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As the boy wonder was carried off by the lesser servants of the Demon, a lone figure walked past them, barely paying the child any mind. It mattered not to him that the boy was the child of the master, he had only proven to be a disappointment and failure to the Al Ghul name and all that it could and would entail. The man was taller than the those that he walked past, clad in an orange uniform that was both comfortable and flexible for his larger body type. His face was that of tiger's,it's surface almost flesh like,and gave off an unsettling aura of malice. To the League of Assassins and only a few individuals in the world, he was known as the Bronze Tiger, one of the greatest martial artist currently alive and loyal servant of Ras Al Ghul.

The Bronze Tiger's, or Ben Turner's as he was actually known, association with the League of Assassins was largely unknown and it was only in recent years that he served with the ancient order of killers, committing himself to their just cause of bringing guiding the world with a silent fervor. His reasons were his own and he rarely spoke with any of the other members. Not that he needed their companionship.

Walking up to his lord, Turner took a knee, kneeling before the master of the league and showing due respect before speaking. " The pieces are quickly moving into place. The Gotham scum continue to serve their purpose. With your grandson now in your possession..." He stopped, rising to his full height once more, staring at the master of death before him, eager to serve. "How can the Bronze Tiger be of service?"

Finally, Catwoman made her way to the docks. The salt of the seawater was sharp in the air and sandpipers cried in the brisk night. It was still dark, but the early morning hours threatened her cover with breaking dawnlight. Shipping containers and cranes hung frozen in the off hours. The darkened warehouse was not unlike the others lining along the waterfront, but being emblazoned with a brass “6” above its wide bay door, she knew it was the one. The front of the building was lined with windows, several muntins of each had the glass broken out. These were the signatures of children with nothing better to do.
He would be here. And she would pay her respects. Claws out.

She pried at the door and it whined open, echoing into the blackness within. She stepped inside. Why so dark? She immediately felt a sense of unease.
It was almost as if someone expected her to arrive. Suddenly, it dawned on her.

“He knew I was coming. It’s a trap” her thoughts raced aloud.
Immediately she moved to back out of the darkened doorway.

As soon as Catwoman backed away from the doorway, she was met with a syringe-clawed palm aimed toward her face. In front of her stood a tall, lanky figure dressed in ragged navy blue tattered clothing with a burlap mask pulled over his head. Scarecrow's pale blue eyes stared soullessly into Selina's emerald green from behind his mask, before a cloud of gray-black gas sprayed from his sleeve directly into her face. Anticipating that the attack would cause his target to stumble backwards, Crane would lean in and take a step forward. Didn't anybody ever tell you that curiosity killed the Cat? Scarecrow said, his vocal changer heavily amplifying and distorting his voice as he raised both his arms, slowly extending his syringe-clawed fingers. No matter how much you scream, nobody can hear you... so scream. SCREAM! Thrusting another arm forward he blasted her with another concentrated dose of fear toxin. You're luck's just run out.

If this were any other customer Slade would have taken the time to remind his employer of his rates, and insist on an advanced payment. Too many times had some schmuck tried to cheat him out of a hard earned paycheck after the job's been finished. However, Deathstroke was confident there'd be no kind of shady conduct with this particular employer.

Slade crossed his arms as he listened to Ra's' instructions. The job was simple enough. Kill the Birds, and leave the Bat for the Demon. Consider it done, Deathstroke replied with a nod; allowing his arms to fall back to his sides. Any other special instructions before I go?

Ever since the light of the world had first shown upon a young Tim Drake, he was destined for greatness. Gifted enough to deduce the identities of Batman and Nightwing, his keen analytical mind along with his intelligence opened up a lot of potential paths in life for Tim - none of which he would ever take. He wanted to change the world, to make a difference, to prove himself worthy above all. It was this very mindset that set Tim aside from the others, and something that Bruce had even recognized. His tenure as Robin was but a stepping stone towards his destiny as The Red Robin.

Tim indulged the independence granted to him within his partnership with Batman, but also felt assured in knowing that he had the others at his back if he was ever in need - yeah, even the homunculus. Being apart of this unit made Tim feel worthy, knowing he was apart of something greater and doing something good. Having branched out like d**k, a lot more of Gotham and it's neighbours were safer due to the space being covered - of petty crime, at least. The big players were still out there causing all sorts of mischief.

He sat hunched over his computer. The light that blazed from the screen glinted against his eyes. They were iridescent and flecked with every shade of blue. He scanned through articles, files, and reports from GCPD, having even accessed some of their more sensitive material. Tim was searching for updates on the smaller street gangs in Gotham. Having been firmly kept at bay, competition and territory was slim - and any man with a gun is dangerous to someone. "There we are." Tim murmured to himself. A file on The Street Dragonz gang had recently been updated. Studying the report, apparently an informant for the GCPD was within the gang. The information that they had fed back described that there were more frequent confrontations with rival gangs; The East Side Dragons and Ghost Dragons. If a gang war was to break out, it risked a lot of civilian causalities, as well as the losers either being absorbed into other gangs. Gotham did not need the larger gangs gaining more members and expanding.

Placing on his domino mask, Red Robin left to investigate and keep a vigil around Gotham's East End District. Under the cover of night, he sat perched above a rundown building which he had tracked a bunch of thugs baring a dragon tattoo to. Taking out his grappling hook to lower himself down, he was interrupted by the voice of Alfred on his com-link. The sense and tone of urgency bled from Alfred's voice as he spoke, "Master Timothy, I've already alerted Master Richard, but your presence would be most appreciated as soon as possible. I fear the worst for Master Damian." Tim slowly pulled his hand away from his ear. He had never gotten along well with Damian, and was unsure of how much he could really trust him. Deep down though, Tim viewed him like a little brother, and dread began to render him numb. Regaining himself, he put his hand to his com-link once more, responding to Alfred, "Thank you. I'm on my way, Alfred." He pulled himself away from the ledge of the building, and disappeared into the night once more, on a course for the Batcave.

At The Batcave

Having entered the Batcave, Tim descended the flight of stairs. He caught glance of Bruce, d**k and Alfred. Harper looked beaten, and was surrounded by those present. He delayed no time in running to the main quarters of the Batcave, and stood beside his brother. A nod was all he could afford as a greeting, time was of the essence. ”Where is Damian? What happened?” Nightwing had asked. Like Alfred, like all of them, concern dripped through his words. Tim was trying his best to emotionally withdraw himself for Damian's sake - so much so to even seem cold with his silence so far, but an emotional response to a situation so fragile could cost his little brother his life. His brow grew heavy as he stared down at Bluebird. "Harper..." he sighed with disturbance. Bluebird's wounds spoke volumes. Tim excelled at paying attention to the minutiae; whoever her attackers were had training in advanced forms that were designed to break down their opponents, but her large bruising and bleeding meant that she had suffered a force of impact, most likely from a large opponent or a fall. The latter being most likely due to the precise nature of the other bruising from the attacks. Gotham was home and target of a lot of trained martial artists, so he waited to hear what had happened along with d**k before he would speak.

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Nocturnal Vigilante

Acrobatic Vigilante

Cerulean Vigilante

Previously...
Stephanie had been perched on the corner of one of the high rise sky scrapper for a while now. She'd been leaned back patrolling on her own for a handful of hours making sure if this particular night she would be getting her hands dirty. Of course this was always the case, but she had built layers of progress accompanied with the other proteges under Batman's wings attempting to aim and sweep the streets of Gotham from any mischievous evil doers.

Dressed in her Batgirl suit, the purple stood hidden in the shadows as the black portion of her suit did its job. The intercom soon broke silence as a mindful voice entered her ear. "Mistress Stephanie, it would be best if you arrive at the Batcave, Master Damian--" The comm link fused as she swooped down below into the shadows. Stephanie was on her way to the Batcave, but who would have thought? Out of all people, the one more than skilled with pointy objects and an even pointier tongue was the one in danger, if that was even the case. Despite being the one whom had been pointed numerous knives at, the blond knew she cared about the kid; she liked to joke around with him even if his snotty remarks usually led to petty glances at each other.

Presently...
Stephanie walked in having cleared the measures to enter the Bat cave itself. She glanced over the rest, noticing their worried facial expressions though Bruce's wasn't very pin pointed to express anything if grief at all.

She crept behind Tim and made a small comment. "You're seriously one step closer to becoming a Christmas ornament." Sighing and folding her arms, she approached the rest stepping in to close the broad gap. A sense of family enclosed over her. She knew well enough that they all cared about the missing bird, even thinking of him as a brother to heart. Now noticing an injured teammate let alone roommate, she hurried over peering at the cuts and bruises. "Woah, Row...what...the..." This looked like someone had given her a beating, multiple times, or perhaps by different people of the same strategies. Harper flinched just before Stephanie placed a finger in her neck to see more of the injuries; She looked worse than a bruised banana. Turning around, Stephanie folded her arms once again and faced Bruce with a stern vocal tone. "Look, we have to do something about this. They did a real number on Row, she can't really do much other than stay back. I'm not not going to sit or stand around and do nothing." You can say she had a rather courageous trait, but just the sight of her injured roommate and a missing Robin? She wanted answers or rather, she demanded answers.

Defeated and overcome, Catwoman now lay quivering on the cold concrete floor of the abandoned warehouse. As the good doctor knelt down and grabbed her face, tears leaked from her eyes. Her usual dry sense of humor was absent in the face of inescapable terror. In a chemically altered state, Catwoman was unable to make sense of his words or comprehend what was happening to her.
Don't worry... this will all be over soon enough.
As Scarecrow jabbed his syringed fingertips into her abdomen, another of surge of adrenaline shocked through her system. With a final, labored gasp for air, she cried out and swung a powerful punch at the terrifying face in front of hers before losing consciousness. Even in losing, she was still full of indomitable fight.