"I have nothing to say to you," he spat, his muscles tensing as he strained against his restraints, his wrists rubbing raw from the rough metal digging into his skin. He'd been sent by the Court to assassinate an important figure in Gotham, but before he could reach his target, a vigilante had stopped him. The two had fought, and all he could remember was having the upper hand before losing consciousness.

Now he was here, in this strange basement, chained to a pillar. "Let me go," he hissed, his lips pulling back into a snarl and his eyes narrowing. "The Court has no business with you. This is between me and my mark."

Failure was hardly an option for a Talon. Even death couldn't stop him; the Electrum implanted into his tooth would ensure that he'd continue the Court's mission. He wasn't afraid of death—Talons could be brought back on demand, after all. Capture, on the other hand... That was a different beast entirely.

"You think these chains can stop me?" he taunted, a smirk playing upon his lips. He pulled harder, the chains clinking and creaking. "Do you really think a simple lock will hold me back? I'm a Talon for the Court of Owls."

Beware the Court of Owls, that watches all the time, ruling Gotham from a shadowy perch, behind granite and lime. They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed, speak not a whispered word of them or they'll send the Talon for your head. So went the rhyme.

"You're interfering with a sacred duty," he growled, his blue eyes gleaming dangerously. "Let me go, or I'll make sure there's so little left of you even the maggots won't have anything to feed on."

If only his weapons hadn't been taken from him. If only he could escape. His hands clenched into fists, the knuckles going white. The metallic taste of blood lingered on his tongue, even after his healing factor had closed up the worst of his wounds.

He bared his teeth. "Don't underestimate me," he said, his tone low and threatening. "I'll come for you. And I'll make you pay. I'll show you what a Talon can do."