Cold stone. Whispered hymns. The Court of Owls watches from the dark.

Calvin Rose moves through the labyrinth like a ghost, blade low, breath steady. Two Talons lie unconscious behind him—tranq darts, not fatal. He kneels by a third, fingers pressing to the pressure point at the base of the skull.

“Come on,” he murmurs. “You don’t belong to them.”

Footsteps.

Measured. Familiar.

Calvin turns.

The figure steps into the pale torchlight—blue-black armor plated in owl motifs, curved talon blades gleaming at his wrists, eyes empty behind the talon mask.

Nightwing.

But not.

His posture is wrong. Too rigid. Too precise. No warmth in the stance. A puppet pulled tight on invisible strings.

A masked voice echoes from above. “Presenting our newest Talon.”

Calvin’s jaw tightens. “Grayson.”

Talon tilts his head mechanically. “Target identified.” He attacks.

Fast. Brutal. No flourish. Steel talons shriek against Calvin’s blade hard enough to numb his arm. Calvin twists away, barely clearing a strike meant to open his throat.

“You don’t want this,” Calvin says, ducking a spinning slash that would’ve gutted him. “They’re inside your head.”

Talon doesn’t respond. He advances, relentless—every movement efficient, stripped of personality. A perfect weapon.

Calvin is driven back against a marble pillar. A hooked talon pins his forearm. Talon leans in, strength inhumanly focused.

“Submit,” Talon says flatly.

Calvin meets the blank white lenses. “I did.”

A flicker. So small it might be nothing.

Calvin shifts, takes a blade across his ribs, and jams two fingers into the nerve cluster at Talon’s neck. It buys him half a second—enough to slam a compact injector against the seam of the mask.

“Sorry,” Calvin breathes.

Talon staggers back, movements glitching. The Court murmurs above.

“Grayson,” Calvin says sharply, stepping into his space. “You’re not their Talon. You’re not their anything.”

Talon’s jaw clenches beneath the mask. His grip trembles.

For a heartbeat, the curved blades lower.

Then the conditioning surges. Talon roars—not in rage, but in pain—and charges again.

Calvin braces, sorrow hardening into resolve.

“Okay,” he whispers.

They collide beneath the staring owls. (play as Calvin or Grayson I don't mind just no shipping them please! and remember to have fun)