Normally, when her father emparts on new schemes, Talia isn’t one to bat an eyelash. It’d been the way she lived her life ever since she could remember. However, when Gotham City is spoken among his father and one of his many constituents, Talia’s making sure to listen closely for further information. A new narcotic has invaded the streets surrounding cities, sold under the sobriquet of the Hope serum. Manicured fingertips card through folder upon folder detailing every bit of information regarding the serum, including shipments and where they’re headed. It only took a single glance over Gotham’s coordinates for Talia to know what she had to do.
Her son isn’t hard to find. As the darkness of night cloaks the already dreary city, flashes of red, yellow and green are stark against Gotham’s usual color palette. One of the men representing the serums manufacturer mentioned a drop of product happening tonight. Talia was sure to get a good seat for the show about to unfold before her.
Though it’ll prove a little difficult for the assassin when she watches her son break off from Batman’s protection, off fighting a handful of men that attempt to salvage the stock now that bats had rained on their parade.
“The boy is fine, Talia.” A voice resonates at the back of her mind - and begrudgingly, it’s her father’s - assuring the daughter of the demon that her son would be okay.
Until he wasn’t. Punches were getting too harsh for her liking, and Talia can feel herself subconsciously nearing the edge of the brick wall she’d been hiding behind. And then there’s a flash of silver metal that is unmistakable. In three quick strides, Talia is rushing to the point of action, a kick dismantling the gunman to place the weapon in her own hands.
She figured if Robin was here, then Batman wasn’t trailing far behind - the last thing Talia needed to hear was how she shouldn’t have killed Damian’s attackers, that it’s poor vigilantism and parenting. Bullets are fired in the legs of these men, enough to subdue them so that Bruce could continue on with their investigation. Labored breathing is the only thing heard as the ringing from the gunshots wind down, and dark hues are searching for a perfectly matching set.
“My adored,” she exhales, tucking the pistol into her waistband. “I’m sorry our reunion had to be like this. Are you okay?”
**bold is spoken in arabic.











