Batman turned back to the court members, they were waiting for judgement.
Wrists bound tight behind their backs, ankles cinched, shoulders pressed against cold stone that still carried the chill of the labyrinth. Their owl masks had been removed and discarded nearby, reduced from symbols of power to hollow props lying on the ground. Without them, the illusion cracked easily. These weren't untouchable figures of Gotham's hidden elite. They were men—wealthy, influential, and now very exposed.
Vey stepped back, folding himself into the edge of the room, watching rather than participating. This was Batman's domain, he wanted to spectate and see how Batman operated close up when he wasn't the one receiving the interrogation. His men held their positions, weapons lowered but ready, eyes flicking between the prisoners and the Dark Knight.
Batman approached them slowly, his presence controlled and deliberate. He stopped just in front of them, close enough that none of them could ignore him, but not so close that it felt rushed. It was measured. Intentional. His shadow stretched over them under the rooms faint glow.
"Where are we?" Batman asked.
His tone was even, almost quiet, but it carried weight. It wasn't a question asked out of ignorance. It was a demand.
The man in the suit—clean, polished, the kind of face that belonged behind boardroom tables—let out a shaky breath and tried to straighten despite the restraints. "You already know," he said, forcing a brittle confidence that didn't quite hold. "You don't come this far underground by accident."
Batman didn't respond. He simply watched him, unmoving. The silence stretched, and it worked faster than any threat.
"We're not saying anything," the factory owner added, his voice louder but less stable. His eyes kept flicking toward the door as if expecting something to come through it at any moment. "You think this changes something? It doesn't. You're in over your head."
Batman took a single step forward. That was all it took.
The industrialist—the oldest of the three, sharp-eyed and composed up until now—flinched before he could stop himself. It was subtle, but it broke the illusion of control they were trying to maintain.
Vey noted why Batman was so effective in his mind. These people have lived under Batman's gaze for years now, seen the hospital patients the bat has produced. The threat of incoming pain from Batman is probably greater than if a thug tried to mug them.
"You've already lost control of this space," Batman said, his voice still calm, still steady. "Your security failed. Your defenses failed. The Talons didn't stop us."
That word again.
Talons.
It landed differently this time. Not as a threat, but as a reminder.
"You're not protecting anything anymore," he continued. "The only question left is whether you walk out of here before your own people decide you're a liability."
That hit harder.
The suited man's composure cracked first, his jaw tightening as he tried to process that angle. "That's not how this works," he said, but there was hesitation now, doubt creeping in whether he wanted it or not.
Batman tilted his head slightly, studying him. "You think they don't already know?" he asked. "You think a breach like this goes unnoticed?"
None of them answered.
Because they couldn't.
"They will seal this off," Batman went on. "Erase it. Remove anything compromised. And you'll still be sitting here when they decide how to deal with that."
The factory owner shifted uncomfortably against his restraints. "You're bluffing," he muttered, but his voice had lost its edge.
Batman didn't argue.
Didn't push.
He just let the weight of it sit.
Then he spoke again.
"What is this room?"
The suited man exhaled slowly, his resistance fraying under the pressure. "It's… a meeting room," he admitted. "One of them. For senior members."
Batman remained still, letting him continue.
"Sometimes newer members get invited," he added, glancing briefly at the others. "If they've proven themselves useful."
"Useful how?" Batman asked.
"By contributing," the factory owner said quickly, as if filling the silence would give him back some control. "By doing what's asked. By showing we can be trusted with more than surface-level operations."
Batman's gaze sharpened slightly. "Like tonight."
That stopped him.
A pause stretched between them before the industrialist finally spoke, slower this time, more careful. "We were instructed to come down here," he said. "To install listening devices."
Robin shifted slightly at that, his eyes narrowing. "You mean bugs."
The man nodded once. "In the meeting rooms. All of them in this section."
That answer settled heavily in the room.
Batman absorbed it without reaction, already moving to the next question. "Who gave the order?"
The hesitation this time was longer, thicker. The three men exchanged brief, uncertain looks, each one silently urging the others to hold the line.
That was when Vey moved.
It wasn't sudden or aggressive. He simply stepped forward, just enough to enter their focus, his presence cutting across the interrogation without disrupting it outright. There was something different in the way he carried himself now—an edge of quiet satisfaction that hadn't been there before.
"Why would Kane," Vey said, his tone almost conversational, "want to bug his own meeting rooms?"
The reaction was immediate and undeniable.
All three men froze.
Their eyes snapped to him, wide with something far stronger than the fear they'd shown Batman. This was recognition. This was panic.
"How do you—" the suited man started, then clamped his mouth shut too late.
The factory owner shook his head instinctively, as if denial alone could protect him. The industrialist's composure cracked completely, his breathing picking up as the implications set in.
They hadn't been supposed to say that name.
Not here.
Not to anyone.
"To find the traitor!" one of them finally blurted, the words tearing out of him under the pressure.
The room went still again.
But it wasn't the same stillness as before.
This one had direction.
Behind his mask, Vey smiled.
'It worked,' Nolan's voice cut in, sharp with restrained excitement inside his mind. 'They're already turning on each other. All that groundwork—it actually worked.'
Vey didn't answer him aloud or internally. He didn't need to satisfaction rolled through his mind.
"A traitor?" Vey echoed, the word rolling easily off his tongue as he stepped closer. He lowered himself into a crouch in front of them, bringing his masked face level with theirs. The theater mask—split between a carved grin and a weeping expression—tilted slightly as if studying them from two opposing moods at once. It had an effect. It always did. Men like these were used to power being clean, controlled, respectable. There was nothing clean about this.
The three of them shifted uneasily, their confidence eroding further under the combined presence in the room. One of them glanced past Vey toward Batman, desperation creeping in through the cracks.
"You're working with him now?" the suited man asked, his voice tight. "With criminals?"
Vey's head tilted to the side, amused by the question rather than offended by it. There was a faint, silent chuckle in the motion, something mocking but not loud enough to break the tension outright.
"That's what you're concerned about?" he replied calmly. "Not the fact that you're tied up in a hidden room beneath the city while your organization tears itself apart."
He let that sit for a moment before continuing, his tone sharpening just slightly.
"Why does he think there's a traitor in the Court?"
The question landed differently this time. It wasn't just probing—it was precise. Focused.
The men hesitated.
You could see it in their faces, in the way their eyes flicked between Vey and Batman, in the subtle tightening of their jaws. They were weighing risk, trying to decide which answer got them out of this alive. Loyalty warred with self-preservation, and it wasn't winning.
One of them—the industrialist—exhaled slowly, his shoulders sagging just a fraction. "We don't know," he admitted. "Not really."
The others didn't interrupt him.
"I don't think he believes it," he continued, more quietly now. "Not completely. Some of us… think it's an excuse."
"An excuse for what?" Vey asked.
The man hesitated again, then pushed through it. "To eliminate competition," he said. "To consolidate power. If there's a traitor, anyone can be accused. Anyone can disappear."
The factory owner let out a short, uneasy breath. "Not everyone sees it that way," he added quickly. "Some believe him. They think there really is someone leaking information, undermining things from the inside."
"But they're in the minority," the suited man muttered, shaking his head slightly. "Most of us think… this is something else."
Vey watched them for a moment, absorbing it. The fractures were deeper than they realized. Suspicion layered over ambition, fear sitting just beneath both. It wasn't just a crack—it was pressure building in all the wrong places.
Before he could press further, Robin's voice cut in from the side.
"Tell us about the tunnels," he said, stepping a little closer. "Where are the important rooms?"
That broke the tension in a different way.
The three men actually laughed.
Not because it was funny, but because of how impossible the question sounded down here.
"What important rooms?" the factory owner said, shaking his head. "You think there's a map? A layout? It doesn't work like that."
"It's a maze," the industrialist added. "On purpose. Sections get sealed, new ones get opened. Paths change. You take a wrong turn down here and you might not find your way back without help."
"We're not high enough to know anything useful," the suited man said, his voice carrying a note of bitter honesty now. "I've been down here four times. That's it. Each time escorted. Each time different routes."
He glanced toward the corridor behind them, as if the tunnels themselves might be listening.
"I know there are active mining operations still running in some sections," he continued. "Old expansions, new ones… hard to tell which is which anymore. And Talons—" he swallowed slightly, "—a lot more than you've seen."
"A shit ton more," the factory owner muttered under his breath.
The room settled again after that, the weight of their words hanging in the air.
Vey straightened slowly, his gaze lingering on them as he processed everything they'd given up. It wasn't a full picture.
But it didn't need to be.
It was enough to confirm what mattered.
The Court wasn't unified right now. He of course knew there had to be some cracks but bugging your own building?
And now—It was starting to turn on itself. With their expedition down here which will undoubtedly be noticed come morning the court might divide itself even more.
Vey rose from his crouch, his attention lingering on the bound men for a moment longer before he turned toward Batman. The shift in posture was subtle, but deliberate. The interrogation had given them something real, something useful—but it had also opened a door neither of them had fully accounted for.
"I'm sure they have a lot more information to give us," Vey said, his tone measured, thoughtful rather than rushed. "But I'm starting to see a problem."
Batman's gaze shifted to him immediately. "What problem?"
Vey gestured slightly back toward the prisoners, still bound against the wall, their fear now settling into something heavier—resignation mixed with dread. "If we bring them to the police," he said, "they'll be out by morning. Men like this don't stay locked up. Lawyers, connections, and a whole lot of pressure—it'll all move faster than anything the system can hold."
He let that settle for a second before continuing.
"And after that," Vey added, "they're dead."
The words landed flat and certain.
"No trial. No loose ends. The Court cleans its own mess."
Batman didn't respond.
Vey watched him for a moment, then continued, pressing the point further. "And before that happens," he said, "they'll talk to the Court. About this." He motioned lightly between them. "About you working with me. About us being down here together."
"We don't want that getting out," Vey finished. "Not this early."
Silence followed.
But it wasn't the usual silence Batman carried. This one had weight in a different way—less controlled, less immediate. It lingered a fraction too long, like something unaccounted for had just been placed in front of him.
Ah.
Batman hadn't considered it either.
This was kind of awkward.
Behind them, one of Vey's men shifted slightly, breaking the stillness just enough.
"We should really get going, boss," he said, his voice low but urgent. "It's almost morning. And if they're telling the truth about more Talons…" He glanced toward the corridor, unease creeping in. "We might be in too deep."
The room seemed to agree with him. Vey gave a small nod before looking back at Batman.
"Agreed," he said simply. "We can talk about it later."
He let the words hang for just a moment, then added, "Let's get out of here."
—
A/N: this might seem anticlimactic end to raiding the court but I didn't want to drag it too long. It's more about the effects them doing this will have on the top side.