#better-than-grayson

Nightfall found Terry in a dark and ominous alleyway in the slums of Gotham. The sound of steel smacking against something equally as solid rang out from inside the bricked walls. The flickering fluorescent lights above caught on a two feet length blade, which time it stroke and caught the armguards along Terry’s suit sparks showered over him, illuminating the alley, giving him just a bit more light to see before the lenses in the suit could adjust to the darkness.

By the way they moved as one unit, as extensions of one body, leaping out of the way from an attack as one or two others move in striking from all sides, it clear they belong to the league. The League of Assassins and made their way to Gotham, and Terry had just become their target.

They fought to kill, striking hard and fast, despite the protection of his suit Terry had felt when they cracked two of his left ribs. The taste of his own blood filled his mouth when one got in a solid punch to his jaw. But in the end it was Terry who was better, it was he who stood while the team of five assassins laid beaten but still alive at his feet. Leaning on one of the walls the rough brick scrapped against the exposed circuitry along the arm of his torn suit. One hand clutched at the broke ribs The other peeling off the sleek cowl around his head. Every breath felt like swallowing glass but still Terry fought to catch them.

"What the hell is the league doing here?"