"The Judge is being targeted!"
Dam's eyes flicked nervously across the room as he spoke, his voice low but urgent, like he expected someone to be listening. His posture was tight, shoulders slightly hunched, and there was a restless edge to him that hadn't been there before. Even in the noise of the bar, his vigilance stood out.
"Targeted?" Locke leaned back slightly, his tone calm, but his eyes sharpened with interest as he studied Dam's expression.
"Yes," Dam replied quickly, lowering his voice even further. "That's what people in the underground have been saying lately. There's an old legend in Gotham—something that's been whispered about for years. Behind all the crime, behind everything… there's an organization pulling the strings."
Locke's brow lifted slightly, curiosity flickering across his face as he processed the claim. In his memory, Gotham had always been chaotic, but never under the absolute control of a single hidden force.
"An organization?" he repeated, his voice measured.
"We all know the name," Dam continued, glancing around again before leaning in closer. "But nobody knows where they are. Nobody knows who's part of it. They watch everything—every street, every deal, every move. They're the real rulers of Gotham."
His voice dropped to nearly nothing, barely audible over the bar's chatter, but Locke heard every word clearly. His enhanced senses caught even the subtle tremor in Dam's breath.
"So stop messing around," Dam added, his tone turning serious.
Locke's gaze remained steady. "What's the name?"
Dam hesitated for a fraction of a second, then spoke.
"The Court of Owls."
Locke's eyes narrowed slightly, the name settling into his mind with a quiet weight. He didn't react outwardly, but internally, something shifted as he filed it away.
"And they're watching the Inquisitor now," Dam said, his expression tightening with anger. "They've always tolerated crime, encouraged it even. They hate Batman, and they hate the Inquisitor just as much. They're like a cancer in this city."
There was frustration in his voice, mixed with unease, as if even speaking about them felt dangerous.
Locke, however, didn't look particularly concerned. If this had been earlier—before everything he had gained—he might have taken it more seriously. But now, things were different.
At least in Gotham, there weren't many things left that could truly threaten him.
The doorbell chimed softly as the last few customers filtered out of the bar, the late-night crowd finally thinning. Dam gave a quick nod to Emily before heading out, his earlier tension still lingering in his movements.
Locke exchanged a brief goodnight with Emily before heading upstairs. Inside his room, he settled onto the bed, leaning back against the headboard out of habit. His ears picked up the steady, calming rhythm of breathing from the next room, and he let the quiet settle around him.
Time passed slowly, the world outside dimming as night deepened. Eventually, a beam of moonlight slipped through the curtains, stretching across his bed like a silent signal.
Locke opened his eyes.
Without making a sound, he rose to his feet and moved toward the window. His movements were controlled, deliberate, every step placed with precision. He pushed the window open and scanned the streets below, his night vision cutting through the darkness with ease.
The city was quiet, but not empty.
In the next instant, his figure dropped from the window. He landed without a sound, knees bending slightly to absorb the impact, and before the motion even finished, he was already moving. His body blurred into an afterimage, vanishing into the shadows at the corner of the block.
Not far away, near a university campus, a group of students wandered down a sparsely populated street. Their laughter echoed lightly in the cool night air, their carefree mood untouched by the dangers lurking in the city.
"I swear, I really saw the Judge!" a burly young man insisted, his voice loud with excitement.
His friends immediately burst into laughter, clearly unconvinced. Their teasing only made him more animated, but there was no changing their minds.
"Seriously, I'm not lying!" he protested, though it only made them laugh harder.
A blonde girl with loose waves in her hair smirked as she glanced at him. "If we stay out this late, we might actually run into criminals. You know that, right?"
"It'd be the other way around," another guy shot back with a grin. "If they saw you, they'd probably run."
The group laughed again, clearly enjoying the joke, but the girl's expression shifted slightly. There was a trace of annoyance in her eyes.
"I hate it when people bring my family into things," she muttered, her tone sharp.
Without waiting for a response, she stepped away from the group and headed toward the darker end of the street. Her pace was quick, almost impatient, leaving the others scrambling to follow.
"What's Elena thinking?" someone muttered as they hurried after her. "If it wasn't for her, we wouldn't even dare stay out this late."
"Exactly," another added. "Her family runs half of the East District. As long as we're with her, we're fine."
Their laughter returned, though it carried a slightly forced edge now, as if they were reassuring themselves as much as each other.
They turned into a narrow alley, the light fading as the buildings closed in around them. The atmosphere shifted almost immediately, the easy comfort of the main street giving way to something heavier.
And then, at the far end of the alley, a figure appeared.
He stood motionless at the entrance ahead, directly in their path. His silhouette was barely visible in the dim light, but his presence was unmistakable.
The group slowed, then stopped entirely.
"…Hey," one of the guys called out, trying to sound casual. "What are you doing standing there?"
No response.
Even Elena frowned slightly, though she didn't seem panicked yet. There was still a sense of confidence in her posture, like she was used to being protected.
One of the male students glanced at her, then stepped forward, forcing himself to act brave. "Hey! If you're trying to rob us, you picked the wrong people!"
His voice was loud, but his steps were cautious. The others followed behind him, their earlier confidence starting to crack as the silence stretched on.
"Elena's from the Grayson family!" he added quickly. "You know who they are, right?"
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, the figure moved.
Slowly, deliberately, he began walking toward them.
"Shit—shit!" someone cursed as panic finally broke through. The group stumbled backward, crowding around Elena instinctively.
"Who the hell are you?" another shouted, his voice shaking.
Before anyone could react further, a second figure appeared behind them.
The students turned in horror, realizing the way they came was now blocked. The newcomer stood silently at the other end of the alley, cutting off their escape.
"Elena, call your bodyguards!" someone yelled desperately.
But Elena's expression had already changed. The confidence was gone, replaced by a flicker of unease.
Something wasn't right.
Normally, her bodyguards would have intervened the moment danger appeared. They were always watching, always ready. But now…
There was nothing.
The two figures continued closing in, step by step, their movements unhurried, almost casual.
Then, suddenly—
Two bodies dropped to the ground.
The sound was heavy, final, and the students froze as they stared at the blood staining the suits and shoes of the fallen men.
"Ah—!"
The girls screamed, their voices breaking the silence as fear exploded through the group. Elena's face went pale as she recognized them instantly.
Her personal bodyguards.
One of them had been a well-known underground boxer, a man strong enough to handle most threats without breaking a sweat. Now he lay on the ground, barely breathing, his chest rising weakly as life slipped away.
Elena's heart sank.
She looked up just as another figure dropped from above. The man landed smoothly from a three-meter height, his black windbreaker fluttering slightly before settling. A dark cloth covered his face, and his presence radiated a quiet, suffocating pressure.
"I'm from the Grayson family," Elena said, forcing her voice steady despite the fear clawing at her chest. "Who are you?"
"The Grayson family?" The man's voice was low, tinged with something strange, almost unsettling. His eyes, shadowed and dark, gleamed faintly as a subtle smile curled at the corner of his mouth.
....
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