes her eyes, trying to summon the strength to move.
The nausea has passed for now, but the fatigue is a heavy, leaden weight.
Slowly, she pushes herself up, using the sink for support. Her arms shake with the effort. Her wheelchair sits just a few feet away, an obstacle course away. It might as well be a mile. Every inch of her body aches, and the world seems to spin around her. She reaches for the towel bar, her fingers fumbling, and pulls herself along the wall, her knuckles white with strain.
She finally makes it to her wheelchair, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She slides into the seat, a wave of relief washing over her. She sits there for a moment, her head bowed, her hands resting in her lap. The morning sickness is a brutal reminder of the new life she's carrying, a life that feels both terrifying and precious.
She had hoped to keep it a secret for a little while longer, to savor the quiet joy of it before the chaos of their world intruded. But the morning sickness has a way of making secrets impossible.
She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and looks at her reflection in the mirror. She looks tired, worn down, but in her eyes, there's a flicker of a fierce, protective light.
She is a mother now, and in her heart, a new kind of strength is being forged. She rolls out of the bathroom, the wheels of her chair a soft, familiar sound against the floor. The world is waiting for her, but for a moment, she is just a woman, a mother-to-be, navigating a new, terrifying, and beautiful path.
Barbara wheels herself into the heart of the Belfry, the Oracle Hub. The control center hums with a low, constant energy.
She slides her chair in front of the main console, her fingers flying across the keyboard, her body still weak from the morning sickness. The digital dashboards spring to life around her, a cascade of information—police frequencies, satellite feeds, and city blueprints.
"Red Hood, I've got a lead on the last of the weapon smugglers," she says, her voice strained but still sharp and commanding. "He's holed up in an abandoned warehouse on the docks. I'm uploading the blueprints to your comms now."
"Got it, B. See you when the party's over," Red Hood replies, his voice a low, confident rumble.
Barbara grits her teeth, her hand clutching her stomach. A wave of nausea, a remnant of the last one, washes over her, and she has to take a moment to steady herself. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and then reopens them. She is a woman on a mission, and a mission she will accomplish.
"Red Robin, Black Bat, the Penguin's thugs are moving in on the docks," she says, her voice still a little shaky. "I need you to create a distraction. We need to buy Red Hood some time."
"On it, Oracle," Red Robin replies, his voice full of focus and determination.
She continues to guide them, a silent commander in the midst of a battle she can't physically join. Her movements are sharp and precise, her mind a whirlwind of tactics and strategy. She is a force to be reckoned with, a ghost in the machine, and she is the only thing standing between these criminals and a city that needs its heroes.
INT. COURT OF OWLS BASE – TRAINING ROOM – DAY
The rhythmic thud of a practice blade against a punching bag fills the training room. Dick, now a blur of motion in his Talon armor, is a whirlwind of lethal grace. He moves with a focused, brutal energy, his mind and body in perfect sync.
He's in the middle of a complex series of strikes when a voice cuts through the air. "Impressive, Grayson. A natural fit for the armor."
Dick stops, his body still, but his mind on high alert. Evelyn stands in the doorway, her red dress a vibrant slash of color against the room's muted tones. She smiles, a cold, predatory expression.
"You said you'd be ready," she says, walking toward him. "And you were right. You've earned a promotion, Grayson. Or, should I say, a mission."
She stops just inches from him, her gaze intense. "You'll be going to Star City. With Vinny. You'll make arrangements for Court control. We have a lot of… assets there. I want you to be the one to secure them."
Dick's mind races. Star City. The home of the Green Arrow. A city that, for all its problems, was under the protection of a very different kind of hero. This wasn't a mission; it was a test. A test of his loyalty. A test of his willingness to embrace the darkness.
"You look hesitant," Evelyn says, her voice a low purr. "Don't be. This is a chance to show them what you're capable of. To show them that you're not just a soldier. That you're a leader."
She reaches out, her hands tracing the lines of his mask, her fingers a cold touch against the metal. She leans in, her eyes locked on his. "You'll be a great king, Grayson. My king."
She leans in, her lips parting, her eyes half-closed, a silent invitation to a kiss. Dick, his body tense, his mind in turmoil, stands frozen. The line between his mission and his identity blurs. His heart pounds in his chest, a drumbeat of fear and revulsion. He knows what he has to do. He knows what he has to pretend. But the thought of her touch, of her kiss, is a physical assault, a violation of everything he stands for.
He remains still, his face a mask of stone. He waits for her to make the move, to seal the deal with a kiss that would taste like ashes. He has no idea how he's going to get out of this one.
INT. THE BELFRY – NIGHT
The Belfry is a symphony of silent technology and subdued lighting. The air hums with the low thrum of servers and the gentle glow of computer monitors.
Barbara sits at her Oracle hub, her hands moving across the keyboard with a practiced grace.
A dark figure steps out of the shadows. It is Batman, his presence a silent, powerful force in the room. His gaze is fixed on Barbara, a question in his eyes.
"Report on Grayson's status," he says, his voice a low growl that echoes in the quiet space.
Barbara's fingers still on the keyboard. She looks at Batman, her expression unreadable.
"I haven't heard from him since the rebellion started. He called a few days ago, said Evelyn was making her move, and then... nothing."
She looks at the black screen where his last known location is displayed. "I'm heading home, Bruce. I'm a bit under the weather and need some rest."
Batman's gaze narrows. "You never leave early, Barbara. What's wrong?"
Barbara meets his gaze, a slight tremor in her voice. "Nothing. Just... a little tired. A little nauseous. I just need a night to rest and recuperate. I'll be back in the morning."
Batman's gaze is unwavering, and Barbara knows that he sees the lie in her eyes. But he doesn't press her. He simply nods, a silent acknowledgment of her request. "Get some rest, Barbara. The city needs you."
He turns and melts back into the shadows, leaving Barbara alone with her thoughts. She knows he's going to find out what's wrong. But for now, she just needs to go home. She just needs to rest. She just needs to be alone with her secret.
INT. BARBARA'S APARTMENT – NIGHT
The quiet of Barbara's apartment is a stark contrast to the thrum of the Belfry. She sits in her chair, the city lights of Gotham a hazy, distant glow through her window. Her phone rings, its bright display cutting through the dim light. It's Dick. Her heart gives a little flutter, a mix of relief and anxiety. She answers.
"Hey," she says, a soft smile in her voice.
"Hey, B," Dick's voice crackles through the phone. It's a sound she's missed, a sound that feels like coming home. "I'm so glad to hear your voice."
"Me too," she replies. "I've been worried. What happened? Are you okay?"
"The rebellion was a success," he says, a strange, hollow triumph in his voice. "Evelyn is the new Grandmaster. And... she put me in charge of the Talon army."
Barbara's breath catches in her throat. She knew he was playing a dangerous game, but this was a whole new level of risk. "Dick, that's..."
"I know," he says, cutting her off, as if he can read her mind. "It's the only way to get closer to her. The only way to stop her."
He continues, his voice hushed and urgent. "I'm being sent to Star City with Vinny to make arrangements for Court control. I need you to connect Green Arrow and Black Canary. I'm going to get myself arrested. They need to 'capture' me and pretend I'm a prisoner."
A sudden burst of muffled shouting echoes through the phone. Dick's voice sharpens with alarm. "I have to go. They're coming. I love you, B. I love you so much."
He hangs up. The line goes dead, leaving Barbara in a deafening silence. The words "I love you" hang in the air, a fragile, beautiful promise in a world that's quickly falling apart.
Just as she puts her phone down, a knock on her door shatters the stillness of the room. She wheels herself to the door and opens it, a tremor of unease running through her. A man she doesn't recognize stands there, his hands in his pockets, a subtle smirk on his face. He is well-dressed, but his eyes hold a cold, calculating look.
"Excuse me, are you Barbara Gordon?" he asks.
"Yes, can I help you?" she replies, her voice calm and steady, despite the pounding of her heart.
The smirk on his face widens. "My name is Pauline," he says. "And I'm a friend of Dick's."