DCU: Split

Chapter 237: night of death

Thurston Moody took a long drag from his cigarette and exhaled slowly into the night air. The harbor stretched before him beneath a forest of cranes and floodlights, shipping containers stacked high enough to blot out portions of the skyline. Workers moved steadily through the organized chaos, loading cargo, securing manifests, and preparing vehicles for departure. To an outside observer it would have looked like any other busy Gotham dockyard. Thurston knew better. Every container being loaded tonight represented years of work. Years of bribes, favors, blackmail, and carefully cultivated relationships. Entire supply chains were being uprooted and moved elsewhere. It irritated him more than he cared to admit.

Beside him, one of his lieutenants watched the operation with a troubled expression. "Boss, we really gotta do this? We haven't been found out yet. We can ride this wave out."

Thurston lowered the cigarette from his lips and sneered. "Quiet, you fool." His gaze swept across the dockyard as workers hurried to finish their assignments. "The Court is falling apart. Batman's breathing down everyone's neck. Half the city is hunting Court members and the other half won't stop talking about them. The smart move is getting out before someone decides to make us their next problem." He flicked ash onto the pavement and shook his head. "Shame, though. Gotham was perfect for the trade."

A scream suddenly echoed across the harbor.

The sound was distant enough that several workers initially ignored it, assuming it was an argument or accident somewhere deeper in the yard. Thurston frowned and turned toward the noise. A few seconds later another scream followed. This one lasted longer. There was a raw panic in it that made conversations nearby falter. Men stopped carrying crates. Others looked up from paperwork. Even the engines seemed quieter as attention shifted toward the darkness between the rows of containers.

"What are they looking at?" Thurston muttered.

One of his guards started jogging toward the disturbance. The man disappeared around a stack of containers and was immediately swallowed by darkness. Several seconds passed. Then a pair of gunshots cracked through the harbor.

Silence followed.

Not normal silence.

The wrong kind of silence.

The sort of silence that felt heavy. Expectant. Like the entire dockyard was holding its breath.

A man suddenly appeared from around the corner of a container. One of Thurston's enforcers. Blood soaked the front of his shirt and his eyes looked ready to burst from their sockets. He stumbled forward desperately.

"Boss!"

The man never finished.

Something seized him from behind.

For a brief instant Thurston saw a gray hand clamp around the man's shoulder. Then the enforcer vanished backward into the darkness. His scream echoed across the harbor before cutting off so abruptly it sounded as though someone had simply switched it off.

The dockyard froze. Every pair of eyes stared toward the shadows between the containers.

Then the floodlights began exploding.

Glass rained from above as one light after another burst apart. Entire sections of the harbor vanished into darkness. Panic spread immediately. Workers shouted over one another. Some ran for cover. Others drew weapons. Orders were barked from every direction, none of them coherent enough to restore control.

Then the killing started.

A burst of gunfire erupted somewhere nearby and ended almost as quickly as it began. A body hit the pavement. Another scream followed. Then another. Then another. Each one seemed closer than the last. Thurston turned and saw one of his armed enforcers stagger into the open. A dagger protruded from the man's throat. He managed two more steps before collapsing face-first onto the concrete, dead before he landed.

Something moved atop one of the shipping containers.

It crossed the distance so quickly Thurston almost convinced himself he imagined it.

Then another shape appeared.

And another.

Gray skin.

Dark armor.

Glowing eyes.

The lieutenant beside him had gone pale.

"Talons."

The word came out as barely a whisper. Thurston felt his stomach drop, "No."

One of the Talons landed in the middle of a cluster of armed men nearly fifty feet away. The slaughter was immediate. One man lost his head before he could raise his weapon. Another was impaled straight through the chest. A third managed a single shot before a blade opened him from shoulder to stomach. The Talon never slowed down. It simply moved on to the next victim.

More appeared.

They seemed to emerge from everywhere at once. From rooftops. From atop containers. From shadows that should have been empty moments before. The dockyard transformed into a slaughterhouse. Men fired wildly into the darkness, but every muzzle flash only illuminated more death. Wherever the Talons appeared, bodies followed.

Thurston ran.

Years of confidence evaporated instantly. Years of power, wealth, and influence suddenly meant absolutely nothing. He wasn't a respected businessman anymore. He wasn't a Court associate. He wasn't a man protected by connections and money.

He was prey.

His car sat parked near the edge of the harbor. If he could reach it, he could get away. His shaking hand dug into his pocket and produced his phone. He dialed Kane immediately while sprinting across the pavement.

The line began ringing.

"Pick up."

He glanced behind him.

A Talon was walking toward him.

Not running.

Walking.

Its pace was calm. Patient. Like a predator that already knew exactly how this would end.

"ANSWER THE PHONE!"

The ringing continued.

No answer.

The car was getting closer.

Twenty yards.

Fifteen.

Ten.

He could make it.

Something slammed into his leg.

Pain exploded through his body.

Thurston screamed as a dagger punched completely through his thigh and embedded itself deep into the pavement beneath him. His leg folded instantly. Momentum carried him forward and he crashed face-first onto the concrete. The phone flew from his hand and skidded away across the ground. The call disconnected.

"No!"

He clawed toward it instinctively before realizing it didn't matter. Behind him came the sound of footsteps.

Slow.

Steady.

Unhurried.

The Talon wasn't chasing him.

It didn't need to, gods why why WHY!

Thurston dragged himself toward the car. Every movement sent agony shooting through his pinned leg. His fingers stretched desperately toward the door handle.

"I'm part of the Court!"

The words burst from him.

The footsteps continued.

"I'm part of the Court!"

Nothing.

"You can't kill me!"

Still nothing, the Talon stepped into view.

Gray skin stretched over an inhuman frame. Black armor covered its body. Its glowing eyes reflected the harbor lights without the slightest hint of emotion. Looking at it felt like looking at death itself.

Thurston's fingers finally touched the car door handle.

Relief surged through him.

Then another dagger struck.

The blade punched through his forearm and pinned it directly to the vehicle. Bone cracked. Thurston howled in pain. The Talon stopped directly in front of him and simply stared down.

Watching.

Waiting.

As though it wanted him to understand.

Tears streamed down Thurston's face.

"I helped the Court."

No response.

"I paid my dues."

Nothing.

"You can't do this."

The Talon slowly raised its sword.

And finally Thurston understood.

This wasn't a mistake. The Talons hadn't gone rogue. The Court hadn't lost control. Somewhere, someone had made a decision. Someone had looked at everything Thurston Moody had done for them and decided he was expendable.

That realization hurt more than the dagger.

"No…"

His voice cracked.

"No, no, no…"

The sword continued rising.

The harbor around him had gone strangely quiet. The screaming had mostly stopped. The gunfire had ended. Bodies lay scattered between the containers while the few survivors had either fled or died. The entire operation he had spent years building had been erased in less than fifteen minutes.

The last thing Thurston Moody heard was the sound of his own screams echoing across the water.

****

Manuel Escabado knew something was wrong long before the attack began.

He sat at the head of a long dining table carved from dark oak, a glass of whiskey resting loosely in one hand while several captains delivered reports. Around him, trusted lieutenants discussed shipments, territory disputes, and the lingering fallout from the recent violence that had swept through Gotham. Armed men stood at the walls, and security cameras monitored every hallway leading into the estate. It should have felt secure. Instead, Manuel had spent the entire evening with a knot in his stomach.

Normally these meetings brought him comfort. Business was predictable. Violence was predictable. Even betrayal, given enough time, was predictable. The last few weeks had been anything but. The Court of Owls was being dragged into the light, Batman was tearing apart operations across Gotham, and the Underpass seemed to have its fingers in every major development. Powerful people were dying, alliances were shifting, and nobody seemed to know what tomorrow would look like.

"…the Burnley route is still viable," one of his captains was saying. "Though we'll need additional drivers if we're going to maintain current shipping volumes."

The man stopped mid-sentence.

His head turned slightly toward the doorway.

A frown appeared on his face.

"Did anyone hear that?"

Conversation died immediately. Several people around the table glanced at one another before listening. For a few moments the room remained completely still.

Then a gunshot echoed somewhere inside the estate.

Every person in the room straightened.

A second shot followed several seconds later.

Then a third.

The sounds were distant but unmistakable.

One of the guards near the entrance immediately reached for his radio.

"North wing, report."

Static answered him.

The guard's expression hardened.

"North wing, report."

Nothing.

A slow unease settled over the room.

The captain pushed away from the table and stood. "Probably some idiot discharged a weapon," he said, though he sounded unconvinced even to himself.

Then came the screaming. The sound tore through the manor.

It wasn't shouting. It wasn't an argument. It was the kind of scream that ripped itself from a man's throat when survival instincts took over. Everyone in the room recognized it instantly because everyone present had heard it before. Men involved in organized crime eventually became familiar with that sound.

The scream cut off abruptly.

Another began.

Then another.

They were getting closer.

Manuel set his whiskey down.

Nobody spoke.

Nobody joked.

The captain drew his pistol and moved toward the doorway. Two guards followed him. Their footsteps seemed unnaturally loud against the growing silence that had settled over the estate.

The captain stepped into the hallway. A heartbeat later something slammed into the wall outside.

The guards jerked backward in surprise.

A body slid into view.

One of the estate's security men. His throat had been opened from ear to ear. The corpse hit the carpet and didn't move.

For a second nobody reacted. Then gunfire erupted from somewhere farther down the hall.

The muzzle flashes illuminated gray figures moving through the darkness.

Talons.

The realization struck several people at once.

The first guard in the hallway fired an entire magazine before a sword punched through his chest. The blade emerged from his back in a spray of blood. The Talon didn't even pause as the man collapsed. It simply continued advancing.

Another Talon appeared from the opposite direction.

Then another.

The hallway became a killing ground.

Men who had survived gang wars and cartel conflicts suddenly found themselves facing something entirely different. Bullets struck the attackers repeatedly. Flesh tore. Bone shattered. Yet the Talons kept moving. They advanced through gunfire the way normal people walked through rain.

The room exploded into chaos.

Chairs overturned followed by Weapons being drawn.

Manuel remained where he was for only a moment before survival instincts took over.

"Move!" he roared. "Get me out of here!"

Unlike many of his men, Manuel didn't freeze.

He ran.

***

Kane was halfway through reviewing financial reports when his secure phone began vibrating across his desk. He considered ignoring it for a moment, but the feeling in his gut told him better. The last few weeks had turned into a steady erosion of control—Court members dying, arrests piling up, Batman tightening his grip on the city, and internal factions growing more unstable with every passing day. Nothing came as routine anymore. Every interruption meant damage.

He answered sharply. "What?"

The hesitation on the other end was immediate, and that alone made him sit up straighter. "Sir, we have a situation," the voice said cautiously.

Kane exhaled through his nose. "Everyone has a situation. Be specific."

"We've received confirmed reports of Talon deployments across multiple locations."

For a moment, Kane didn't respond at all. His hand slowly lowered from his desk, and his entire posture changed. That sentence didn't belong in reality. The Talons were not something that simply "deployed." They were controlled, regulated, bound to Court authorization protocols that required multiple layers of approval. Nothing about tonight should have allowed movement.

"Say that again," he said quietly.

"Confirmed Talon deployments, sir. Multiple sites."

Kane stood up so quickly his chair shifted backward slightly. "Well I know that!" He hissed, "I ordered them."

A pause followed. "Not all of the ones we are seeing sir."

The answer made his expression harden instantly. "What do you mean! Speak clearly."

Kane began pacing the length of his office as the report continued. "Three confirmed incidents so far," the man said.

"List them," Kane ordered.

"The first was Thurston Moody's harbor operation. Multiple casualties. Total collapse of the site."

Kane stopped walking for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. Thurston wasn't just another name on a list—he was a supporter. A reliable one. Someone aligned with his faction.

"Next."

"Olivia Otus."

That made no immediate sense in isolation, but Kane's mind was already connecting it. Escabado wasn't Court, but operations tied to him often intersected with Court logistics. That meant overlap. That meant risk.

"And the third?" Kane asked.

"Kill was killed too sir."

The name landed differently. He didn't move this time. He simply stood still and listened to the silence that followed it.

Kull was not collateral. He was aligned. Publicly aligned. Politically aligned. One of his supporters in recent internal disputes. One of the voices that had helped stabilize his position during Maria's rising influence.

Kane slowly returned to his desk and sat down, though his attention never left the call. The pattern was becoming too clean, too deliberate. Thurstun, Kull, Olivia.

"Are there more?" he asked.

"We don't know yet, sir."

Of course they didn't.

Kane ended the call without another word and leaned back slightly, staring toward the glass wall of his office where Gotham stretched beneath him. The city lights looked calm from this distance, almost indifferent, but his thoughts were anything but calm. Something inside the Court had shifted—something precise, intentional, and protected by legitimacy.

His expression tightened as he replayed recent events in his mind. Every fracture, every accusation, every unexpected move that had seemed like opportunism now began to resemble something else entirely. Not chaos. Not coincidence.

Direction.

"No," he said quietly to himself, though the word didn't sound certain anymore. He stood again, moving toward the window as if proximity to the city might clarify what he was seeing. Instead, it only reinforced the realization forming in his mind.

"Maria, Rebecca." He swore, "I need to get to the lab."

****

Rebecca grinned in delight, "Looks like Kane sent some out too." She looked at Maria, "He will probably be headed this way."

Maria grinned, "Good."

—

A/N: tried to go for a horror theme for this one not sure it landed