Chapter 4 - Blood Related Strangers

The combat jet came to a halt, and it hovered in the air, like a helicopter.

Talia came out of the cockpit. She had changed into a curvy body suit with an oxygen tank over her shoulder.

"Talia," said Bruce. "What's going on?"

Talia threw an oxygen mask, tank, and parachute at his feet. "Put these on. This is the only way to get to where we're going."

Bruce picked up the jumping gear. "We're going to jump?"

"I see why they called you a great detective," said Talia. "Yes, fool. We're going to jump. Let's go. Our window has just opened."

Bruce quickly buckled the parachute and tank over his back. He slid the mask over his forehead.

"Why can't we land the jet? Anti-aircraft missiles at their home?" asked Bruce.

Talia smiled smugly. "Something like that."

She led him to the rear exit of the plane. The noise here was deafening, and the heat turned up tremendously. It was like they were traveling in a loud oven.

Talia pushed a button on the console, and the rear of the jet opened.

Bruce looked out over the night sky. The blizzard had subsided for the moment, and from up here, thousands of feet in the air, the streets of the suburbs looked like rivers of light in canyons of darkness.

"Follow me!" shouted Talia over the noise. Her eyes glowed a gleeful green as she readied herself for the jump.

"Follow you where? Talia, we can't just leave a plane in the middle of nowhere—"

One minute Talia was standing next to him, her beautiful features smothered by her windswept hair, and the next, she disappeared underneath the lip of the cargo bay, laughing.

"Oh hell," said Bruce. He secured the box of Lazarus a little more tightly in his pocket.

Then he jumped.

It was exhilarating and dangerous, something he hadn't realize he would miss. Death was so final, a complete termination of all feeling and consciousness. But this, plummeting back to earth like a crater, was a stimulant for all his senses. He hollered all the way down, but out of terror and joy? He did not know.

Bruce pulled his parachute and moved toward Talia's descent. They were heading for the top of a wooded hill, where a large Mansion sat at the end of a cul-de-sac.

Suddenly the joy he felt began to subside, and in its place, a growing nervousness began to gnaw at his insides. He would have felt better if they had been flying toward a heavily fortified military bunker. But flying towards the home of his previous lover, towards a family that would have been his.

That felt wrong.

They landed in the snowy woods, with a clear view of the Mansion in front of them. From here, they could see down the long, winding path down the hill. The Mansion was the last house on the cul-de-sac, several hundred yards away from the other homes at the bottom of the cul-de-sac.

"Does its privacy remind you of anything?" whispered Talia in his ear.

Bruce almost jumped. In the darkness of the woods, he hadn't seen her, nor heard her move.

"Don't look so impressed, Detective," her hot breath continued in his ear, "My training is near identical to your own."

"Is this their base of operations?" returned Bruce in an equal whisper. "Their home?"

"Yes." Talia moved closer to him. "Not a smart idea, but in all practicality, there's nowhere else to go."

Talia brushed the leaves out of Bruce's hair. "You need a haircut, I believe. It will get caught on something if you leave it so long."

Her touch sent goosebumps down his spine. She was very close to him, so much that he could feel the heat from her body. It made him sweat, and it made him feel alive in a very different sense.

"How do we get in?" said Bruce, trying to keep his mind focused.

"We could knock," offered Talia.

It was the logical choice, the simplest choice, and yet, Bruce knew what it would entail: he would have to introduce himself to the family. His children—a meeting twenty years in the making.

"Or," said Talia, "we could break-in, unseen. I know a way in."

Talia knew what that choice would imply, too, it seemed.

"The less people know what we're doing, the better," said Bruce, even to him that excuse sounded lame. "Let's go with option B."

"Of course," said Talia. She moved deeper into the woods. "This way."

As they moved, Bruce felt a tiny crumb of gratitude toward Talia. She hadn't commented on his reluctance to visit his children. Maybe she was not as cruel as she liked to act.

"Once we're in," said Bruce. "Where do we—?"

"The information you seek is in the basement," answered Talia, without breaking her stride. "That's where she keeps her computer."

Bruce struggled to keep up with Talia's relentless pace. It was nearly midnight, and yet, Talia moved through the brush as if she could see through both the snow and darkness; she avoided every twig, log, and mudpit. And somehow, she managed to leave no tracks in the snow, like she was walking on top of it.

Now a sliver of doubt crept up in Bruce's mind. He was clearly still out of shape. And Roland was supposed to be the best. How would he fair against this extraordinary foe when he could barely keep up with Talia.

Talia was waiting for him at the treeline before the back patio of the Mansion. From here, Bruce could see an infinity pool, expensive patio chairs, and a lush garden. Clearly, the Trevors liked to enjoy the outdoors.

"I have heat signatures in the home," said Talia, holding up a set of strange binoculars to her eyes. "Three: the daughter, the butler, and the child. They are all sleeping, according to the steady thermal combustion of their bodies."

"Butler," said Bruce slowly. "Wait a minute . . ."

"Yes, yes," said Talia testily. "Your beloved Alfred is still alive."

"How, he must be ninety years old?"

"He ate his vegetables, Bruce."

"But wait, why is Alfred here—?"

"Bruce, dammit, we are not here to play twenty questions," hissed Talia. "Perhaps you can ask him yourself after we've recovered the data from the Princess's home?"

Bruce nodded irritably. He hated to admit it, but she was right.

"Okay," said Talia. "Let's get going."

Talia began to exit the cover of the treeline, just as Bruce caught glimpse of the cornices of the Mansion.

"Wait, Talia, come back!"

Bruce pinned Talia against the treeline. She let out a small gasp of surprise.

"Look," said Bruce quietly. "Atop the mansion. Cameras."

Talia never took her eyes off him. "I know that. Look."

Slowly, Talia reached down to her belt and unbuckled one of the pockets. When she brought her hand back up, she unavoidably grazed her fingertips along his abdomen.

"Stop," growled Bruce.

"Don't flatter yourself," she said, smiling.

In her hand was a small remote. She clicked it.

"There. The cameras will run on a thirty second loop," said Talia. "We have five minutes before the camera's algorithm detects anything unusual."

"Oh," said Bruce, clearing his throat. "Right. Good job."

"Thank you."

Bruce was starting to realize that Talia was no amateur fighter. She was difficult to work with at times, but she was very good at what she did. Maybe she prove to be a good ally before the fight was over.

"You can let go of my hips now, Bruce," said Talia quietly.

For a flash of a second, Bruce saw himself tearing away her bodysuit and running his hands over her tan, naked body. Something about the way the dappled moonlight fell on her Middle-Eastern features made Bruce think he was a traveler in a faraway land, and this powerful Queen had stolen away in the night with him.

He wanted every moment of her. Her hazel hair, her full lips, her green eyes.

"W—what?" he managed to say. He stumbled away from her. It was as if his emotions had been whipped together in a blender. He was feeling too many things at once.

"Sorry," he finally said. The ground spun underneath his feet. "I don't know what's going on."

Talia also was breathing a little too quickly, as if she had sprinted a hundred yards at full speed.

"Coming back from an encounter with death," she said slowly, "tends to put things into perspective."

"What does that mean?" said Bruce.

Talia looked like she wanted to slap him.

"Merde," she said, shaking her head in disbelief. "Let's go, Bruce. We're wasting our window."

And just like that, the moment was over.

Talia led him into the Mansion through the backdoor patio. Bruce could not help but take account of everything he saw in the home: the marble flooring, the classical furniture, the clean spatial rooms and the wall-to-ceiling glass walls– the home was a blend of modernity and antiquity. Diana's doing, no doubt.

"Here," said Talia. "This is the basement."

She led him down a series of steps into deceptively roomy basement. It was larger than most apartments.

"Keep an eye out," said Talia to Bruce. "I'm going to download what they have."

"If you are partners with Diana and Clark, why haven't they shared this information with you already?"

Talia smiled. "Just because we're partners doesn't mean she trusts me, Bruce."

"You sound pleased about that."

"I am. It means your Princess is not a complete idiot."

At the far corners of the basement were boxes of old clothes and decorations pushed away into obscurity. Bruce suspected someone had pushed everything aside hurriedly in order to make room for the computer and equipment.

"Almost there," said Talia, typing into the computer. "Keep on the lookout, Bruce."

One of the boxes seemed to call out for Bruce's attention.

"Bruce," said Talia's concerned voice. "What are you doing?"

Bruce picked up the portrait in his hands. "Impossible."

It was a portrait of Diana, Steve, and their three children. It must have been recent, because Diana was seated and cradling the baby. Steve stood at her side; the two of them made a handsome pair, particularly because their eyes were the same razor blue. And beside the handsome couple were the two grown children. The girl looked exactly like Diana. But the boy, by god, looked exactly like Bruce.

"What's their names?"

Talia saw the portrait in Bruce's hands. The color drained from her face.

"Fool. Why torture yourself like that?"

"What's their names?" continued Bruce, he was like a man under hypnosis.

"Does it make a difference?" asked Talia. "You said it yourself; there's no time for that, Bruce."

"I—" but she had a point. Why should he torture himself with a family he would not be able to stay with. He had thirty days to stop Roland. Not enough to live.

"Strange," said Talia, looking at the computer monitor. "These data archives came from two different sources."

"What's so strange about that?" said Bruce. He put the portrait down. He had a mission to do.

"Let me see…"

Talia brought up recorded footage of a dark figure flying above the Gotham streets. They dressed in black armor, had a billowing cape, and the faintest etchings of horns atop their helmet.

"Well what do you know," murmured Talia. "The little girl actually has some spunk to her. Like father, like daughter, right?"

Almost immediately, Talia seemed to regret those words.

"Shit," said Talia under-her-breath. "I'm sorry, Bruce."

But Bruce wasn't listening. He approached the monitor with great interest. There was a new Batman in town. Well, not necessarily a 'man,' but a woman. And it was his daughter.

"Diana's daughter is the new Bat," Bruce heard himself say. "Why?"

"What do you mean 'why?' It's clear that they know who their father is—their real father, I mean—shit, I'm sorry. What I'm trying to say is: they know who their real father really is."

"So Diana told them about me," said Bruce, a smile forming on his face. "What I did for them. They know. They'll understand."

Talia suddenly looked very concerned. She had heard the new hope in Bruce's voice.

"Got it," said Talia, yanking out a data chip. "Let's go, Bruce. We've pushed our luck staying this long."

"But, Talia, wait—"

But Talia had already vanished up the steps. Bruce chased after her.

"Talia, wait, you need to explain—"

"Shut up and keep moving, Bruce."

Bruce pulled on Talia's sleeve. "Stop, Talia. You still haven't told me her name."

"Keep quiet, you idiot," hissed Talia with a furious glare. "You'll wake up the whole house."

"Their names," said Bruce in equal hissing tone. "What's the girl's name?"

"What girl?" said a voice behind the pair.

Bruce froze. It was not a voice he recognized, but it was young sounding, and it was feminine, and in this house, under these circumstances, who else could it possibly be?

"Emma Trevor," said Talia smoothly. "How nice to see you again."

"I doubt that," replied Emma in a testy tone. "What are you doing here? And who is he?"

Bruce still had not turned around. To his side, Talia watched him carefully, as if she wasn't quite sure what he was going to do.

Because truth was, Bruce didn't.

"H—he's a servant of mine," said Talia. "And he's a bit shy. Don't blame him."

"I thought you only hired women for your personal guard?" replied Emma.

"Very observant of you," said Talia, smiling good naturedly. "But there are all sorts of servants, aren't there?"

Talia's lips curved with sultry suggestion, and Emma Trevor let out a faint snort.

"He's a boytoy?"

"We all have needs, little one," said Talia, running her hands along Bruce's chin. "However, yours run beyond the carnal desires. In fact, we've heard reports of a certain Batman who has seemingly returned from retirement."

Emma sounded taken back. "How do you know about that?"

"We've been keeping a weather eye on you, of course. But you're lacking a certain instrument that made the Dark Knight who he was—Love," said Talia suddenly to Bruce. "Gather the sword we left outback and bring it in for the little one. She'll need it."

Bruce cleared his throat. "Yes, Ma'am," and began to move.

"Stop," said Emma sharply, and it sounded like she squared her feet in a fighter's stance. "You aren't going to trick me, Talia. Not with all this 'Batman returns' nonsense."

Talia chuckled bitterly. "In a manner of speaking, I'm not, little one."

Suddenly, someone stepped out onto the second floor balcony.

"W—what's all this noise downstairs?" said a very tired, and very old, English accent. "Emma, dear, what's going on?"

"I don't know, Alfred," replied Emma in a neutral tone. "We have some unannounced visitors: Talia and the Boy-Toy-With-No-Name."

Alfred put a hand on the railing and shuffled toward the stairs, where he would have a better angle at the visitors. He fixed on his half-moon glasses as he came down the steps. "T—Talia? Here? I don't understand . . ."

Alfred now had a clear line of sight at the two of them.

"I—I don't understand," repeated Alfred, cleaning his glasses, squinting at Bruce. "I—I don't understand—"

"Do you know this man, Alfred?" said Emma cautiously. She moved like she was ready to strike.

"Of course he knows me," said Bruce, turning around. "He's known me my whole life."

He faced Emma Trevor, his daughter, yet who would never call him Dad.

Alfred slowly put his glasses down. He was trembling on the stairs.

"No, no. This isn't right. I—it's not right."

"What's going on?" said Emma, with wide eyes. "Wait, are you—? No, that's impossible. You said he was your lover."

"Two things can be true at once, little girl," said Talia.

Emma stared at Bruce. She started backpedaling, instinctively.

"H—holy hell, oh my god, I grew up with stories about you. I saw your picture in old newspapers. You're him. He's you—but you died! You're dead!"

"No, no, no," moaned Alfred. He was clutching the railing as if he were hanging off a cliff. "It's wrong. All wrong."

"Alfred!" yelled Bruce.

He rushed to Alfred's side and took him into his arms. Alfred looked up at Bruce's face with his tired, beady blue eyes.

"M—Master Wayne," said Alfred in deathly quiet voice. "I b—buried you. This is wrong."

"I know it's wrong," said Bruce, holding the only father figure he ever had. "But it's necessary. Talia brought me back. To fight Roland."

"Necessary," repeated Alfred, shaking his head. "N—No, Master Wayne. No."

Alfred's head fell to one side. He became limp in Bruce's arms.

"Alfred, no, no, no," said Bruce, slapping his friend on the cheeks. "Alfred, no!"

Talia reached for Alfred's arm.

"Get away from him!" snapped Bruce.

The anger in his voice rebounded in the room. Talia, for a moment, looked genuinely afraid.

"I'm just checking his pulse, Bruce," said Talia. She crouched down and put her finger on Alfred's wrist. Her face tight with concentration.

"Oh my god," said Emma, still reeling. "D—Did you kill him?"

"No," said Talia, dropping her finger. "Just unconscious. His heart rate is low, very low. I think he's having some sort of cerebral event."

"A stroke?" said Bruce.

Talia nodded. "He needs a doctor right away, Bruce. And I mean now."

Bruce picked up Alfred in his arms. "Call the jet. We'll get him to a hospital in ten minutes."

"Hold on," said Emma Trevor, finally regaining a measure of composure. "You guys can't just walk into my house and take my butler."

"He was my butler first," said Bruce. "Talia, let's go."

Talia reached for her remote in her pocket. But Emma Trevor stood in their way.

"I'm sorry, Talia, and Bruce—I can't believe I just said that name—but you are not taking him. I mean that."

Emma Trevor stepped into a combat pose: raised fists, shifted weight onto backleg. And the determination in her eyes was undeniable.

Truth be told, she looked exactly like Diana. And fighting Diana was a losing prospect, Bruce remembered that well enough.

"Emma—Ms. Trevor," said Bruce, not liking the way her name sounded out of his lips. "The last thing I'm going to do is hurt Alfred. This man raised me since I was a kid."

"He raised me, too!" she exclaimed. "And I'm sorry Bruce—Mr. Wayne—and althought the world hasn't stopped spinning, I know enough not to let my Alfred out of my sight."

"Your Alfred—?" began Bruce heatedly.

"While all this is going on, there is a nonagenarian dying," said Talia angrily. "We need to make a decision now. Or else both of you won't have a butler."

Bruce turned back to Emma, but this time his voice struck a different tone.

"Please. I know things must be difficult right now. But this is the only family I ever had after my parents were killed. I'm not going to let anyone hurt him. No one. Not even you."

The coldness in his voice surprised Emma—it seemed to surprise Talia, too. But for some reason, it didn't surprise Bruce. He would fight to protect his family, even from, strangely enough, his own family.

But Emma Trevor did not cower to his determination. She glanced at the unconscious man in Bruce's arm, and she took a deep, albeit shaky breath.

"And neither will I," she said slowly, resignedly. "I'm sorry. But you have to put my friend down."

The implication was left unsaid: or else.

Emma raised her fists again, her eyes shiny with focus. The fight was moments from breaking out.

"Wait," said Talia, throwing out her arm. "There is another way."

Talia glanced at Bruce's coat pocket. Bruce immediately knew what she had planned.

"No," said Bruce, "out of the question, Talia."

"It'll work," said Talia. "I've done this before."

"What are you two talking about?" said a confused Emma Trevor. She still had her hands raised.

"What are the side effects?" said Bruce.

"Life," answered Talia simply. "But he'll have to take it everyday, Bruce. You know what that means."

"Right," said Bruce hoarsely. The box in his coat pocket seemed to weigh more now.

"What does what mean?" asked Emma, sounding more and more lost. She lowered her raised fists.

Without saying a word, Talia slipped to Bruce's side and brought out the box from pocket. She held out a vial to him.

"What is that?" asked Emma. She moved closer, watching the dancing green liquid in the vial.

"It's Lazarus," explained Talia. "It's what Roland tried to re-create. It's what is keeping your father alive."

"My father?" said Emma, confused. Then her nostrils flared with anger. "No, I've already said this many times, he is not my father—"

"Oh, be quiet," snapped Talia. "You know what I mean. Lazarus is the property keeping myself, my father, and Bruce alive. And it will restore Alfred to full health."

"As long as he drinks it," said Emma darkly. "Like my brother."

Bruce snapped his attention onto Emma. "My son is—I mean, your brother takes Lazarus?"

"No," said Emma. "He takes Roland's serum. I—it's a long story, but he was kidnapped by Roland and—"

"Kidnapped!?" Bruce glared at Talia. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Was it going to change your mind anymore about him?" said Talia testily. "Now we can debate this later, Bruce. But right now, your Butler is dying. What's it going to be?"

Bruce looked at the vial in his hand. He looked at Alfred.

There was no choice. Not really.

"Wait," said Emma, seeing the determination on Bruce's face. "You can't give him that."

Talia's eyes suddenly widened as she stared at the backyard. "Oh my god. Roland. He's here!"

Emma whirled around. "W—what? Here!?"

Bruce flicked off the cork from the vial. He poured the liquid into Alfred's still lips.

Emma turned around. She way the empty vial in Bruce's hands.

"Dammit, you bastards. How could you—?"

"Save his life?" said Talia. "Easily. Perhaps you should try it some time."

Slowly, Alfred's breathing improved. The color in his face gradually improved, too.

"It's like one of those old instant pictures," said Talia as she observed Alfred. "Polaroids, I believe they were called."

Alfred's eye flickered open, and the first thing he saw was Bruce's face.

"Alfred," said Bruce quietly. "Alfred, can you hear me?"

"Master W—Wayne," croaked Alfred. It looked like he was struggling to remember how to talk.

"Alfred, it's okay. You were sick."

"I should be dead."

"No, no. I made you better."

Alfred shook his head. "Why?"

"What do you mean 'why?' You're my family."

Alfred gazed steadily into Bruce's eyes. For a moment, Alfred seemed perfectly lucid.

"Dangerous, Bruce. Very . . . dangerous."

And he fell back into unconsciousness.

"Alfred, Alfred! Why isn't he waking up?" asked Bruce.

"The Lazarus needs to work on his body," answered Talia. "It takes time. But when he wakes up he'll be as good as new. He'll feel better than he has in years."

"At what cost," said Emma Trevor crossly. "What? Did you think I was just going to ignore the fact that you gave my butler a drug?"

"It's not a drug, stupid girl," said Talia. "It's a tool, like anything else."

"He needs a bed," said Bruce, looking at the aging face of the man who had raised him. "Ms. Trevor, can you direct me to his bedroom?"

"I'll take him up there," said Emma. "This is my house, Mr. Wayne."

For a moment, Bruce looked like he was ready to fight Emma. Even Talia sensed it, and she put a hand on Bruce's shoulder.

"She has a point, Bruce," said Talia, then she added, only in a whisper that Bruce could hear, "the jet is just outside."

For the third time that night, Bruce had to admit that Talia was right. How could he fight his daughter? It filled him with shame that he would even consider it.

And Alfred was safe, that was all that mattered.

"Okay," said Bruce. "Here. Please, be careful."

Emma approached slowly, as if she were coming into contact with a wild bear. Bruce handed Alfred off to her, and she barely seemed to expend any effort holding the lanky Butler in her arms.

"Right," said Emma. She headed for the stairs. "I—I'll be right back."

Halfway up the stairs, Emma realized the hole she had dug herself into. She looked down to the bottom of the stairs to Talia and Bruce.

Talia smiled smugly. "Don't worry, we'll wait for you, right here, while you put him away. We won't leave."

"Dammit," whispered Emma underneath her breath. She couldn't take Alfred up the stairs and stand vigil over Bruce and Talia.

When Emma disappeared over the lip of the second floor, Talia opened the front door. The cold silence of the night waited for them. For a brief moment, Bruce did not want to leave the warm, peaceful ambience of the Trevor home.

"Come on," said Talia, tapping her hand on her thigh. "We have what we need. I know where Roland is. We just need to beat them there."

Bruce stepped outside. The cold attacked his warm cheeks first, then his eyes blinked from the falling snow.

"Beat who?" said Bruce as they toward the woods. Somehow, the black jet had landed perfectly amid the foilage. And Bruce had only seen it because Talia pointed it out.

"Your ex-lover," said Talia matter-of-factly. "She took off with the Kryptonian earlier. It's likely they are already there."

They stepped into the jet, just as they saw Emma Trevor open the front door. She scanned the area for them, but it was hopeless. The snow had picked up heavily, and Talia piloted the jet as if it were a children's toy.

As they flew away, Bruce found himself looking out the window at the girl. She was brash and naïve, but the spark was there. It filled him with pride that she was willing to fight him to protect Alfred. Diana had done a good job, and, evidently, so did Steve Trevor.

Bruce sat in the co-pilot chair next to Talia. It was time to get serious about things.

"I need a suit," said Bruce matter-of-factly. "I need you to stop by my old manor."

"Already ahead of you," said Talia. She pressed a button on the console.

A cabinet rose out from the floor of the jet. It was midnight black, like a closet made out of obsidian.

"Although, I made a few modifications," said Talia. "After all, you are working for me, so to speak."

The cabinet opened, and inside his new body armor lay before him. A ribbed chest piece, shoulder pauldrons and vambraces. A cowl and cape made out of shimmering black material.

However, there was a new feature: Talia had embroidered the material of the body armor with highlights of deep emerald. And she had carved runic symbols along the forearms and shoulders.

And for the forth time that night, Bruce had to admit that the new green additions complimented the midnight black of his suit. And the runes made him look like some warrior priest.

"How long until we get to Roland?" said Bruce.

"Minutes," said Talia. "Better get ready."

Bruce stripped his clothes off. And to his surprise, the armor fit perfectly.

"By the way," said Talia in a hesitant tone. "Back there, at the mansion. It wasn't the way I intended for things to happen."

"You helped save my friend's life, Talia," answered Bruce. "Even I can be grateful for that."

"That's not . . . that's not what I'm apologizing for, Bruce."

"I see."

"The girl, Emma. She just doesn't understand, Bruce. None of them do."

"Of course," said Bruce. His voice sounded far away.

"You said it yourself, Alfred is like a father to you. Now that's no disrespect to your real father, right? So if you consider their situation like that, then—"

"Aren't you going to get ready?" said Bruce brusquely.

Talia clearly understood he did not want to talk about this. She stood up from the controls.

"Of course," she said. "Grab the controls for a minute. And try not to crash this plane?"

And to Bruce's surprise, she stripped down right beside of him and began to slip into her own battle armor. Bruce kept his eyes focused ahead. And in his periphery, Talia laughed, which made her chest do funny things.

"You've never looked at a naked woman, Bruce?" she said, teasing. "Ever had sex with one?"

And almost immediately, Talia regretted what she had said. She finished dressing in silence and sat next to him.

"Sorry—" she finally began.

"What did Alfred mean?" said Bruce slowly. "When he said 'dangerous?' What is dangerous?"

"The Lazarus?" offered Talia. She looked like a thoughtful college student, with her legs folded up on the co-pilot seat. Although most college students don't wear shurikens on their belt.

"Maybe," said Bruce. "But I get the feeling he meant something else."

"Maybe he meant this," said Talia, motioning to the city. "This game already killed you once, Bruce."

"Maybe," said Bruce, shaking his head. "I'll have to ask him later. When this is all over."

Talia sat back in her seat and chuckled. "Ah yes, that magical day."

"What do you mean?"

"That things never go according to plan, Bruce," said Talia, looking out at the city below them, "that life has a funny way of throwing the damndest curveballs at you when you least expect it."

"Seriously?" said Bruce. "You've lived five hundred years, manipulating the global economy from the shadows, and you're still surprised by life?"

Talia nodded quietly. The lights of the console danced in her wistful eyes.

"Like what?" asked Bruce. "Did a rebellion not go your way? Or did a coup suddenly turn out for the worse?"

"I found out I had a sister," she answered quietly. "My father had kept it from me for decades."

This caught Bruce off guard.

"A sister?"

"Nessa," said Talia. "She was younger than me. Innocent, like a deer. But my father warped her, and she became his second-in-command during a time of civil war."

"Is she still alive—?"

"Dead," answered Talia, suddenly snapping out of the reverie. "She died a hundred years ago. A sword through the heart. My sword."

Talia suddenly stood up. "We're here. I can land us on the roof of the factory, but then everyone will know we're here."

Bruce stood up from the chair. He was still trying to process what Talia had told him.

"Then let's jump. We still don't know much about Roland. Stealth can be our friend."

"Maybe," said Talia. "But Roland was one of us, Bruce. He knows how we think. Just remember that."

"Remember what?"

"That sometimes the people closest to you are your biggest weakness," said Talia. "And I need you to promise me. That if you get the opportunity, you won't hesitate. Because Roland will not."

"I won't kill him," said Bruce quietly. "You know my rule, Talia. Nothing's changed."

Talia looked at him. "I think everything has changed, Bruce. You're wearing new armor, you're fighting alongside me. I think you'll surprise everyone, even yourself, before all this is through—and remember, with Alfred taking half your dose, you only have 15 days now. Time is running out."

She jumped first from the jet, which left Bruce alone, several hundred feet in the air, with nothing but his thoughts.

And for the fifth time that night, he had to admit it. She was right: things had changed. And he himself didn't know what he would be capable of.

And he jumped, with nothing but the cold, ruthless air to catch him.