Bab 113: Whereabouts of an Old Foe
Thursday 17th September, 19:00.
Rhode Island,
Happy Harbour,
The Cave.
Esau barely managed to stifle a groan as he trudged into the kitchen of the Cave, his entire body aching from the relentless training session he'd endured with Jason Blood. Every step felt like he was wading through quicksand, each muscle a burning testament to how much he had pushed himself. His enhanced physiology may have allowed him to survive sessions that would have left others incapacitated, but even his limits were being tested.
He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, downing half of it in one go before slumping into a chair. Resting his forehead on the cool surface of the table, he let out a long, tired sigh, thinking only of eating something light and getting some much-needed sleep. A good night's rest was definitely what the doctor ordered and from experience, Esau knew his aches and pains were more a result of mental exhaustion rather than physical. The reason he felt sore and achy was his mind's way of telling him to rest considering simply being tired wasn't enough to make him stop.
"Esau."
The stern, clipped voice cut through his exhaustion like a blade and lifting his head sluggishly, Esau turned to see Batman approaching him with his signature purposeful stride. His cape billowed behind him, and even without saying anything more, it was clear from the Dark Knight's demeanour that this wasn't a casual conversation.
Esau heaved another sigh but pushed himself to his feet, already quelling the impending headache he could feel forming. "Yeah? What's up?"
"Come with me." The response only deepened the headache further as Esau resigned himself to the realisation that his much-needed sleep would have to wait. It was in times he regretted becoming a leader because if it was someone else's burden then he could eat his food and sleep in peace without being dragged by Batman into random briefings when something the rest of the team was currently unaware of went to shit.
Even so, Esau followed Batman into the briefing room, the dim lights of the hallway doing little to revive his energy. He dropped into a chair with a thud, slouching slightly as Batman remained standing, pulling up a holographic display on the central console.
"What's this about, Bruce?" Esau asked, rubbing his temple. "I'm beat and in need of a nap"
Batman's sharp eyes scanned him, noting the signs of fatigue. The usually razor-sharp Esau looked visibly drained, his exhaustion a clear sign of how hard he had been pushing himself lately. Even with his enhanced stamina and healing, the mental and physical toll of his recent efforts was apparent. Then again, Batman had also been keeping a close eye on Esau's sparring, limited though it had been in recent times since the return from Bialya. His progress was far beyond that of the rest of the team as evident from his sparring matches with Black Canary which were near equal. His control of his powers had also allowed him to match the physically superior Aqualad and Superboy in matches, allowing him to bridge the gap with his skill and make the playing field more level.
Physically, even with a single tail, Esau was still the weakest and slowest of the trio. Aqualad wasn't much stronger or faster even when dehydrated and hydrated, the difference wasn't huge. Yet he was much more skilled and experienced than Superboy and managed to match the superior skills of Esau thanks to that combination. Superboy meanwhile was still the main powerhouse of the team, while his skills were improving, Aqualad and Esau were still leagues above him, but the difference in their physical abilities allowed Superboy to bridge the gap in skill.
In a way, the trio balanced one another.
Esau the most skilled, but physically weakest.
Superboy the strongest, but least skilled.
Aqualad, neither the strongest nor the most skilled, yet finding a middle ground between the two.
"I'll make this quick," Batman said, his voice devoid of sympathy but not unkind, well aware how much rest is for those in their line of work. "You recall the events of the past few days?"
Esau straightened slightly in his chair, forcing himself to focus. "Yeah. The peace summit between North and South Rhelasia, where the League of Shadows tried to sabotage it. And the Belle Reve infiltration. Why?"
Batman clasped his hands in front of him, his tone grave. "There has been a growing consensus among League members. We believe that recent villain activity is no longer random. It's too coordinated. Someone, or something, is orchestrating events behind the scenes."
Esau's brow furrowed, the weight of Batman's words banishing some of his fatigue. "Wait a minute," he said, leaning forward. "Are you saying someone's controlling all villain activity? That's insane. There are too many personalities and too many conflicting agendas. Keeping them all in line would be impossible without someone slipping up. To keep them all in line like that, you'd need leverage over them all individually or be so powerful that out of self-preservation they fall in line. But if that was the case, what's the need in using the villains to do their dirty work? They could just do it themselves."
Batman agreed with the assessment, something the Justice League themselves had discussed in their own meetings reviewing the strange actions of the villains. "It's unlikely. Though not a possibility we are ignoring that we are looking at someone strong enough to keep them all in line. There is nothing to say that they can't be that strong while also keeping themselves to the shadows." Batman countered, Esau conceding on that. "But there is another possibility. They have put aside their differences voluntarily in the face of a common enemy."
"The League," Esau murmured, realization dawning.
Batman nodded. "It would explain the sudden cooperation between villains who have historically been at odds with one another. Their individual agendas pale in comparison to the larger goal of eliminating the Justice League."
Esau exhaled sharply, the implications sinking in. "If that's true… that's big. It makes sense why everything has felt so coordinated lately. They're putting aside their differences to take us out. But how are they managing to keep it under wraps?"
"We don't know yet," Batman admitted. "But recent events have provided some insight. The ease with which we apprehended Mister Freeze, Icicle Jr., and Killer Frost was suspicious. Their resistance was minimal, almost as if it were a distraction."
"Distraction for what?"
"During the Belle Reve infiltration, the villains were attempting a mass prison break and they nearly succeeded."
Esau's stomach tightened. "How many escaped?"
Batman pulled up a series of images on the holographic display. "Two. The Riddler was the first to be discovered unaccounted for. It took over a day to account for all the inmates, which is why the second escapee went unnoticed until later."
The severity in Batman's voice made Esau's unease grow. "Who?"
"Alton Carver."
Esau's fist tightened into a ball as his gaze narrowed, briefly flashing red as the anger within him rose. 'Talon!' He still remembered the incident with the Court of Owls vividly as it was the moment his entire view on the world came crumbling down and Esau was truly thrust into the life of heroes and villains. "Where is he?" Esau growled and Batman remained silent.
Yet that was answer enough.
They didn't know.
-X-
Thursday 17th September, 20:30.
Location Unknown.
The air was thick with tension as Alton Carver followed Sportsmaster through the winding halls of the underground facility. Each step echoed faintly, the sterile environment doing little to comfort him. Carver's sharp eyes scanned their surroundings, noting the fortified walls and the faint hum of high-tech equipment. He didn't trust the assassin leading him, but then again, trust had never been something he relied on.
He stayed ready for a fight, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring, while he didn't expect an ambush, he wasn't about to let his guard down. The scars of his last defeat were still fresh, and he had learned the hard way that overconfidence was a fatal flaw.
'Alas,' he thought bitterly, 'even the best lessons come too late.'
Carver's escape from Belle Reve had been meticulously planned, though not without risk. He had overheard whispers of Icicle Sr.'s scheme, the hushed voices of inmates who thought themselves unseen. It wasn't hard to piece together the plot, but Carver had chosen to stay silent. After all, why should he tip his hand when chaos could serve as the perfect cover?
When the prison erupted into pandemonium, Carver seized his chance, slipping through the cracks unnoticed. Edward Nygma had done the same, the two of them benefiting from the disorder without ever coordinating. It was the perfect escape—clean, calculated, and without unnecessary risks.
Now, as he walked behind Sportsmaster, Carver reflected on what came next. Revenge had been his first instinct, but he knew better than to act on emotion. His last failure had taught him that feelings cloud judgment, and judgment was what separated the successful from the dead.
"We're here," Sportsmaster announced, his gravelly voice pulling Carver from his thoughts.
The sleek metal doors before them hissed open, revealing a dimly lit chamber. As they stepped inside, the room was bathed in a faint glow as a series of monitors flickered to life. Carver squinted against the sudden brightness, his sharp mind already cataloguing every detail he could make out. Silhouettes appeared on the monitors—shadowy figures obscured by a glaring light, their features hidden but their presence confident and assured. Carver felt the weight of their scrutiny, a silent judgment that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
"Welcome, Alton Carver," a voice spoke from the central monitor, deep and gravelly with an edge of ancient wisdom. It was a voice that demanded attention, every word laden with authority in a way that Alton had never experienced before. It was an alien feeling to be sure, yet he dismissed it all the same as he kept his guard raised.
Carver inclined his head slightly, his expression guarded. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"We would like to welcome you to the Light," the figure replied simply.
The room fell silent, save for the faint hum of machinery, Carver's sharp mind raced as he processed the implications of those words. He had heard whispers of the Light, an organization, a group operating in the shadows, orchestrating events on a scale that dwarfed even the most ambitious villainous plots. They had approached the Court of Owls a few years prior to their failed attempt to take over Gotham, offering aid and resources. The Judge of Owls had dismissed them and refused their aid, Talon himself having clashed with Sportsmaster once or twice following as the Court of Owls and the Light's operations crossed paths a few times in Gotham.
"Why me?" Carver asked, his tone careful. He wasn't one to reveal his hand, but he also knew that playing coy could cost him especially when it was thanks to Talon that the Light had been unable to exert very little influence and control over Gotham. Them seeking to kill him for that wasn't out of the realm of possibility, but more likely Talon suspected they would try to recruit him.
"You possess potential," the central figure replied. "And ambition. Two qualities we value highly. Your failure was… regrettable, but even in failure, you demonstrated your ability to adapt and survive. That, Alton, is what sets you apart."
Carver's jaw tightened at the mention of his failure, but he forced himself to remain calm. "And what exactly are you offering?"
"A chance," the figure said smoothly. "To become something greater. To be part of a design far more intricate than anything you've ever known."
Alton's gaze flickered to Sportsmaster who stood silently to the side, arms crossed yet stance ready. He gauged the man's stance and while he didn't get much of any information, what he did receive was clear. The offer was surprisingly genuine with no hidden threat or agenda, the Light were being very...honest in their attempts to recruit him. This was an invitation into an organisation that could help achieve his goals by taking advantage of what was no doubt a vast wealth of resources at their disposal.
"All right," Carver said finally, his voice steady. "I'm listening."
The Light's representatives shifted, a silent conversation passing between them, no doubt on a closed channel for only them to hear. Finally, the central figure leaned forward slightly, their silhouette looming larger on the screen.
"Then let us begin."
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