7:19 PM Shiva

She gurgled and went limp. Death came quickly to the uninitiated.

I had strangled her from behind, her weight supported by my legs and her neck pinned in a vice. It was far more merciful than a throttling. This kind of kill was not my typical modality, but time was of the essence, and I didn't want to waste the energy fighting an unworthy opponent.

I relished my handiwork in the same way that a painter regarded a painting after completion. She was a quaint young lady in her mid-twenties. Her hair smelled of lavender, and her skin was warm from standing in the sun. She was a single hopeful with a rosy aspiration of living in a future Shangri-La. She was an ideological acolyte of the utopian future preached by the League of Shadows.

I did not share her optimism nor her futurism, as I knew the sacrifice the League's ideology demanded. It was told to us—the initiated—that death would come early, and that Utopia was centuries away. The death toll would be catastrophic before utopia could be instituted. It bred a sort of a fatalist cynicism in a shadow. Acolytes, like this young hopefully, didn't have the same sensibilities. They didn't understand fully the sacrifices the Demon demanded. She was merely recruited by the internet and trained and paid for a specific task to further the cause of the League. I assumed that she had little issue verbalizing her devotion to the cause but acting on it was not nearly as easy. I bet her vision of a death in service of the League was romantic until the life was being choked from her body.

When I arrived, she was amicable, taking me for a random passerby happening upon her in her garden to say hello. However, when I suggested that we go inside, offering her a secret gesture for authentication, she became uneasy.

Once inside, I asked her for the number and the means to conjure a demon. She burst into tears. I felt nothing. I truly didn't understand her anxiety toward death, but I expected it from her. She was, after all, an acolyte, not a shadow. She knew that upon divulging the number, her life was forfeit. I assumed that she never expected this moment to come. And, perhaps the odds were that it never would, but her duty was the reason she was paid so handsomely. She had served her purpose in life. Now, she laid on the floor a dead, useless thing.

I went out into her garden and began digging with her spade at a position right beneath a young date tree that she indicated I could find the means to commune. After ten minutes or so, I struck something hard in the chocolate soil. I shoved the spade in harder, and it reported a metallic thunk. I dug and scrapped with more vigor until the geometric angles of a box, nearly the same color as the soil, peered out at me. I pulled the waterproof case, no bigger than my forearm, from the earth, and wiped dirt from its surfaces and creases as I made my way back inside.

I had the latch open by the time I was through the door and extracted a plastic bag with a small cellular phone inside. I placed the box onto a nearby table as I walked into a small dining area and began crunching the numbers—beep—beep—beep.

It rang and rang, and I waited anxiously for an answer, drumming my fingers against my thigh impatiently. This was not a phone call I wanted to make...ever. But, part of me knew that one day I would. I always knew that Wayne and I would cross paths again, and the League had strict protocols where Wayne was concerned.

"All hail his existence," a woman's voice answered on the other end, finally.

The anxiousness increased. I was conflicted. I knew that I had a duty to report to the highest levels of the League about an encounter with Wayne, but I was concerned I would be given an order that would impair my ability to fight him...again.

"May he forever rise," I replied.

The woman demanded, "Speak."

"I must speak with him."

"You are playing a dangerous game."

"I would not request an audience if the situation were not dire. I must speak with him."

"Very well. He will be unhappy."

There was silence again—an eerie silence; my anxiousness grew more intense.

There was an electronic click, then a voice as old as it was deep. "How dare you disturb my rest." It was baritone and had all welcoming gratitude of a sun-scorched ocean of unforgivable sand.

"Your eminence, you have to know that I would never disturb you unless the situation were urgent."

"Urgency does not concern me, Shiva. Only the gravest of circumstances are worthy of my notice." After all these years, his accent was still strange to my ears.

"Indeed, my lord. It is for that very reason I have eliminated an acolyte to uncover the means to commune with you. I assure you that what I have to tell you is of utmost importance."

"It better be," he said dismissively, "for your sake, Shiva."

I paused, considering if I was making the right decision. Not that it mattered at this point with the Demon's involvement.

"Speak—we cannot communicate telephonically for long. We have enemies, and they have ears."

"My lord, Bruce Wayne is here."

"Ah, the Detective."

"Yes. He's here in Cyprus."

"What is he up to? How have you come across this intelligence?"

"This isn't intelligence. I have a first-hand account. He made contact with me, directly."

"You? Why?"

"I was unaware, but he is the patron of a student that I have been teaching. I was contacted months ago by a client and offered an exorbitant compensation in exchange for my tutelage. There was no indication of a connection to Wanye until he personally divulged."

"Am I to assume that the compensation was not an indicator, Shiva?"

"No, my lord. Nothing connected the two."

"Do multi-billionaires contact you regularly for your expertise?"

I remained silent.

"Who is the student?" he asked.

"A boy named Timothy Drake, my lord. He is barely an adult, but a promising warrior. He would make an excellent shadow."

"I will keep counsel as to who has the aptitude to serve among the initiated. And, as you can see, the Detective is formidable, and he consistently demonstrates why he is both threat and savior to our cause. He has devised a plan and is executing right beneath the noses of our most capable operatives. Why would he specifically contact you, Shiva?

"Because of our history, my lord. He trusts my integrity."

"That wasn't a question; much less one that needed answering."

I sat quietly as he continued his external monologue. Not all of his thoughts seemed to connect, and he ran off tangentially as he expressed disappointment with several shadows, acolytes, and commanders throughout the League—and me.

Then he addressed me directly, "Shiva?"

"Yes, my lord?"

"I believe I know the Detective's purpose."

"My lord?"

"You believe that the Detective trusts your integrity, but he, in fact, trusts the blindness of your greed. He is knighting a new Robin, and you are doing the training for him." His voice dripped with disdain.

I tried to defend myself, "I was unaware—" but he cut me off.

"Indeed, you were unaware. The Detective is as brilliant as he is elusive. It's the reason that you were never his equal.

"How long has he been there?"

I put my head down. "Perhaps a couple of days. The only useful information I could extract was from a photographer who was trying to take pictures of him."

"Old gods, curse your eyes. You could never be more incorrect. He hasn't been there for a few days. He has been there longer; it is only now that you are aware of him."

"Why would he reveal himself if he already had the element of surprise?"

"It was clearly a calculated choice, Shiva. Theatrics. He did it as a psychological measure. He is preparing the battlefield. You were likely the bait."

Wayne is anything but my equal; he lacks the conviction of a true warrior! was on the tip of my tongue, but I instead asked, "What are your orders?"

"Order the intelligence team out of the country and into hiding. You will destroy your assets and return to the fortress at once. Do not, under any circumstance, engage the Detective. He is a threat, and I don't need him to end you. Afterward, activate the sleeper shadows and order them to kill the boy."

The line went dead.

I slammed the phone against the wall. It splattered in a shower of black plastic fragments.

How dare that old fool disrespect me! No one in the League could defeat me! Not him and I would prove that Wayne could not either.

I inhaled deeply and exhaled through my nose slowly.

Enough of this. I was not going to let my ego control me. I did not want to kill the boy, nor did I want to avoid my chance to fight Wayne. I needed to meditate on the internal conflict of my personal desire and my duty to the League.