Area 11: Shipping Docks – Midnight
Under the veil of night, the shipping docks of Area 11 were nearly deserted. Only a few late-shift workers and patrolling guards remained.
Two dock workers rolled a crate across the platform.
"So then I told the Eleven, 'Try a rice paddy, maybe your mom's still planting dreams there.'"
They both laughed cruelly.
"Yeah, these Elevens are—"
Thunk.
A small, bladed projectile embedded itself into the crate beside them.
"What the hell—?"
He turned. His coworker was gagging, a throwing knife jutting from his throat. Blood spurted as he collapsed.
"John?! Oh my—"
A gloved hand clamped over his mouth.
Crack.
His neck snapped like dry wood. Silence returned, broken only by the sea breeze.
Nearby, a security officer patrolled the lot. He noticed a small canister rolling to a stop near his boot.
Hissssss.
Thick smoke erupted. He coughed violently, stumbling backward. Suddenly—
Pain. A piercing blade in his gut. A boot to the chest. Silence.
From the shadows emerged a masked figure in a red hood, guns sheathed—blades drawn.
Red Hood.
He vanished again as quickly as he struck.
A second guard stepped out of the booth. "What's going on out here?"
He scanned the area with a flashlight—nothing.
A whisper of movement behind him.
Shnk.
A figure in sleek, dark armor appeared in a blur, escrima sticks glowing faintly blue in the moonlight.
Nightwing.
The guard's eyes widened before blood bloomed across his neck. He fell forward. Dead.
Nightwing looked to the rooftops and made a hand signal.
A dozen shadows responded in silence—members of the League of Assassins, led tonight by Batman's own wayward sons.
Babel Tower – Casino Front
Babel Tower, an elegant monument to greed and corruption, pulsed with nightlife. Beneath the glitz, however, dark games were unfolding—chess tournaments, blood matches, and shady underworld dealings.
At a private table in the VIP lounge, a man in a sharp dark coat and a jade ring on his finger examined his cards with cold calculation. He spoke with an accent shaped by centuries.
Ra's al Ghul.
Tonight, he was playing poker—not for money, but for power.
One of the local crime lords leaned in. "Why is the Demon's Head interested in slum tunnels?"
Ra's smiled faintly. "Because the rot always begins below. That is where I plant the seed."
Another criminal scoffed. "Sounds philosophical. We want profit, not parables."
Ra's snapped his fingers.
A woman approached, clad in a black and red dress, her beauty tempered by danger.
Talia al Ghul.
"My beloved," Ra's said, accepting the briefcase from her hands. She leaned down and kissed his cheek.
Inside the case—vials of a glowing liquid.
"Refrain. A psychotropic serum. It allows the user to relive their most euphoric memories. Highly addictive. Devastating."
The gangsters leaned in.
"People will pay anything to remember joy," Ra's continued. "Then they'll pay more to forget the cost."
"What's in it for us?"
Ra's smiled. "Territory. Wealth. And a stake in the fall of the Britannian Empire."
Cards hit the table. Straight flush. "Do we have a deal?"
The kingpins nodded.
Private Lounge
Later, Talia stood beside Ra's in a quieter chamber.
"You would poison them?" she asked.
Ra's looked out at the decadent casino below. "I would give them what they desire. The weakness of man is that he seeks comfort, even at the cost of his future."
"We destroy them to save them," she said, softly.
Ra's nodded. "As always."
Interruption
Suddenly, the doors burst open.
A man in black with a crown-shaped tattoo strode in with guards behind him.
The Black King.
"Ra's. I hear you've been giving gifts... but none to me."
Ra's turned, expression unreadable. "You're not fit to receive them."
"You promised me... bunnies," the King hissed.
"I trade in ideas, not flesh."
The King drew a weapon. "Then this is your final game."
Ra's smirked. "Checkmate?"
He snapped his fingers.
The lights went out.
Infiltration
Outside, shadows scaled the tower. Red Hood and Nightwing led a dozen assassins, silently infiltrating the structure.
One by one, security rooms fell. In the main surveillance hub, Nightwing flipped through the air and knocked two guards out cold before they could reach for alarms. He shut off the power to all external cameras.
In the control suite, the remaining guards braced.
"Who the hell are these guys?!"
Boom.
The wall exploded inward.
Red Hood entered with twin pistols, flipping them into reverse grip. He didn't fire—not yet. The killing would be personal tonight.
Guards screamed. They didn't last long.
The Massacre
Back in the VIP lounge, the Black King was on his knees.
"You lunatic—"
Talia shot him in the shoulder, sending him spinning.
Ra's approached slowly. "I warned you not to overstep."
A blade slid out of his sleeve.
Red Hood and Nightwing rejoined him, blood on their armor.
"Clean the rest," Ra's commanded. "No survivors."
Within minutes, the League spread through the casino. Dealers, gamblers, couriers—anyone connected to the operation—eliminated.
The last remaining thug tried to crawl away, whispering prayers.
Nightwing silenced him with a swift blow to the head.
When Cornelia li Britannia and her royal security detail arrived an hour later, they were met with horror.
"Who did this?" she asked, eyes wide in disbelief.
Blood drenched every corner of the floor. Dismembered corpses. Heads hung on cards. The symbol of the League of Assassins painted across the back wall in crimson.
Epilogue: The Docks
Later, at the same docks, drug runners distributed Refrain like candy. The addicts came in waves.
On a rooftop above them, Ra's, Talia, Nightwing, and Red Hood stood watching.
"Operation Poison has begun," Ra's said.
In the shadows, a young Japanese woman approached a dealer. She was dressed as a maid.
She bought a vial. Injected herself.
"I'm sorry, Kallen," she whispered. "I wasn't strong."
She closed her eyes as the drug took hold—her happiest memory flooding back.
She smiled as the insignia of the League glowed behind her.