It was during the third year of his imprisonment - three years, three whole years of whispered conversations and sugar cubes and the pale, moon colored eyes that watched over him from the ceiling - that Dick was able to leave the void behind.

At least physically, he reminded himself, just as his angel had warned him; the void was now a part of him, a constant threat in the back of his head demanding his obedience or else face oblivion in the vast, frightening whiteness.

But he had woken up one day and he had left the white prison behind, exchanging it for a small, Spartan room with barely a cot and a small window, that made him recoil and whimper in fright, as he was sure he had finally lost his mind.

It was only the deep, amused chuckle of a man confidently sitting on his bed, arms crossed over his massive chest, blue eyes - not as beautiful or as pale as his angel's, never so pure and sweet - mocking his every clumsy movement.

"Good morning, Richard," the man greeted, his voice throaty and full of mockery. "I have been waiting for you."

Dick felt himself frown in confusion.

"You have?" He asked, hating the hoarse way his voice rasped at his throat.

The man nodded.

"Indeed," he sneered. "Many broke far before you ever did. I must say I am quite impressed."

Dick swallowed thickly, his hand clenching in an effort to prevent its trembling.

"No matter," the man said finally, waving a hand dismissively. "You are finally ready to begin your training."

"Training…?" the teen whispered, feigning innocence. His angel had already shared all the information he could during his visits, how he was to become what they called a 'Talon' and how they would try to suppress his emotions, his very being, until there was nothing left of himself but an obedient killing machine.

He zoned out therefore, as the man - Owlman, he said, but to you I am Master - explained what would be expected of him from now on and the consequences he would face should he fail to comply.

He would endure everything, he told himself as he steeled his resolve, his body tensing. He needed to survive and continue to live, to honor the memory of his parents.

To live for the little angel that breathed and whispered sweet assurances in his ears at night, that snuck treats and colors and life when he felt he was going to lose himself to the void.

The man, Owlman, smirked at him, his face turning into something inhumanly cruel, and Dick realized he had been silent for far too long, had been absently staring right ahead in a way that betrayed his inattention.

"I... " he hesitated. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, child," Owlman said, his tone deceptively soft. "I was simply stating that, since you are our own special case, you shall receive a special kind of discipline should you step out of line."

"I understand..." Dick said evenly, doing his best to keep his face as expressionless as possible.

"I believe you don't, actually, even if you are one of my most promising Talons," the man mocked. "If you fail in your training, if you step out of line, if you even think about rebelling against me, I won't touch a single hair on your head. No one will harm you."

Dick frowned, unsure.

He had heard the agonizing screams of the so-called discipline from his cell; he had known the other trainees were mercilessly beaten for their failures.

Why spare him, then?

Owlman's smile widened as he pulled a small telephone-like device from his belt.

"Instead," he continues, pressing a code on his phone nonchalantly. "Someone else will be facing discipline in your stead."

Dick felt the void roaring in the back of his head, the world lose its bottom and his stomach pummel to his feet as the man finally turned the device to face him, the screen alight with a number he didn't recognize.

But the voice...

"Sir?" The voice of his angel, the voice of his everything, echoing from the speakers. "Is everything ok?"

Owlman's smile bared his teeth like a predator.

"I wanted to make sure our new Talon was settled in his room, Timothy," the man said simply, eyes locked with Dick's.

There was a silence.

"I… I understand, sir," Dick's angel's voice wavered, hesitant, fearful. "Do you need me to-"

"No," Owlman interrupted. "I think not seeing you will be a good lesson for Richard here, so the two of you can learn not to think you can go behind my back anymore."

Another pause.

"Yes, sir," the soft voice that anchored Dick's damaged psyche to the world sighd, defeat evident. "As you command."

Dick wanted to cry.

"That will be all, Timothy," Owlman then laughed. "You and I will have some words later on, so I expect you to wait for me in my office."

Without waiting for a reply – and most likely the man was used to be completely obeyed by now – Owlman cut communications, pocketing his small phone once more and then tilting his head towards Dick's shaking figure, amusement clear in his cold eyes.

"I don't have to tell you what will happen to your sweet, little Timmy if you step out of line, do I, Richard?" he asked, crossing his arms once more.

The teen bit his lips so hard blood slowly trickled down his chin.

"Of course not," he hesitated. "Master."

Dick's vision slowly started to fill with red, the void gaining momentum behind his eyelids and smothering his whole self until there was nothing to see, nothing to feel.

The only sound around him was his new Master's roaring, cruel laughter.

And Dick finally learned what it felt like to be pray to true hatred and despair at the same time.