They were in his home. His place of solitude, under his ancestral home and they had ripped open and likely torn down all pathways that he had made to the city for the Batmobile and likely trapped the rest to stop his escape. To say that Batman was pissed would be quite the understatement. He could see them all through the smoke from the smoke grenades they threw in moments after the great gouge could be seen in the faux wall of the Cave. His cave.

"They outnumber us by… a lot…" he heard Nightwing mutter.

"We can funnel them here. Cheetah, keep Alfred safe." His helm covered gaze turned to his father figure. "If the worse happens, lock this room down. The memorabilia can be recollected but what I have on that computer is our life's work."

He could see the unwanted words wanting to spill from Alfred's tongue but he simply nodded. He then looked to Nightwing who connected his eskrima sticks together formed a long bo-staff that flickered in electricity from both ends. He had seen Dick do this only a few times and each time he fought for his life. He curled his hands into his fists. His son, his father and his lover all in the same room with him and at his side and the thought of all of them being hurt due to who he was made him angry. He would make every blow count. He knew what the Court would do to them if he fell. He would go for broken bones, disabling moves but he would not cross that line. Just stare at it hard.

"Here they come." He murmured even as his suit tightened around his limbs.

Batman didn't let them get anywhere close to the computer as he bulled forward. His leap was enhanced with his suit and his knee crunched into the chest of the first Owl he made contact with. He brought him to the ground, slamming his elbow once then again into his face in rapid succession. He rolled to the side, letting his armored frame bowl over several more before planting on a leg, raising his leg high and slamming it down on a shoulder. He didn't care to count the enemies before him as long as he could make contact he knew he could turn the tide eventually. The Owls were no slouches in combat though for every blow that he swung they knew where to move to block, some of them moved in sync to each other. He went for them last. He had to assume some of these Owls were freshly woken, not fully aware of their abilities yet. His frame spun and several batarangs hissed out, scoring along the flanks and limbs of several before continuing the spin to crunch his heel into the neck of another. His frame leaned forward with the momentum and he planted both of his hands, curling forward and spring boarding into an unsuspecting Owl who was blown back into several of his fellows.

The loud whump of Alfred's shotgun reminded him he was running short of time. He growled beneath his breath swing his limbs in all directions to try and knock over as many as he could even as he ignored the blows that planted dents in his armor. A few of them leaving thin blood trails as they found the gaps in his suit as few as they were. He and his close family had to hold out. Help had to arrive. It had to arrive.

The bottle of whiskey in his hand was warm now and he stared at it in a half drunken stupor. Gregory Saunders admitted that he had problems and the drink lately had become one of them. It wasn't out of the need for it, but it was just a terrible coping mechanism. One for loss. Why he was drinking this early in the morning though he wasn't too sure. He sighed, placing the bottle down and pinching the bridge of his nose. Batman let him keep the safehouse and he often stayed here, in fact he moved out of his apartment entirely and despite his knowledge of it he seemed to have no problems. When he came back here a couple of days after telling him though none of the Batman motif was to be seen, just the computer with some bare bones files on each of the criminals he had encountered and he was allowed to see from Batman's main file. He reached out for the bottle again when a loud beep was heard which nearly made him flail out of his chair. He caught himself though, seeing an incoming recording. When he clicked it the first thing he heard was a shotgun going off and his hand slid down to his revolver squeezing it tightly. For a moment he was back east and his chest twisted in a knot.

"Master…kkzzzt… help at the…kkkzzzt…been breached…"

He ignored the words from the bad connection but he could see Alfred pump another round into a leaping frame of one of the spooks he saw while on his bike trying to take down a few well armed gangers. He had to witness a very one sided fight as the dagger wielding man seemingly controlled the weapons with a wave of his taloned claw. He saw the furred form of Cheetah slashing down at one even as he saw her bound, kick and even bite at what she could. It was more chaotic then he could have imagined. He was already on the move strapping both revolvers to his hips and he looked to the display case where he kept his firearms. A selection of assault rifles, shotguns and explosives rested there. He had non-lethal rounds for all of them, hardened beanbags rounds for the shotgun pellets for the assault rifles. Costly, but Batman backed his funding seemingly approving of the non-lethal use of an otherwise lethal weapon. He looked over his shoulder at the scene on repeat, the crackling tone urging him into something. He was a hero, but now? Now he knew he needed to be the solider. He grabbed the as American made assault rifle and slammed a clip into it. By the time he loaded his weapons with their lethal payload he was out the door and by the time he realized he forgot his hat he was at the entrance to the Cave closest to his safehouse. He didn't care for noise as his motorcycle roared through the tunnel. There were several collapses and his arm burned from where a stray piece of metal cut along it. He could still grip a weapon and that was what he cared for right now.

He saw a makeshift ramp and he accelerated, leaning forward on the bike to gain speed and he muttered a prayer. He saw several score or more of the assassins circling Batman's walled off computer with Batman and Nightwing both standing in front of it. They were breathing heavily, bloodied, beaten but they were standing near the door. Gregory could see Cheetah frantically pounding on the glass and he could see the tears falling down her face. Alfred looked solemn even as he aimed the shotgun steadily at the door, holding it like a soldier would and not like a cultured Englishman. He had suspicions that he was a former solider, likely SAS if he were to guess. He rubbed off as that type.

He was airborne and sailing towards the closest group. He launched back off the bike, letting it slam into and continue its scattered course and crashing into several more. He knew by the twisted angle they were dead and if they weren't they wished they were by the time he was finished with them. The rifle was unstrapped from his back aiming at several as they ran towards him. There was no witty comment this time, no quip like he usually wanted to do, no. Now there was only blood. He could still disable them, but if they were as dangerous as he assumed all he needed to do was adjust the barrel by an inch.

The Gotham Church was the only place he could really find solace these days. The world around him, the streets and the very air felt tainted with the death of his father. Still he remained here for most of his life, spending only a couple of years away for his studies before returning home again. His father was Rory Regan, known to most of the Jewish community of Gotham and not to mention to Batman as Ragman. He knew of the murder but for the longest time it could not be solved.

He had never picked up Judaism and despite this visits to the church he had found no peace with God. Unlike his father who kept strictly to his religion Declan Regan stayed close to his old Irish roots. He just knew of the quiet within the hallowed walls. Despite the villainy abundant within the streets they had the decency to not burn down the church, at least not yet. He came here often to think, go through the evidence of his father's murder. His mother wasn't in the picture, in fact he'd never met the woman and when he asked his late father he only said to him that 'she's gone'. With his father's enemies both old and new that could mean anything. He rubbed at his temple as an irritated headache began to crawl at his brow and the buzzing of his phone did—Wait, buzzing of his phone?

He flipped the old device open and saw three words; You are needed. Beneath them was the symbol of the Batman and coordinates. On memory it seemed to lead underground, and coupled with the directions from his current location he could take an hour to get there. His hand drifted down and caressed his belt for a moment he felt the link to the suit even as it crawled from the leather and shifted along his frame forming the ensemble of his alter ego Ragman. It was a dark green patched and striped in different colors that favored blacks, brown and grays. From a distance he almost looked like a large piece of military camouflage but when viewed up close there would be more patches and strips of cloth all of which gave him access to the skills of the corrupt souls he had cleansed. He did not do this lightly, but when his foe could not be saved he did as he was destined do. Even now as he drew a pattern in the air and opened a small rift to reveal a dark cavern with the sounds of gunfire, groaning and the distant screams of men as they were beaten.

Ragman stepped through.

The first figure he saw was dressed head to toe in battered armor. He could even hear the gears shifting from within the machine from the other side of the room. The second was shorter, lithe and dressed in a skintight suit. Blood leaked from several wounds but it was the third figure that concerned the one that was actively fighting using the butt of two revolvers as he twisted turned and smashed into the faces of the members of the Court of Owls. He had heard of them, many within his personal circle had, but to see them in action was another thing entirely. Ragman slid his hand up and with a murmured word pushed forward. The telekinetic force pushed half a dozen members of the Court to the ground. He narrowly ducked under a swipe of a blade and he turned on his knee driving his elbow into the stomach of his new foe before launching himself up with an uppercut knocking him down onto his rear.

He and the gunman exchanged a glance and only the former perked a brow before he turned, smashing the butt of one of his revolvers into the side of another Owl's head before he flicked the chamber out and pushed a new grouping in. He fanned the hammer and six shot hit home. Ragman turned jumping and turning his frame to knock another Owl to the ground before slamming both hands into the chest of another, caving it in as he was thrown back. The collected patches were all singing their own harmony in his mind, all begging for redemption but for now he relied on his father's friends and their skill to turn the tide. The mystical arts were troubling, especially in such close quarters and even using that push was risky enough. He would not make the same mistake again. It was time to turn back the tide.

Bruce smashed his forearm into the prone figure on the ground before throwing several batarangs at a group of owls as they tried to charge him. His movements were slow and clumsy. He took one too many blows to the head but Nightwing corrected him and aided him despite the fact between them both they couldn't stand fully upright. He didn't know how long they were fighting before Gregory arrived and he was truly surprised to see Ragman of all people answer the call. But where were the rest? Out of range? He didn't want to guess. The situation so far was contained and for now he ignored the muffled shouts of Cheetah. Her claws were bloodied as she tried to break out to help him but Alfred in his wisdom simply held her arms against her sides to hold her close. His enhanced hearing could hear her sobs.

The smoke was in his lungs, making it hard to breathe and he couldn't be sure how many of the owls remained. A dozen? Two? His arms were heavy, his legs felt like dead weights and his skull was pounding in agony. His suit was damaged but it still increased his strength, one he used to crush the limbs of the Owls to try and breach into the door. He got to his feet, panting as he brought his hands up again. He'd die standing but he had to take stock on the situation at hand as smoky as it was around him.

"Nightwing?"

No answer. His heart began to buck in panic in his chest.

"Nightwing?!"

His unconscious form was tossed at his feet. His son's jaw was bruised and his nose broken, but he was breathing and alive. The damaged part of his cowl could see only a handful of the owls remaining easily dispatched by the tireless pair of Vigilante and Ragman but the figure before him he was concerned with. His armor was grey and his mask was carved in the mockery of an owl. It was all too metallic and and clean and his crest depicted an owl's wings rather then that of a bat.

"He was useful, to a point."

"Who the hell are you?" Batman growled.

"Isn't it obvious? I'm you, but better."

"Did the Court make you?"

The grey shrouded figure shrugged. "Something like that."

Batman leapt forward leading with a high punch but his new foe leaned back just out of the reach and grabbed his arm in both hands. He was vaulted over his frame, armor and all, and he felt the air whoosh from his lungs as it was accompanied with the metallic clang of his suit against the floor. An elbow was quickly dropped on his face and he felt his nose give way. He rolled to the side, spitting out a glob of blood that dripped into his mouth. They each threw their signature weapons, Batman with his batarangs and his foe answered with thin crescent discs. The discs broke through the 'rangs and even curved back to his grip. Batman barely had time to bring his arms up for a defense when he felt the metal boot slam into his chin. Batman saw stars and for a moment he stumbled back and without a sound he fell back to the ground. He brought his arms up feebly but the metallic fist punched once. His vision was fading to black and another darkened it entirely.

The wounds on his arms were superficial at best. His bruised rib would remind him of the other blows that rained down on him. He reloaded his revolvers again and each press of his thumb made his arm twinge. The newcomer in rags was making short work of the rest of the Owls. He was a green blur amongst them slamming, punching, and kicking with each blow striking true. All of it showed the prowess of a trained fighter. Martial artist? Military? He couldn't be certain. He looked over and through the fog he could see Batman on the ground and a grey shrouded figure pulling a bloody gauntlet away from his face.

Vigilante's mind sort of broke then and he brought both guns up. The hammers send shudders of agony down his arm. He saw the bullets spark off the armor. They both clicked empty and he leapt high, bringing both butts of the revolver around and crashing them both down on top of his head. The armored figure's frame leaned down a bit from the momentum but an armored arm swung out taking him in the stomach and knocking the wind clean from him as he fell onto his back, gasping and coughing. He rolled to the side as an armored heel crashed down leaving a crack in the stone where his head was a moment before.

He saw the green blur move in next and his blows did more work. The armored frame was pushed back several times but he returned each strike in kind. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a flare it sparked and sputtered and as Vigilante got to his feet it was shoved into the chest of the rag covered man. The inhuman wail that escaped him made his frame cringe, and even his foe's head twisted to the side from it. The green tattered man disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Gregory got to his feet as he looked to his left, seeing a long metallic staff dully sparking in electricity. He kicked it up to his grip, spinning it in his grip. The cowled man stared at him for a moment and whatever expression he had was hidden under the strange angled cowl.

"They could not stop me. What makes you think you can?"

Gregory held the stave before him letting the electricity dance along and providing the only source of light save for the large computer's screen in the back of the cave. Cheetah and Alfred both could take him on but for their skill both the armor was too much. Cheetah had speed, but no strength and Alfred would be lucky to fire off a pair of pumps before the man would break his back. He was the last line and the realization settled on his shoulders like a dead weight but his mind kept churning on letting his anger play its part as he glared at him.

"They have their code, I don't."

A low laugh came from the cowled man. "You intend to kill me?"

"Intend? Nothin' like that… I'm going to."

Even in his heart though, Gregory wasn't sure if he could last. All he knew was that he'd die trying.