Ow.
Tim's head throbs in time with his heartbeat.
Man, what happened? A mission must've gone wrong somehow. Tim doesn't remember going on a mission, though. He remembers being in his office, and then-
The man with the gun, with the "bomb," with the "regards" from Ra's al Ghul.
At that memory, Tim's heartbeat speeds up. That means the throbbing in his head speeds up too. Double ow.
If he's been captured by Ra's al Ghul, he's in for a rough time until he can escape, that's for sure. He may as well get started on it, Tim thinks ruefully, and he opens his eyes.
He's expecting to see a dungeon cell, or maybe his quarters from his time working with Ra's against the Council of Spiders, or maybe even the Demon Head's throne room.
The sight that greets him is none of those things.
Tim is in a chair up against the middle of a wall in what looks like a perfectly square room. It's pretty large, similar in size to the Wayne Manor ballroom. In the center of the room, blocking Tim from seeing all the way to the other wall from his chair, is a thick column with a closed door in the middle of it.
Tim leaps up from the chair. Well. He tries to leap up, really. In reality, he gets about halfway to his feet and has to sit back down again, sudden dizziness in his head and tingling in his arms and legs overwhelming him. Wow, how long was he out?
Moving his limbs briskly, Tim tries to shake out the tingling pins and needles. At the same time, he sits up very straight, trying to get his balance. After a moment, he tries again to get up, a little slower this time.
He succeeds. Carefully but quickly, mindful of the remaining dizziness and tingling, Tim makes his way to the center of the room. He walks right up to the column and tries the door.
It doesn't open. Not a surprise.
Tim walks all the way around the column, considering the rest of the room. Other than the wooden chair Tim woke up in, the contents of the room are sparse.
A bed, or rather something along the lines of a medical cot, is situated in one far corner, away from the chair he woke up in. In the other far corner, a table and two more wooden chairs wait (Tim tries not to shudder at the implication of two chairs, not one). A curtain hides each of the two near corners, one of them taking up way more room than the other.
Heading for the smaller of the near curtain-covered corners, Tim pulls that curtain aside to find a sink basin, a toilet, a little cupboard, and a shower stall, all very simple, all making him very uneasy. Ra's is clearly planning for the long-term here. Yikes.
Tim tries the curtain in the other near corner.
More yikes. Probably way more yikes.
Tim stares for a moment, trying to justify what he's seeing there. Because, well, it almost looks like-
"A set of cloning chambers?" Tim asks, mostly to himself. He's not expecting an answer.
Unfortunately, he gets one anyway.
"Yes, how perceptive, young detective."
Tim spins around, already resigned to what he's going to see.
Ra's al Ghul smiles, spreading his arms in what's probably supposed to be seen as a gesture of warm welcome. But Tim knows Ra's too well for that.
"A set of cloning chambers," Tim says again, mustering all the bravado he can manage. "Hate to break to you, but that never exactly worked out for me, not to mention you don't have all the parts here."
"Don't I?" Ra's says, which is a stupid question.
"You don't," Tim says flatly.
Ra's hums. "We'll simply have to see about that."
"Since when are you interested in cloning?" Tim asks. "I thought you were much more the 'cults and magical mayhem' type, not the 'cloning and existential experiments' type."
"Must I be placed in a box, held as only 'one type' of man as if in a cage?" Ra's says.
Tim gestures around the room, waving at the door, which is closed again. Although, to be fair, he's not entirely sure it opened, given he didn't see or hear Ra's come in. "I don't know, it kind of looks like you've put me in a cage already, so…"
"If this is to be a cage, I promise it will be a gilded one," Ra's says.
Tim blinks at him. He blinks at the sparse contents of the room. He blinks at Ra's again. "You know what gilded means, right? Like, basically a luxury? What part of this is a luxury?"
"In time, you will see. Once we have begun, you will see," Ra's says nonsensically.
Tim pauses. It does sound just like nonsense. But one word in there sticks out. "Begun. Begun what?"
"I have had many people fail me," Ra's says, either changing the subject from Tim's question or starting on a long story that will eventually answer the question, it's impossible to tell right away. "From those I have chosen as mine to those who were biologically mine, there have been countless failures from those closest to me. You know, it wounds me."
"Let it wound you," Tim says, rolling his eyes.
"I have," Ra's says dramatically. "I have let it wound me. Until just over a month ago."
Just over a month ago? Tim does the math quickly. That would be not long after Tim blew up most of Ra's bases and defeated his whole scheme. "What, I beat you so bad you decided to just give up?"
(The evidence points to the contrary, but Tim can dream, can't he?)
Unfortunately, Ra's smiles. "Quite the opposite. In the aftermath of our last little skirmish, I did my research. What I found was quite enlightening. You've had a rather difficult time of it, have you not?"
Tim chooses not to answer that. "Get to the point."
"Ah, the point. As you well know, I have long been reliant on the workings of a Lazarus Pit to maintain my form. Age does not suit all of us, after all, and permanent death suits me even less," Ra's says. "As time goes by, however, the Lazarus Pits have become… Shall we say, less effective. And so I must go on. As you also well know, I have offered the position as my heir to my grandson, and then to you, young detective-"
"As your heir? You mean as your host body," Tim says.
Ra's inclines his head slightly. "You may refer to it as you wish."
Tim scoffs.
Ra's goes on. "As you well know, then, I require a new form. As I now well know, you are able to provide that form for me."
Tim takes a second to digest that. It doesn't digest well, to say the least. "You want me to work to clone you?"
"Not precisely," Ra's says. "I want us to work together to produce a worthy heir. I've studied your attempts at cloning, and they intrigue me, despite their lack of success. With the addition of a bit of magic to fill in the gaps and make the attempts grow more quickly, I believe we can find success. Throughout an accelerated childhood, we will see if a worthy heir has been potentially created, and by the time the trial creation has reached adulthood, perhaps in four to five years, we will know the truth."
"And the truth will set you free, then," Tim says sarcastically. "More like it'll trap me and doom whatever poor sucker you create."
"Whatever we create," Ra's says as some sort of sick correction.
"What makes you think I'll help you?" Tim asks. "Did the whole 'exploding your bases' thing not get the picture across of whose side I'm on?"
"Sides matter little," Ra's says. "All that matters is power."
"Power corrupts," Tim mutters.
"Power also controls," Ra's says.
"You can't control me," Tim says, way past tired of this conversation, of this situation, of this everything. "Again, the whole 'exploding your bases' thing comes to mind. I'm not choosing to help you."
"Oh, young detective," Ra's says. "What makes you think you are able to choose?"
Tim stares at him. "I mean, the concept of free will?"
Ra's laughs. "A captive will can be a much more powerful concept indeed."
"So we're just saying nonsense now?" Tim asks, trying to ignore the shudder that travels down his spine at the sound of Ra's laugh. "Okay. Cool. I can do nonsense. Um, the treadmill was invented in 1817. Executive cucumber."
"Take this being still and find it," Ra's says in response, which sounds just as much like nonsense, but when he points at Tim and a bolt of something dark green shoots from his finger toward Tim's neck, Tim knows better than to think it's nonsense.
Tim leaps back and away, but the bolt is faster than he is. It sinks into his neck, choking him with pressure for a moment, then releasing most of the way. Tim gasps for breath, one hand coming up to his neck automatically to search for a wound but not sure whether to expect to feel anything there.
He doesn't feel a wound.
He feels something tight and woven, looping around his neck and ending in a cool, metallic buckle, almost like-
Like a dog's collar.
"Take this being's will and bind it," Ra's says with an air of horrible formality.
"What-" Tim begins.
"Tell me, what is your middle name?" Ra's says with a smile.
"'Spite' is my middle name," Tim says dismissively. Or. Well. He tries to say that. Actually, when his mouth opens, he says instead, "Jackson."
"Fantastic," Ra's says.
Tim stares at him with growing horror.
"Oh, my dear young detective, you have no idea how fantastic this is. It was quite unexpected, this type of magic, but quite excellent, now that it does work," Ra's says. "Of course, given it was designed for the working beast and not for the working boy, I must test it a bit. Stay."
Ra's makes a motion as if to step forward, reaching a hand out.
Instinctively, Tim tries to move away. He can't. He can move most of his body, leaning back, but his feet won't budge an inch from the spot they are planted.
Ra's hums thoughtfully and stops his advance. "Interesting. So, inform me, how do I keep you from further resisting me?"
Tim's mouth works without his input. The rest of him feels as frozen as his feet are when he hears the words come out. "If you threaten to kill any of my family, I won't resist."
"Well, consider them threatened," Ra's says. He strides forward then, right up to Tim without a care, close enough that the hems of his pants brush Tim's shoes. "And how does one begin to work with these 'cloning chambers' you devised?"
And Tim, fully against his will, begins to tell him.