Chapter 12 – The Shadow Strikes
The moment the doors swung open, a deadly silence gripped the room. Dark figures clad in gray and black emerged, their masked faces devoid of emotion, their bladed gauntlets glinting under the courtroom's fluorescent lights.
The Talons had come.
Chaos erupted instantly. Lawyers screamed. Jurors scrambled from their seats. Guards rushed forward, drawing weapons, but they were too slow—too human.
The Talons moved like wraiths, gliding across the room with eerie precision. The first guard barely had time to raise his gun before a blade slashed across his chest. Another officer fired, but the bullet merely lodged into reinforced armor.
Ibrahim had anticipated an attack. He hadn't expected it to be this brazen.
[Immediate Escape Required. Recommended Route: Emergency Exit, Left Corridor.]
His system's directive was clear, but he couldn't leave. Not yet.
Across the room, Nathaniel Crane was still restrained, but his laughter echoed even as he was dragged toward safety. "This is what happens, Al-Farooq! This is Gotham's true law!"
A Talon locked onto Ibrahim's position, moving toward him with inhuman speed.
[Threat Level: Extreme. Countermeasures Available.]
Ibrahim didn't hesitate. He dove for the judge's bench, using it as cover. A blade embedded itself into the wooden desk, narrowly missing him.
[Initiating Tactical Defense Mode.]
His system activated a pre-planned contingency. The courtroom's fire suppression system erupted, spraying thick, artificial fog across the chamber. Visibility dropped to near-zero.
The Talons hesitated for the briefest moment—just long enough.
Ibrahim used the cover to move. He navigated toward the left corridor, narrowly avoiding another attack as a Talon's blade scraped against the marble floor where he had just stood.
Gunfire rang out as police officers finally regained their footing, engaging the assassins. But Ibrahim knew the truth—bullets wouldn't stop them for long.
He reached the emergency exit just as a shadow loomed behind him.
Too late.
Cold steel slashed toward him—
Then, a gunshot.
A real one.
A Talon collapsed, a bullet hole clean through its mask.
Ibrahim turned, heart pounding.
A familiar figure stood in the doorway, gun smoking.
Commissioner Jim Gordon.
"I think it's time we had a talk," Gordon said, eyes sharp.
Ibrahim nodded, chest rising and falling with adrenaline.
Behind them, the battle raged on, but one thing was clear—this wasn't just a legal war anymore.
This was survival.
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