INT. COURT OF OWLS BASE - EVELYN'S PRIVATE STUDY - NIGHT
The room is dimly lit by soft candlelight and the eerie blue glow of old monitors embedded in the stone walls.
Evelyn stands near a map of Gotham, which is pinned with markers and red threads that stretch across neighborhoods and sectors. She doesn't turn as Dick enters, her owl mask hanging loosely from her hand.
"Two days, Grayson." she says quietly, her voice low.
Dick steps closer, his eyes scanning the map. "Two days for what?"
Evelyn turns to face him, her expression calm but razor-sharp. "For everything to change. We strike on my father's birthday. The rebellion begins at midnight."
Dick tilts his head slightly, keeping his tone neutral. "And you're sure the others are ready to turn on him?"
"They've been waiting to," she says. "Frank's disappearance proved he's no longer invincible. They're restless... eager for a future where the Court doesn't cower behind tradition and shadows."She steps closer, lowering her voice. "A future led by us."
Dick doesn't reply. He keeps his face unreadable.
"You've been quiet since you got back," Evelyn says with a smirk. "Doubts?"
"Just calculating the pieces on the board. A lot can go wrong in two days."
"Only if you're on the wrong side when the dust settles."
She steps past him and places a folder on the table. Inside are coded messages, blueprints of the Grandmaster's chambers, and a list of allies set to switch sides. Her rebellion is no longer a whisper; it's a meticulously planned strategy.
"Get some rest," she tells him. "I'll need you sharp, Grayson. When the Court falls... it needs to fall quickly."
She walks toward the door, pausing with her hand on the handle. "Oh, and when this is done... we'll see what kind of king you were born to be." She exits.
Dick is left alone with the plans, the silence pressing down on him like the weight of a thousand eyes. He exhales slowly.
Two days. And then all hell would break loose.
INT. COURT OF OWLS BASE - STORAGE ROOM - LATE NIGHT
The room is cold and dusty, filled with forgotten crates and old, moth-eaten uniforms. A single, bare lightbulb hangs overhead, casting long shadows.
Pauline and Sam are huddled over a makeshift table, blueprints of the Grandmaster's chamber spread out before them. They're both tense, their voices low.
Sam, his face still pale from his injuries, traces a line on the blueprint. "The security on his chambers is air-tight. I've gone over it a dozen times. The only way in is through the ventilation shafts, but we'll need to disable the pressure sensors first."
Pauline nods, a cigarette dangling from his lips. "It's all a part of the plan. Evelyn wants it to be a clean sweep-in and out, no alarms. She wants to present the Grandmaster's loyalists with a done deal, not a bloody civil war."
Just then, the heavy metal door creaks open. Dick enters, the glow of the hallway light silhouetting his figure. He closes the door behind him, plunging the room back into shadow.
"You're both here," Dick says, his voice flat. "Good. We need to talk."
Pauline and Sam look at each other, then back at Dick. Sam slowly rolls up the blueprints. "About the rebellion?"
Dick nods, walking over to the table. "You know what Evelyn's plan is. Get in, take him out, and take over. But what happens after that? What happens to the Court? To Gotham?"
Pauline shrugs, exhaling a plume of smoke. "The Court gets stronger. We get a leader with a vision-someone who isn't stuck in the past. As for Gotham, it gets what it's always had: a silent protector."
"A protector who starts their rule with a political assassination?" Dick retorts.
"A necessary evil," Sam interjects, his tone measured. "He's old, Grayson. He's made mistakes. Falcone is gaining power, and the Grandmaster is too blind to see it. Evelyn is the only one who can stop it."
Dick leans on the table, his gaze intense. "But she's not a leader, she's a visionary. A visionary without a foundation is just a dreamer. She's got ambition, but does she have loyalty? Does she have a heart?"
Pauline laughs, a harsh, humorless sound. "Heart? We're the Court of Owls, Grayson. We're about power, not feelings."
"And that's where we differ," Dick says, his voice softening just slightly. "You can't lead without loyalty. And you can't have loyalty without trust."
He looks at Sam, then Pauline, a silent plea in his eyes. "Evelyn's plan is sloppy. She's not thinking about the consequences. If we go through with this, we'll start a civil war, and Falcone will be waiting to pick up the pieces. We need a better way."
Sam's eyes meet Dick's. He's not entirely convinced, but a flicker of doubt is there. Pauline just shakes his head, putting out his cigarette.
"Too late for 'a better way,' Grayson," Pauline says. "The wheels are in motion. We've committed. It's either with Evelyn, or against her. And trust me, you don't want to be on the wrong side of this."
Dick stares at them both, the weight of their words heavy in the air. He knows Pauline is right. The line has been drawn.
And in two days, he'll have to choose which side of it he's on.
TWO DAYS LATER
INT. COURT OF OWLS BASE - GRAND HALL - NIGHT
The Grand Hall is magnificent and menacing, a vast chamber carved from black marble, lit by a thousand flickering candles. The high ceilings are a web of dark arches, and the floor is a mosaic of stylized owls.
The Court of Owls, in their masks and ceremonial robes, fill the room, a silent, spectral audience. Tonight is a celebration of the Grandmaster's birthday, but a heavy tension hangs in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the changes coming.
At the head of the hall, on a raised dais, the Grandmaster stands before a golden owl statue. He is an imposing figure, his voice a deep, resonant rumble that echoes through the cavernous space.
"My friends... my family," he begins, his gaze sweeping over the assembled Court members. "Tonight, we mark not only another year, but another century of our work. The work of the Court has always been one of quiet, unwavering strength. We are the architects of Gotham's soul, the silent hands that guide her destiny."
He pauses, a flicker of something unreadable in his masked eyes.
"Some say our methods are outdated. That our traditions are chains. But I say to you, tradition is our foundation. It is the very rock upon which this Court was built. We do not change with the winds of chaos; we are the wind. We endure."
A low murmur ripples through the crowd, a mix of genuine loyalty and veiled dissent.
"To the future of the Court," he concludes, raising a hand.
As if on cue, a servant in a gray robe approaches with a silver tray. On it sits a single, exquisite glass of red wine. The servant, however, is not the usual attendant. It's Evelyn, her movements graceful and deliberate as she glides toward her father.
She has changed out of her usual black and white suit and now wears a beautiful red dress that catches the light of the candles perfectly.
She stops before the Grandmaster, and he takes the glass from her. Their eyes meet-his, masked and imperious; hers, unmasked and full of a cold, dangerous ambition.
"To your health, father," she says, her voice smooth as silk. "And to the future."
The Grandmaster smiles faintly. He takes a long, slow sip of the wine, the red liquid a dark contrast against his pale, unmasked face.
He raises the glass to the crowd in a final toast, but as he does, his hand begins to tremble. The smile on his face falters, replaced by a look of confusion, then sudden, stark terror. He gasps, clutching at his throat. The wine glass shatters on the marble floor.
His body convulses once, twice, before he collapses to his knees. The crowd erupts in a chorus of confused murmurs and gasps. Evelyn watches, her expression unchanging, as her father's body thrashes on the ground.
She doesn't move. She doesn't help. She just watches. The silence that follows is deafening. In the stunned crowd, Dick, along with Sam and Pauline, exchange a brief, horrified look. The rebellion has begun. And the first casualty is the one who founded it all.
The silent shock of the Grandmaster's death is shattered by the sound of glass breaking high above. From the rafters, a dozen figures drop silently, their movements a flurry of dark feathers and glinting steel. They are the Talons, the Court's deadly assassins, now unleashed.
Chaos erupts.
The Talons move with lethal precision, their daggers finding the throats and hearts of the Grandmaster's most vocal supporters. They are not mindless beasts; they are surgical killers, targeting only those on Evelyn's list. The loyalists, caught completely off guard, fall in a bloody, brutal dance.
In the midst of the carnage, Evelyn remains calm. She glances at the dying Grandmaster, then turns her gaze to Dick, her expression a mix of triumph and cold calculation.
"Walk with me, Grayson," she says, her voice cutting through the sounds of battle as she begins to move toward the far side of the hall.
Dick, a silent observer of the massacre, meets her gaze. The hall is a warzone, but she walks through it as if it were an empty street. He looks at Sam and Pauline, who are already moving to secure the exits, their faces grim but resolute.
He knows what he has to do.
He falls into step beside Evelyn, his posture mirroring her own cold confidence. The two of them walk side by side, a new king and queen through the ruins of an old regime.
The battle rages around them, but Evelyn and Dick walk with the cold detachment of commanders on a battlefield. Blood splatters against the black marble floor, and the air is thick with the sounds of battle and death.
They move through the chaos as if they are ghosts, untouched by the violence they've unleashed.
Evelyn leads Dick past the fallen loyalists, her red dress a stark contrast to the death and destruction around her. She pauses for a moment, gesturing to the Talons—a team of assassins who are now in their prime—as they finish their work. Their movements are silent, brutal, and utterly without hesitation.
"Look at them, Grayson," she says, her voice a low purr. "The Court's greatest weapon. Untouchable. Unstoppable."
She turns to face him, her eyes burning with a chilling intensity. "My father was a fool. He let these beautiful, deadly creatures languish in the shadows. He didn't understand that to control Gotham, you need to be both a ghost and a god."
She takes a step closer to Dick, her hand reaching out to touch the side of his face. Her touch is cold, but it holds a strange sense of reverence.
"I see a god in you, Grayson. I see a man who understands that power isn't given; it's taken. You've been playing a part for too long. A good soldier for an old, tired man."
Evelyn's voice drops to a whisper, the sound of a promise whispered in the dark.
"I'm not going to give you a mask. I'm going to give you a crown. I'm making you a Talon, Grayson. The new Talon. And you will lead them. You will lead my army."
She gestures to the still-breathing loyalists, who are trying to crawl away from the carnage, their faces a mix of terror and despair.
"Finish it, Grayson. Show them what a real leader does."
The air hangs heavy with her challenge. Dick stares at the Talon's blade in his hand, then at the pleading faces of the wounded loyalists, and finally at Evelyn—the new Grandmaster—who watches him with a predatory, expectant smirk.
The smell of blood and fear fills the air. The sounds of battle have dwindled to the desperate cries of the wounded.
Evelyn watches Dick, a predatory smirk playing on her lips, her eyes daring him to prove his loyalty.
Dick looks at the Talon's blade in his hand. He looks at the loyalists, their faces a mixture of terror and despair. He looks at Evelyn, the new Grandmaster, who waits for his decision.
He takes a deep breath, his mind racing. He knows what he has to do.
He turns to the Talons, his voice low and commanding, his eyes burning with a cold fire. "Finish it," he says, his voice as sharp as a Talon's blade. "Finish what you started."
The Talons, a dozen of the Court's deadliest assassins, drop from the rafters and descend upon the remaining loyalists. The sound of their daggers finding their marks is the only sound in the vast hall.
Evelyn's smirk widens into a smile, a dangerous, triumphant expression. She places her hand on Dick's shoulder, her touch a cold, possessive weight.
"Welcome home, Grayson," she says, her voice a low purr. "Welcome to your new kingdom."
Dick looks at the carnage around him, the bodies of the loyalists littering the floor. He looks at Evelyn, the new Grandmaster, and knows that the real war has just begun.
INT. COURT OF OWLS BASE – DICK'S ROOM – LATE NIGHT
The door closes with a soft click, sealing Dick off from the carnage in the Grand Hall.
The room is quiet, a sterile sanctuary from the blood and chaos. He slowly peels off his mask, the cold weight of the night's events heavy on his face. He sinks into a chair, the silence punctuated only by his own ragged breathing.
He had given the order. He had taken his first step down a path he knew he couldn't come back from.
INT. COURT OF OWLS BASE – EVELYN'S PRIVATE STUDY – MOMENTS LATER
Evelyn stands before the large, glowing map of Gotham. The red threads are still stretched taut, but now she adds a few more, a triumphant smile on her lips.
The door opens and Pauline and Sam enter. Sam's face is a mask of disbelief and anger.
"Why, Evelyn?" he demands, his voice trembling with a fury he rarely shows. "After everything we just did, you put Grayson in charge of the Talons? We both know he's not who he says he is."
Pauline, leaning against the doorway, crosses his arms. "He's right. That's a mistake, Evelyn. A stupid, reckless one. He's been in contact with someone, and he's been lying to you from the start. We know it."
Evelyn turns from the map, her expression a mix of amusement and annoyance. "You think I'm stupid, boys? You think I just hand the keys to my kingdom to the first pretty face I see?" she says, a dangerous glint in her eyes. "Of course I know he's lying. But to him, he thinks he's getting deeper into our ranks, that he's gaining my trust. When in reality, he's burying himself in a deeper grave."
She walks over to her desk and picks up a small, sleek tablet. "And besides, it gets him away from the Belfry. He thinks he's a player in my game. But what he doesn't know is that I'm the one pulling the strings. I'm the one who decides when the game ends."
She hands the tablet to Pauline. The screen shows a picture of Barbara, with her red hair and her brilliant smile.
"Grab the girl. Find out who else he works for," Evelyn commands. "And when you're done, bring her to me. She's going to be a very useful tool in my arsenal."
Pauline and Sam look at the picture of Barbara, then at each other. They know what they have to do. The game has changed. The rules have been broken. And now, the collateral damage begins.