Wayne Manor was always, always a quiet place. On summer's day and on winter's eve, with the family in, or the halls empty, it remained almost silent. But, as the caretaker to the manor and the family, Alfred was keen. To every sound and step and slip, there were rhythms that he picked out.
In particular, Damian's footsteps were the hardest to hear, compared to Bruce's deliberate, thunderous footfalls. It helped Alfred greatly when anticipating a mood or request, and served him well over his years of work. And now, it was driving him a bit mad.
Bruce was gone. And Alfred knew only too well what was happening. All communications to the sister base of Carcerem were shut, designed intentionally, but Alfred viewed the streams they shared. It broke his heart, truly shook him to his core to see the lad, the man he raised be brought so low.
Alfred thought of raising arms against him - even going so far as to organise weaponry and almost alerting the Carnifex for the Obsignatorum early. But he didn't. Every time his old hands held a rifle, every shot he aimed, he imagined the face of the baby Wayne, and the family he would later find. He imagined the shocked looks of the Robins, Batgirls and others, and faltered.
He felt weaker for it, for once. For the love he carried for Bruce. But he couldn't do it. Amidst the calm before the proverbial storm, he'd kept with the papers, and the plummeting crime rate as of the past few days. It didn't help his stir-craziness. It didn't help that he rejected every communication, redirected every transport that carried Stephanie, David, and the like.
It made him worry, and despite his warnings, he believed it would only be a matter of time before one of the family would break past the lockdown, and find themselves trapped in Gotham. A dark day, it would be.
It did spark a thought in him, however. A thought that turned into a plan - and a message that summoned help from where he would least expect it. He couldn't wade in the worry, the guilt. He needed to find out who of Batman's foes, beyond the Joker and Scarecrow, would poison him in such a fashion, and with what. He also, in a most savage fashion, thought this help would direct these conspirators to Batman's grasp, keeping him at least occupied until the lockdown lifted.
Breaking from the messaging system he was checking regularly, Alfred heard a stir at the front entrance to the manor. Armed with a pistol, he strode silently in those halls to meet said disturbance. Beyond the lack of a doorbell ringing, the lack of a knock, he heard several loud bangs cracking through the hollow halls.
Arriving at the foyer, he held his grip firmly, and remained steadfast as the intruders appeared. Clad in gaudy, steampunk-inspired getups, they struck Alfred with a sense of realisation that he may have been in over his head. Highly trained assassins, mostly female by the looks. They were fast, deadly, and he could hear more coming - the front door was a distraction! Two fell dead before they realised who began firing. The rest fell into formation, throwing a grenade into the manor to disrupt him and break his range, but Alfred was surprisingly quick.
Wincing as a bit of shrapnel scraped past his arm, he fired again missing one shot, but incapacitating then killing another assassin. Cursing to himself, Alfred ducked behind a wall for cover and huffed. This was not in any form of any plan, he thought, but I'll make do. He was going to lose. There were no two ways about it - and he thought if any day were to be the day the Court of Owls attacked Wayne Manor, it'd be when said Wayne had been declared dead.
"You're laboring under the misapprehension that this house is undefended, ladies. And I do not take kindly to uninvited guests," he announced, configuring an alarm system from his watch, blaring a wall of sound against the intruders. Witnessing them scramble, then tap their helmets, Alfred pressed himself back into the manor as a second wave of goons poured through the front.
They slashed through every defence. Pounded and annihilated every barricade that came their way. And despite 10 more being ripped to shreds by the house's revised defence system, more kept coming. More Talons - the dead, awoken. Alfred resigned himself to an awful fate, and left a message pinging out via his watch, should he have been slain.
The Talon's masks hissed with exertion as they moved fluidly - too smooth and too fast. Trying his best to weave through a storm of blades, Alfred took a nick here and there, slowing him considerably. It was only as he was disarmed, choked, and slammed against the ground did he make out what the hissing was. He cried out in pain, choking back a harsh growl as the gloved hand wrapped around his throat.
"Wayne… Dead…" they repeated, over, and over. One in particular strutted their way to Alfred's struggling body, sliding past her now frozen henchmen. She replaced the Talon holding him pinned, and gave him a look over, curious. She slid off her mask, and let the butler bask in the glory of her unhidden face. Ravaged by time and rejuvenated by archaic, eldritch metals, Wilma Cobb made no face, but appeared to recognise Alfred.
Didn't Master Dick deal with you? Alfred thought, feeling his stomach drop at this implication - had the very Court of Owls been involved with the plot to debase Master Bruce? Where had they gotten their renewed Electrum from? Why were they raiding Wayne Manor now?
"We're here to take back what is rightfully owed to the Court. You can direct us to the vault of house Wayne, or you can suffer in your last moments, servant," she boomed, brushing the hair out of her face.
"M-Missus Cobb, " he cleared his throat, "it's a pleasure. I can assure you no such vault exists on these grounds-"
"-Do you prefer to go the way of the Wayne family, servant? It makes no difference to us whether or not you reveal the location of the vault - we will spread, and we shall search, for the Court. I am offering you mercy," Cobb advised, a deadly smile crossing her cracked lips. She didn't react, or perhaps didn't hear a sound that Alfred did.
More footsteps. He could barely feel them, tip-toeing across the wood. But there were many - perhaps enough to take down the Talons. He had to stall her.
"And I am simply noting, with all due respect, that I'm unaware of the vault you speak of. Did your revivification affect your memory somewhat? How did you find a way out of Master Dick's trap?" he asked her, feigning genuine curiosity. It paid off in the form of a punch, deep into a lung, cracking a few ribs.
Chuckling, the Talon warned him, "do not waste my time. And my grandson is none of your concern, servant. If he still meanders around Bludhaven, I shall be paying him a visit soon enough. Wayne's whispers will leave his skull and soon he shall take my place again as Talon. Now," she gripped his throat, and squeezed, making him sputter and kick.
"You've made your choice. Which wall would you like to be mounted on?"
His vision blurred, then darkened. Not good. Darting what remained of his gaze around, he picked the farthest wall by the fireplace, no longer hearing those sets of steps. Did he imagine them? Was this truly the end? Alfred struggled in vain for what would be the last few moments of his life, kicking, expending the last of his energy before the air left his lungs.
He heard a blade unsheathe, and turned his thoughts to family.
And then, he fell. It took a few seconds, but he kept his chest steady, ensuring his shattered rib did not poke into anything else, and breathed. There was a commotion. Swings through the air - grunts, forces upon forces in deadly clashes. 20, 30 drops, before things quieted. Then Alfred blinked.
Wilma Cobb was standing, surrounded by members of the League of Assassins. They were fewer in number, but still stood above the corpses of the Talons with minor injuries. Slowly Alfred stood to witness their next act, covering his eyes as Wilma threw a pellet at her feet. The Assassins were blinded, struck as the Talon escaped, hissing all the way.
"Those vaults, this ground belongs to the Court, and soon it shall all burn!"
Among his saviours, Alfred sighed with relief, absolute and utter, as Talia al Ghul approached him. Their bodies were still built like weapons, though, at a far lesser cost than the Talons they destroyed. Talia's hair even looked better for the scrap, as she shook it back into place without a thought. The rest of the League, save one, went about dismembering the bodies of their foes. Behind Talia, her sister, Nyssa nodded to the butler.
"Your timing," Alfred winced, gently pawing at his ribs, "couldn't have been better, Miss Talia, Miss Nyssa. Believe me when I say it wasn't my intention for you to face down the Court of Owls-"
"-All for the better, I suppose," Talia greeted him, shaking his hand, "Nyssa had been yearning for a chance to test our latest graduates against the Court, anyway. My beloved…"
Alfred's face fell, outward pain now matching his internal pain. He saw as Nyssa's eyes darted to Talia dangerously, then softened. There'd been a conflict between them, it seemed. Motioning them to follow him towards the manor's cave, Alfred made a stop by the medicine cupboard for the strong stuff. He quietly thanked god they hadn't yet exploited the last of their morphine.
Talia chided him. "Surely you do not need such niceties-"
"Get to my age, crack a rib, then say that again," he bit back instantly, comfortable even just feeling the stuff in his veins, eager to advise the two before nodding off.
"Master Bruce's condition has only worsened since my message was sent, I-I'm afraid. He's… Warped, deflected an attack on his mental faculties - Crane's fear toxin," Alfred explained as he punched in a code to a basement's access, leading the leaders of the League of Assassins deeper into the Earth.
Seeing Talia's confused face, Nyssa couldn't help but snort, "Scarecrow, she called herself."
"I know who she is," Talia hissed, turning her attention back to Alfred, "I've heard the news, as well. The… Streams have appeared on our networks, and we've been unable to shut them down."
"His golden rule reveals more flaws, it seems," Nyssa noted, shaking her head, "or he has finally snapped."
Alfred shook his head as they approached the amphitheatre of the Batcave - wreathed in monitors, gadgets, armour sets and more. In particular, Nyssa was broken out of her train of thought by a giant statue of a dinosaur, looking over the cave's systems.
"Perhaps his sanity slipped earlier than I thought."
"I can assure you, this toxin, this plan of the Joker's, it…" Alfred paused for a time, sighing as he brought up a list of potential targets, those involved in the plot to kill the Bat.
"The clown had a hand in this?" Talia's tone dropped, icy wrath spewing from her mouth as she remembered her.
"I'm afraid so," Alfred lingered on the last picture of Bruce - looking pallid. "The Joker finally took the plunge. She collaborated, exhausted every contact and every lead she had - even the crumbs of scientific pull herself and Harley Quinn had, to make this vile toxin."
Bringing it's projected list of effects up - limited and retroactive - Nyssa couldn't help but gape in sight of it. Talia instead looked on with neutral interest, that line of her lips only crumbling as she witnessed what that poison had done to her beloved.
"It's turned him into a monster. An animal," she noted, remembering the last streams.
"One that should be put down for the good of the world," said Nyssa, sneering at the image, and every act Bruce had committed as a result of it. "This could be a grand excuse for him to transform the underbelly of Gotham into a playground, his own personal pleasure palace."
Alfred couldn't help but sigh a weary sigh again. "Ignoring how very convoluted such a plot would be, Mistress Nyssa, I fail to see how the Joker procuring the aide of no less than 10 others of the Gallery could ever be a part of Master Bruce's plans."
"You may not grasp the situation fully," he calmed himself, "but that was a deliberate, premeditated action, orchestrated by the Joker. That alone, should you know her, should shock you to your core. The only reason she cared for such an alliance to form - at such a defenceless, unassuming point for Master Bruce - was to wreak as much chaos as she could."
Nyssa appeared sheepish, turning her gaze back to the historic armour sets of the previous Robins, including her nephew's own.
"The increased sex drive was intentional?" Talia asked, incredulous.
"In summation, from Mistress Zatanna's account, Joker's intention was to undo Gotham's rehabilitation, to remove the fear Master Bruce helped establish in the criminal population. To defame and debase him. From this, we can extrapolate the mutative plans for the toxin, and what Joker intended for it's next steps," he advised her, heart near seizing as he produced the projected, assumed path of the toxin.
Talia read them, all of them, twice. Betrayal of Bat-Family. Alliance with Gallery. Impregnation of females of Bat-Family. Rape of Bat-Family. Rape of civilians. Murder of civilians. Total cranial shutdown. Onset of mania. Onset of dementia.
Talia then remembered that this was not Bruce's first exposure. "How… How often is-?"
"-Master Bruce has been exposed to variations of the Scarecrow's fear toxin 34 times before, each with varying degrees of effectiveness. Some have required months of therapy, others… Others he took in. Weaponised for future threats."
"To think this would have been mitigated if Crane was killed. How many more have been affected by her toxin and died?" Nyssa challenged.
Alfred didn't answer her. Instead he turned to Talia.
"Mistress Talia, these are only my rudimentary projections. From what I can see so far, Master Bruce is actively working against the toxin - but adapting it such that his lust is taken out upon the Gallery. He is actively working against the Gallery, utilising the toxin as his weapon. What… What I need from you is to either stop him, or…"
"Help lure more of the evil to him. Keep him distracted until the toxin runs out," she answered for him, sage-like and battle worn. Talia and Nyssa shared a look, and Talia looked past her, to Damian's old suit.
"My son, Alfred…"
"He is safe. He and Jon Kent are leading the Titans as we speak. They are unaware of what is happening."
She nodded. It was for the best. And Talia made her choice, thinking of her loved ones, and her family.
The good would not suffer under the machinations of evil. The evil would not die by Bruce's hand. But, for their crimes, their acts… Evil would pay. She would help her beloved.
"...Where to begin?"