Iceberg Lounge, Gotham City
The Iceberg Lounge stood as a glittering monument to Gotham's underworld elegance, a place where criminal aristocracy could mingle in opulent surroundings while maintaining plausible deniability. Tonight, however, the establishment's carefully cultivated atmosphere of refined villainy had been disrupted by the appearance of seven individuals whose combined body count could populate a small nation.
Alberto Falcone huddled in the VIP booth at the back of the lounge, a glass of eighteen-year-old scotch trembling slightly in his manicured hand. His security detail had been dismissed to the perimeter of the room, not by his order, but at the insistence of the man seated directly across from him.
Slade Wilson. Deathstroke the Terminator. The man who had executed the job at Haly's Circus with mechanical precision five days earlier.
"Your father sends his regards," Deathstroke said, his single eye fixed on Alberto with predatory intensity. He wasn't wearing his iconic mask, a deliberate choice that somehow made him more intimidating rather than less. The white-haired mercenary exuded lethal competence even in civilian attire. "Though I think his definition of 'family reunion' differs from yours."
Alberto tried to maintain his composure, though sweat beaded along his hairline despite the lounge's carefully regulated temperature. "My father's opinions are increasingly irrelevant to the family's future direction."
"Family's future direction," echoed a mocking voice from the adjacent chair. "Listen to Junior trying to sound like a big boy." Floyd Lawton, Deadshot, reclined with calculated casualness, a toothpick rolling between his teeth. His relaxed posture belied the coiled readiness visible to anyone who knew what to look for. "Why don't we skip the corporate bullshit and get to the point? We've all finished our jobs. Time to pay up."
Deadshot's mechanical eye whirred softly as it focused on Alberto, the targeting reticle briefly visible through the lens. "Grogan went down clean. One shot, left temple, just like you wanted. Made quite the show at your fancy charity gala."
Alberto's fingers tightened around his glass. The memory of Councilman Grogan's assassination still made his stomach churn, despite it being exactly what he'd ordered. "The payment has been transferred to your offshore accounts..."
"Not all of us got paid properly," came a feminine voice, sultry despite its undercurrent of anger. Copperhead slid into view, her movements sinuous and predatory. The assassin's exotic features were twisted in barely contained fury as she glared at Deathstroke. "Some of us were abandoned to face Batman's new allies alone. Some of us spent two days in GCPD lockup before arrangements could be made."
Deathstroke didn't even glance in her direction. "Professional hazard, Larissa. You knew the risks when you took the contract."
"The risk I took was trusting you to provide backup," Copperhead hissed, her accent thickening with emotion. "Not leaving me to face some masked woman with League training while Batman's new pet played hero."
Lawton chuckled, the sound cold and mechanical. "You got taken down by a kid? That's embarrassing even for you, Larissa."
"Dick Grayson," she spat. "The circus brat. Turns out losing your parents makes you surprisingly motivated to stop other people from dying." Her eyes flicked to Slade. "Interesting how the boy survived your little 'accident' at the circus. Almost like it was planned that way."
Deathstroke's expression remained impassive. "The contract specified the boy's survival. I follow instructions precisely."
"How touching," Lawton drawled, the toothpick shifting from one corner of his mouth to the other. "Professional killer with a soft spot for orphans. Though I gotta ask, why leave the kid alive if you're just gonna have to deal with him later? Kid saw your face, didn't he?"
"That wasn't my concern," Slade replied coolly. "I completed the job as specified. What happens afterward is up to the client."
Alberto shifted uncomfortably, sweat now visible on his brow. The casual way these killers discussed murder, his orders, made his stomach turn. He'd thought himself prepared for this level of brutality, but hearing it dissected so clinically was different than giving abstract commands.
"Speaking of afterward," Lawton continued, his mechanical eye focusing on Alberto with predatory interest, "we've got a problem brewing. Batman's been busy. Real busy. Making connections, following trails. It's only a matter of time before everything leads back to your doorstep."
"The Bat's proving more resilient than anticipated," Deathstroke acknowledged. "He's also making allies. It won't be long before he traces the financial arrangements back to you, Alberto."
Alberto's hand trembled as he raised the scotch to his lips. "That's impossible. The financial arrangements were completely compartmentalized..."
"Nothing's impossible for someone with his resources," Lawton interrupted. "Plus, you've got bigger problems now. Word is Ra's al Ghul's daughter is in town. Talia al Ghul doesn't make social calls."
"What's her interest in this?" Alberto managed, his voice barely steady.
"Could be anything," Slade said thoughtfully. "The League has its own relationship with Batman. Could be she's here to help him. Could be she's here to eliminate him. Could be she just wants to watch Gotham burn."
"My money's on option three," Lawton added. "The League's not exactly known for their mercy. And the al Ghuls? They play chess while the rest of us are playing checkers."
Copperhead leaned forward, her predatory smile returning. "Or maybe she's here because someone's been making moves in her father's territory without permission. The League doesn't appreciate freelancers operating in their backyard."
At the mention of Ra's al Ghul's daughter, Alberto's anxiety notched higher. Talia's involvement complicated an already volatile situation. The al Ghuls operated on levels beyond even the Falcones' reach.
A deep, accented voice cut through the tension like a blade. "The only unfinished business that matters is between the Bat and myself." Sergei Kravinoff emerged from the shadows near the bar, his leonine bearing making the upscale lounge feel suddenly primitive. The hunter's eyes gleamed with barely contained hunger as he spoke. "Our encounter at the botanical gardens was merely the opening movement of a symphony that demands completion."
Kraven rolled his massive shoulders, the lion's mane vest shifting across his muscled frame. "Batman proved himself worthy prey that night. Few have ever matched me in direct combat, fewer still have drawn my blood and lived to speak of it." His hand unconsciously moved to his ribs, where Batman's modified fighting style had left its mark. "The circus boy's acrobatic techniques... they created variables I had not anticipated. Fascinating adaptations."
"Your wounded pride is showing, Kravinoff," Taskmaster observed, stepping into the light with his skull mask catching the lounge's blue illumination. The assassin's posture radiated controlled aggression, his shield held casually but ready. "Though I suppose that's what happens when you underestimate your opponent."
Kraven's eyes narrowed, focusing on the masked figure. "And what would you know of worthy opponents, Masters? You who steal the techniques of others rather than developing your own?"
"I know enough to complete my contracts without requiring a rematch," Taskmaster replied coolly. "Unlike some who let personal obsession cloud professional judgment."
The hunter's laugh was rich and dangerous. "Professional judgment? You call cowering behind stolen movements professional?" Kraven stepped closer, his imposing frame dwarfing even Taskmaster's considerable build. "I hunt with honor, using skills honed over decades of tracking the world's most dangerous prey. You merely copy what you observe, a pale reflection of true warriors."
"Those 'pale reflections' nearly put Batman down permanently," Taskmaster countered, his voice tight with irritation. "My photographic reflexes allowed me to counter every technique he'd displayed in Gotham until he started incorporating those circus moves. Which, if I'm not mistaken, gave you just as much trouble."
Kraven's expression grew more animated, the professional facade giving way to genuine excitement. "Exactly! The Bat forced us both to evolve, to adapt beyond our established patterns. That is what separates true hunters from mere killers." His gaze swept across the other assassins dismissively. "Most of you see Batman as an obstacle to eliminate. I see him as the ultimate test of my abilities."
"Your abilities got you arrested," Taskmaster pointed out flatly.
"A temporary setback," Kraven waved off the comment. "Prison walls cannot hold Kraven for long. And when I escape, Batman will discover that our first encounter was merely reconnaissance. I have studied his new fighting style, analyzed the acrobatic elements, understood how the boy's training influenced his movements." The hunter's eyes blazed with anticipation. "Our next meeting will be very different."
Taskmaster shifted his weight, the movement suggesting coiled tension. "Your obsession with honorable combat is a weakness, Kravinoff. You had opportunities to end Batman permanently but chose to draw out the confrontation for your own amusement."
"And your lack of imagination is equally limiting," Kraven retorted. "You copy techniques perfectly but understand nothing of their underlying philosophy. Batman's true strength isn't in any single fighting style. It's in his ability to synthesize, to adapt, to find unexpected solutions when conventional approaches fail."
"Philosophy doesn't stop bullets," Deadshot interjected from across the room, his mechanical eye whirring as it focused on the two arguing assassins. "And it sure as hell doesn't complete contracts."
Kraven turned toward Lawton with barely contained disdain. "Spoken like a man who kills from a distance. You know nothing of the intimacy required for true hunting, the connection between predator and prey that elevates the experience beyond mere murder."
"I know results," Deadshot replied evenly. "Something you and skull face here seem to have trouble with lately."
Taskmaster's mask turned toward Deathstroke, who had remained silent throughout the exchange. "Speaking of results, Wilson, your student there has been making quite an impression on Gotham's criminal element. Several of my contacts have mentioned unusual activity patterns suggesting someone with military training has been operating independently."
Slade's expression remained unreadable. "I have no students currently active in Gotham."
"No?" Taskmaster's tone carried mocking disbelief. "Then perhaps you'd care to explain the tactical precision of certain recent operations? The kind of surgical strikes that bear your signature methodology?"
"My methods aren't unique," Deathstroke replied, though something in his posture suggested increased alertness. "Others have received similar training."
Kraven watched this exchange with growing interest, his hunter's instincts detecting undercurrents he didn't fully understand. "There are other players in this game? Players you have not mentioned, Alberto?"
Alberto cleared his throat, trying to project authority despite being surrounded by killers who could end him in seconds. "You'll all be compensated according to our original agreements. The funds are being transferred to your offshore accounts as we speak."
"Bullshit," Deadshot cut in. "I checked mine ten minutes ago. Nothing's landed."
"International transfers take time," Alberto replied weakly. "Banking regulations..."
"Banking regulations," Taskmaster repeated with artificial patience. "Six days of operations against the world's greatest detective, and you're going to lecture us about banking regulations?"
The tension in the room ratcheted higher as Taskmaster moved deliberately closer to Deathstroke, the animosity between them almost palpable. Everyone present understood their professional rivalry was more than mere competition. It was personal.
"You're lucky to be receiving payment at all," Deathstroke observed coolly, not backing down from Taskmaster's approach. "Some of our colleagues failed to eliminate their assigned targets despite clear opportunities."
"My contract remains active," came a new voice, calm and deadly. Lady Shiva appeared as if from nowhere, though she must have been present all along. Her elegant evening gown had been replaced by a functional black combat suit, but her poise remained imperial. A series of small cuts marred her otherwise perfect features. "Dent lives only because of Batman's intervention and the unexpected competence of his child partner."
"Robin," Deathstroke supplied, his tone suggesting this information carried significance. "The last Flying Grayson. Ironic, considering my first contract in this operation."
Alberto flinched visibly at the casual reference to the Graysons' murder. Despite his criminal involvement, some deaths still affected him. The Haly's Circus hit had been necessary but distasteful.
"A ten-year-old who bleeds quite easily," Lady Shiva added, her finger absently touching one of the cuts on her cheek. Something like professional irritation flickered across her features. "Though not without certain natural aptitudes."
"Let me get this straight," Deadshot interjected, sitting forward with sudden interest. "The legendary Lady Shiva got tagged by Batman's kid sidekick? That's going to be rough for the reputation."
Shiva's expression could have frozen steel. "The child employed unorthodox tactics that momentarily created advantage. An anomaly that will not recur should our paths cross again."
"The boy has potential," rumbled a massive voice from near the bar. Bane moved into the gathering, his hulking frame making even the lounge's generous spacing seem cramped. Unlike the others, he showed visible evidence of recent combat. His tactical vest bore scorch marks and tears, one sleeve completely shredded to reveal bandaged flesh beneath. The tubes connecting to his mask pulsed with that familiar green glow, but the rhythm seemed slightly irregular.
"He fought with honor against overwhelming odds," Bane continued, settling into a reinforced chair that groaned under his weight. "The same cannot be said for Batman, who resorted to sabotaging my Venom supply rather than facing me directly."
Copperhead leaned forward with interest. "You actually fought both of them? At the same time?"
"Indeed." Bane's eyes held a mixture of respect and frustration as he recounted the encounter. "The boy called himself Robin. Wore bright colors that should have made him an easy target in the darkness of their cave." He paused, massive fingers drumming against his knee. "Should have been a simple matter to eliminate him first, then focus on Batman without distraction."
"But it wasn't," Taskmaster observed, his modulated voice carrying professional curiosity.
"No. It was not." Bane's voice carried grudging admiration. "The child moved like liquid mercury. Every time I adapted to his patterns, he would shift to something new. Circus training, yes, but enhanced by tactical instruction that spoke of serious preparation. He used my size against me, my expectations of how children fight."
Kraven snorted dismissively. "A child is still a child. Enhanced training means nothing against true predators."
"You would think so," Bane replied, his tone suggesting Kraven might want to reconsider that assessment. "But consider this: while I engaged Batman in direct combat, the boy circled us like a hunting wolf. Every opening Batman created, Robin exploited. Every moment I pressed an advantage, the child struck at my flanks or attempted to disable my equipment."
He gestured to his damaged vest. "Three times he nearly succeeded in severing my Venom lines. The fourth attempt required me to choose between maintaining my hold on Batman or preventing the boy from completing his sabotage."
"And you chose to stop the kid," Deadshot concluded.
"I chose to eliminate what I perceived as the lesser threat," Bane corrected. "It was perhaps the most significant tactical error I have made in fifteen years of professional operations."
Lady Shiva's eyebrows rose slightly. From Bane, this admission carried considerable weight.
"The moment I turned my full attention to Robin, Batman adapted his fighting style completely," Bane continued. "No longer the methodical, precise techniques I had studied and prepared for. Instead, he began incorporating the boy's acrobatic elements into his own movements. Flowing between standard League forms and improvisational circus techniques."
"Improvisation," Taskmaster said, the single word carrying disdain. "Sloppy. Unpredictable tactics are a sign of desperation."
"Desperation, perhaps," Bane acknowledged. "But devastatingly effective. I had trained to fight Batman the symbol, the calculated predator who operated within established parameters. Instead, I found myself facing Batman the man, fighting to protect someone he cared about."
The observation hung in the air for a moment, its implications clear to the assembled killers. They were all familiar with the tactical advantages that emotional detachment provided. None had expected Batman to be vulnerable to such human concerns.
"You said he sabotaged your Venom supply," Copperhead pressed. "How?"
Bane's expression darkened. "Specialized blade designed to penetrate reinforced materials. While I was distracted by their coordinated assault, he severed the regulator controlling dosage to my system."
"Causing an overdose," Deadshot realized.
"Precisely. Instead of the controlled enhancement that gives me tactical advantage, my system was flooded with enough Venom to kill three men." Bane's massive hands clenched. "I had perhaps five minutes before total systemic failure. The choice became simple: use those minutes to kill them both, or accept unconsciousness and possible death."
"Obviously you chose violence," Kraven observed approvingly.
"I chose survival," Bane corrected. "But not in the way you might think. As the overdose progressed, my control deteriorated rapidly. Strength increased exponentially, but cognitive function decreased proportionally. I became what Pierce's early test subjects became: a mindless engine of destruction."
He paused, studying his reflection in the surface of his drink. "In that state, I was no longer fighting Batman and Robin strategically. I was simply trying to destroy them before the Venom destroyed me. They recognized this shift and adapted again, using my diminishing control against me until I collapsed from chemical overload."
"But you survived," Lady Shiva noted.
"Barely. And only because they chose to provide medical stabilization rather than allowing me to die from the overdose." Bane's tone carried a complexity of emotions that seemed unusual for him. "An act of mercy I did not anticipate and am not certain I would have reciprocated."
The admission created an uncomfortable silence among the assassins. Mercy was not a currency they typically dealt in, especially not toward opponents who had posed genuine threats to their lives.
"Which brings us to more pressing matters," Bane continued, his demeanor shifting back to its usual calculated intensity. "My encounter with Batman and Robin was merely the tactical component of a much larger strategic operation. One that has implications for everyone in this room."
Deathstroke leaned forward. "Go on."
"During my preparation for the Gotham contracts, I conducted extensive research into the funding sources and strategic objectives behind Alberto's operation," Bane explained. "What I discovered goes far beyond the Falcone family's legal troubles or even Batman's interference in Gotham's criminal ecosystem."
"You found Pierce," Taskmaster said, his mechanical voice carrying an edge that hadn't been there before.
"I found Pierce," Bane confirmed. "Along with documentation of Project Rebirth's unauthorized continuation and expansion."
Deadshot shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "What exactly are we talking about here? I signed on to eliminate witnesses and destroy evidence, not get involved in some government conspiracy."
"The government conspiracy is why we were hired in the first place," Deathstroke interjected coldly. "Pierce has been using Alberto's operation to launder funding for illegal human experimentation. The Falcone case was never about protecting Carmine from prosecution. It was about eliminating anyone who might expose Project Rebirth."
"Including John Grayson," Bane added, watching the reactions around the table carefully. "The boy's father discovered Pierce's activities and compiled evidence. His death was not random or crime-related. It was a targeted assassination to protect classified operations."
Copperhead's eyes widened. "You're saying Batman's kid sidekick is the son of someone Pierce had killed?"
"The irony is quite profound," Lady Shiva observed with clinical detachment. "The child who helped defeat you, Bane, is fighting to avenge a father killed by the same man who ultimately signs our paychecks."
"Pierce doesn't sign my paychecks," Kraven growled. "I hunt for the pleasure of it. Payment is secondary."
"Payment that comes from Project Rebirth slush funds," Deathstroke corrected. "Funds generated by selling enhanced operatives to the highest bidder. Funds that require fresh test subjects to maintain the pipeline."
"Test subjects," Deadshot repeated slowly, a new tension entering his voice. "What kind of test subjects?"
Taskmaster answered before anyone else could speak. "Military volunteers initially. Then criminals sourced from maximum security facilities. Recently..." his mechanical voice carried an ominous pause, "the parameters have expanded significantly."
"Expanded how?" Deadshot demanded, though his expression suggested he already suspected the answer.
"Civilian populations," Bane replied bluntly. "Families of individuals with genetic markers that suggest compatibility with enhanced physiology protocols. Children who might be easier to condition and control than adult subjects."
The temperature in the VIP section seemed to drop several degrees. Deadshot's hand moved unconsciously toward his sidearm, a gesture born from paternal instinct rather than professional threat assessment.
"Children," he repeated, the word emerging as barely more than a whisper.
"Specifically children of parents who possess enhanced capabilities or training," Deathstroke continued, his single eye fixed on Deadshot with uncomfortable intensity. "Children who might inherit genetic predispositions that could be artificially enhanced through chemical intervention."
"My daughter," Deadshot said, the statement carrying absolute certainty rather than questioning.
"Your daughter, my son, any offspring of enhanced operatives that Pierce can locate and acquire," Taskmaster confirmed. "The next generation of Project Rebirth test subjects."
Deadshot was on his feet before anyone could react, sidearm drawn and aimed directly at Alberto's head. "You son of a bitch. You knew about this. You knew what Pierce was planning."
"I didn't!" Alberto protested, genuine terror replacing his earlier calculated fear. "I thought it was weapons development, off-books interrogation facilities! Pierce never mentioned anything about families or children!"
"Sit down, Floyd," Deathstroke ordered quietly. "Killing Alberto doesn't change what Pierce has planned. It only eliminates our leverage for drawing him into the open."
"My daughter is not leverage," Deadshot snarled, though he didn't lower his weapon. "She's eight years old. She lives with her mother in Metropolis. She's supposed to be safe."
"None of our families are safe as long as Pierce operates with impunity," Lady Shiva pointed out with cold logic. "The man views us as experimental assets rather than independent contractors. Our children represent the next phase of his research."
"She's right," Bane agreed. "Pierce's long-term vision extends beyond individual enhanced operatives to cultivating entire bloodlines. Generational enhancement through selective breeding and chemical augmentation."
Copperhead made a sound of disgust. "We're talking about breeding programs? Like we're livestock?"
"Precisely like livestock," Taskmaster confirmed. "Valuable breeding stock to be maintained, utilized, and eventually replaced when superior specimens become available."
The implications settled over the group like a suffocating shroud. They had all understood the risks of their profession, the possibility of betrayal or elimination by employers who no longer found them useful. But Pierce's vision reduced them to genetic material to be harvested and improved upon.
"There's more," Bane continued, his voice cutting through the uncomfortable silence. "Project Rebirth's expansion includes plans for large-scale deployment of enhanced operatives in civilian populations. Not just as covert assets, but as law enforcement, military personnel, even political figures."
"A shadow government of enhanced individuals answerable only to Pierce," Deathstroke translated.
"With our children as the first generation of that shadow government," Lady Shiva added.
Kraven laughed, but the sound held no humor. "And we thought we were apex predators. Turns out we're just the prototype generation."
"Which brings us to Alberto's true value in all this," Deathstroke said, turning his attention back to the terrified Falcone heir. "He's not just Pierce's money launderer. He's proof that Pierce has been using criminal organizations to source test subjects and funding for years."
"I never sourced test subjects," Alberto protested weakly.
"Your family's human trafficking operations provided perfect cover for disappearing individuals who wouldn't be missed," Bane explained with brutal honesty. "Homeless populations, illegal immigrants, sex workers. All funneled into Pierce's facilities through contracts disguised as legitimate government detention services."
"My God," Alberto breathed. "How many people?"
"Hundreds," Taskmaster replied. "Possibly thousands over the past five years. Your organization wasn't the only one Pierce was using, but it was one of the most efficient."
"And Alberto never questioned where these people were going or why the government was paying premium rates for what should have been routine transfers," Copperhead observed.
"Because the money was too good to question," Deadshot said, finally lowering his weapon though his grip remained ready. "And because men like Alberto prefer plausible deniability to uncomfortable truths."
Alberto slumped in his chair, the full scope of his complicity finally registering. "He's going to kill all of us. Not just me, all of us. We know too much about the real scope of Project Rebirth."
"Yes," Deathstroke agreed simply. "He is going to try."
"Try being the operative phrase," Bane added, a predatory smile visible above his mask. "Pierce has made one critical error in his calculations."
"Which is?" Lady Shiva inquired.
"He underestimated what would happen when the experimental subjects learned the truth about their children's intended fate," Bane replied. "Parental instinct overrides professional detachment. Always."
Deadshot nodded grimly. "He's right. This stopped being about money the moment Pierce put our families in his crosshairs."
"Agreed," Lady Shiva said, surprising everyone with her emotional investment. "I have a daughter as well. She lives with her grandparents in Tibet, far from this life. I intended to keep it that way."
"But Pierce has resources that reach into Tibet just as easily as Metropolis," Taskmaster pointed out. "Geographic distance means nothing to someone with his intelligence networks."
"Then we remove Pierce from the equation," Kraven declared, his accent thickening with anticipation. "Hunt him down like the prey animal he has always been."
"It's not that simple," Copperhead warned. "Pierce doesn't operate alone. He has government protection, black ops teams, probably enhanced operatives of his own that we've never encountered."
"All of which becomes irrelevant if we can isolate him from his support structure," Deathstroke said. "Force him into a direct confrontation where his political connections can't protect him."
"Which brings us back to Alberto," Bane observed, his massive hand settling on the younger man's shoulder with threatening weight. "Our unwitting accomplice becomes our most valuable asset."
"I don't understand," Alberto said, though his expression suggested he was beginning to.
"Pierce trusts you enough to meet with you directly," Deadshot explained. "Which means we can use you to draw him out of whatever fortified position he's currently hiding in."
"He'll never agree to a meeting now," Alberto protested. "Not after everything that's happened tonight. He's too smart, too paranoid."
"He'll agree," Lady Shiva said with absolute certainty, "because we're going to give him information he can't afford to ignore."
"Such as?" Alberto asked.
"Batman's real identity," Taskmaster suggested. "Pierce has been trying to determine that for years."
"Better yet," Deathstroke interjected, "we tell him that Batman has acquired John Grayson's complete files on Project Rebirth. Evidence that could expose the entire operation."
"Has he?" Copperhead asked.
"Irrelevant," Bane replied. "Pierce can't take the risk that he hasn't. The threat of exposure will force him to take direct action rather than relying on intermediaries."
"And when he takes direct action, he'll be vulnerable," Kraven added with satisfaction.
Alberto looked around the table of killers, seeing his death warrant written in their expressions regardless of Pierce's fate. "What happens to me after you've used me to draw him out?"
"That depends," Deathstroke said coldly, "on how useful you remain after Pierce is eliminated."
"I can be very useful," Alberto said quickly. "My family's resources, our connections throughout the East Coast criminal networks. You could use those contacts for your own operations."
"Assuming there are any operations after tonight," Deadshot pointed out. "Pierce's elimination might solve our immediate problem, but it doesn't address the larger Project Rebirth infrastructure. There are other administrators, other facilities, other enhanced operatives who might come after us for revenge."
"One problem at a time," Lady Shiva advised. "Pierce first. Then we can address whatever consequences follow."
"Agreed," Bane said, rising from his chair with mechanical precision. "But understand this, all of you: after tonight, there is no returning to business as usual. We have committed ourselves to a war against forces that possess resources and capabilities we can only guess at."
"Better than living as lab rats for the rest of our lives," Taskmaster replied. "Or watching our children disappear into Pierce's facilities."
"Honor," Kraven added approvingly, "finally a hunt worthy of our capabilities."
The assassins sat in contemplative silence for a moment, each processing the magnitude of what they were committing to. They had moved beyond professional obligations into something more personal, more dangerous. The comfortable detachment of hired killers had been replaced by the desperate fury of parents protecting their offspring.
"So how do we do this?" Copperhead asked finally. "How do we get Pierce here without him bringing an army with him?"
"We make him desperate," Deathstroke replied. "Desperate enough to take risks he would normally avoid."
"And if he doesn't take the bait?" Alberto asked.
Bane's smile was a terrible thing to behold. "Then we hunt him in his own territory. And trust me, Alberto, that would be far more unpleasant for everyone involved."
"Speaking of unpleasant," Deadshot interjected, checking his watch, "how long do we have before Pierce figures out this meeting was a setup?"
"He already knows it's a setup," Lady Shiva replied calmly. "The question is whether his curiosity and paranoia will override his survival instincts."
"They will," Taskmaster said with mechanical certainty. "Men like Pierce can't resist the opportunity to see their enemies up close. To gloat before ordering their elimination."
"Then we'd better be ready for him," Kraven observed, already scanning the lounge's layout with predatory assessment.
"Oh, we'll be ready," Bane promised, the green glow of his Venom tubes pulsing brighter in anticipation. "This time, there will be no Batman to show mercy. No Robin to provide distraction. Just seven apex predators and one arrogant bureaucrat who has forgotten that even paper tigers have claws."
The trap was set. The bait was in place. The hunters had taken their positions.
"Arrangements must be made for Pierce's arrival," Lady Shiva observed, turning to Deathstroke with professional focus. "He will not come alone, regardless of what he implied."
"Of course not," Deathstroke agreed. "He'll bring a tactical team—black ops, deniable assets. They'll establish a perimeter before he enters." His eye narrowed thoughtfully. "Taskmaster, Deadshot—secure the roof access points and upper levels. Bane, Kraven—establish control of the building's service entrances and emergency exits. Lady Shiva, Copperhead—maintain surveillance on the main entrance and prepare interior containment."