CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE - PROGRESS ON TWO FRONTS

The tension was electric. The faint hum of machinery and flickering lights in the room seemed to dim, leaving only the sound of Taylor’s quickened breathing and the metallic ring of the man’s blade as he levelled it at them.

Without waiting for a reply, the League operative lunged toward Robin, the fluid grace of his movements revealing years of training. Their blades clashed with a sharp clang, sending sparks flying in the air. Robin parried swiftly, his sword a blur of motion as he deflected strike after strike.

"You shouldn’t have come here," the man said, his voice calm even as he launched another brutal strike.

Robin didn't respond, his expression locked in grim determination as he countered with a sharp feint that nearly caught the man off balance.

Taylor circled the fight, her mind racing. The man was fast—too fast. Robin was holding his ground for now, but it was clear the operative was no ordinary fighter. His form was perfect, and every move he made was text-book precise, calculated, and relentless.

Taylor’s baton snapped open in her hand with a satisfying click, but she hesitated. Charging in blindly would only make things worse. She needed a plan—something to tip the odds in their favor. But without reliable control over her swarm, her usual tactics were out the window.

Not that said tactics were feasible in this fight; the man's armor was sleek and reinforced, leaving no obvious gaps for her insects to exploit. Crawling into his orifices or under his armour wasn't an option.

But maybe she didn't need them to.

Her powers stirred weakly at the edge of her awareness, the insects scattered and unfocused. She bit her lip, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Come on. Focus. Flow, don’t fight it. Hiro’s words echoed in her mind. She didn’t need perfect control. She needed to adapt.

She scanned the room, searching for something—anything—that could tip the odds in their favour. Eventually, her eyes landed on a stack of crates near the far wall, their lids slightly ajar. Bereft of their supplies—probably weapons or tools the League had stored—they were now homes to a myriad of insects. Control over them was sluggish, but there was one thing they could still do—move. And movement could be a distraction.

A new plan began to form, and she acted before she could second-guess herself.

Taylor took a deep breath, reaching out to the scattered insects she could sense: beetles, cockroaches, flies. They weren’t much, but they didn’t need to be. She didn’t try to force control; instead, she let them flow, directing them toward the operative’s peripheral vision.

“Robin, keep him busy,” she said quietly, stepping back into the shadows.

Robin didn’t respond—he didn’t need to. He pressed the attack, his sword meeting the operative’s blade in a flurry of sharp, ringing blows. The operative’s smirk faltered slightly as Robin’s speed increased, forcing him to stay on the defensive.

Taylor focused, willing the insects to swarm around the operative’s head—not to attack, but to confuse. Flies buzzed near his face, darting erratically in and out of his vision. Cockroaches skittered across the floor, drawing his attention downward. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to throw off his rhythm.

The operative swatted at the insects instinctively, his focus wavering for a split second. That was all Robin needed. He feinted left, then struck right, his blade slicing through the man’s guard and knocking the sword from his hand.

The operative stumbled back, but before he could recover, Taylor moved in. She swung her baton low, aiming for his knee. The blow landed with a dull thud, forcing the man to drop to one knee. Robin followed up with a quick strike, the flat of his blade slamming into the operative’s helmet, knocking him to the ground.

Breathing hard, Taylor stepped back, her baton still raised. The operative didn’t get up. He lay motionless, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths.

Robin sheathed his sword, glancing at her. “Nice work.”

Taylor exhaled slowly, her heart still pounding. “It’s an easy tactic, but unlike before, I didn't force them to do anything. I wasn’t sure that would work.”

“It did,” Robin said simply, crouching to examine the unconscious operative. He pulled out a pair of restraints and secured the man’s hands. “He won’t be waking up for a while.”

Taylor leaned against a nearby crate, trying to calm her breathing. Her heart was still racing, not just from the fight but from the uncertainty that had dogged her every move. Even now, she couldn’t shake the lingering tension in her chest—the doubt that her powers would hold when she needed them most.

“It’s progress,” she said quietly, more to herself than to Robin. “But it’s still unreliable.”

And despite everything, unreliable didn't mean useless. As she said earlier, she didn’t try to control every detail—she adapted, used what she had. If Hiro was here, he would say that was more than most people could manage when things go wrong.

It had been enough.

Robin glanced up from securing the operative, his expression thoughtful. “You did well. That’s what matters.”

Taylor gave a half-smile, tired as it was. “Guess I just have to keep moving forward.”

With one last glance at the unconscious operlance, Robin led the way through the doorway on the far side of the room and down another narrow passage, into various rooms in quick succession. Taylor followed close behind, her baton still in hand, eyes darting to every corner.

Despite several minutes having passed since their fight, they hadn’t found what they came for yet: Ra’s al Ghul’s communication logs. Somewhere in this stronghold, there had to be a record—something that could lead them to the location of his final weapon.

“We should’ve found it by now,” Taylor muttered, frustration creeping into her voice. “We’ve been through most of this place.”

“It’ll be hidden,” Robin said without looking back. His voice was its default clipped tone, but there was an edge to it, like he was as aware of the time slipping away as she was. “Ra’s doesn’t leave critical information out in the open.”

They reached the end of the hallway, where a reinforced door blocked their path. Robin crouched, examining it closely. “It’s locked, but there’s no visible security panel. Must be manual.”

Taylor glanced at the hinges, noticing how worn they were. “If we can’t break the lock, we might be able to force it open.”

Robin gave her a brief nod, stepping aside. “You take the left side. I’ll take the right.”

They positioned themselves on either side of the door, each gripping the edge. With a shared effort, they pushed hard. The door groaned in protest, metal scraping against metal, but after a few uneasy seconds, it gave way, swinging open with a loud creak.

Inside was a small room filled with old equipment—servers, monitors, and rows of data storage drives. Dust coated the surfaces, but the faint hum of power indicated that at least some of the systems were still operational.

“This has to be it,” Robin said, stepping inside. He moved quickly to one of the terminals, powering it on. The screen flickered to life, displaying lines of encrypted data.

Taylor hovered nearby, her eyes scanning the room. “Can you access anything?”

Robin’s fingers moved swiftly over the keyboard. “The encryption is advanced, but I’ve seen similar patterns in League systems before. Give me a minute.”

Taylor’s eyes flicked toward Robin as he worked, her mind turning over what he had just said. Similar patterns in League systems. He had said it casually, like it was nothing unusual, but it wasn’t something just anyone could claim.

She wasn’t about to ask outright—Robin was as guarded as ever, and she doubted he’d give a straight answer. But the pieces didn’t quite add up. He knew too much about the League’s tactics, too much about their operations, and the way he moved through their stronghold earlier, disarming traps and bypassing security with ease, only reinforced her suspicions.

It was obvious by now that he had some connection to the League of Assassins, but the specifics remained a mystery.

Taylor moved to one of the old servers, letting her fingers trace the rusted edges as her thoughts churned. She didn’t need to know everything about Robin’s past to trust him—he had proved himself in the field, and that was what mattered most. Still, it gnawed at her. Whatever his connection to the League was, it had shaped him, made him who he was now. And maybe, just maybe, it explained the pressure he always seemed to carry.

“You’re thinking too loudly,” Robin said suddenly, breaking the silence.

Taylor blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“You’ve got that look,” he said without turning around. “Like you’re trying to solve a puzzle you don’t have all the pieces to.”

She crossed her arms, leaning slightly against the server. “Maybe because I am.”

Robin paused his work for a brief second, glancing over his shoulder. His eyes, barely visible behind the domino mask, were unreadable. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

Taylor hesitated for a moment, then decided to go for it. “You seem to know a lot about the League. More than most people, more than someone who’s just been fighting them for a while. What’s the deal?”

Robin’s expression didn’t change, but there was a slight tension in his posture now, barely perceptible but there. “The League has been a problem for Gotham for years. If you work with Batman long enough, you learn how they operate.”

“That’s not an answer,” Taylor said, stepping closer. “You knew exactly how to get through their traps, how to read their encryption. This isn’t just experience from fighting them—it’s personal, isn’t it?”

Robin sighed, turning back to the terminal. For a moment, she thought he might ignore her, but then he spoke, his voice quieter than before. “It is personal. The League trained me when I was a kid. I was raised by them before I came to Gotham.”

Taylor stared at him, processing what he had just said. She hadn’t expected him to admit it, much less so bluntly. “Raised by them?” she repeated, her voice carefully neutral.

Robin nodded, still focused on the screen. “My mother is Talia ah Ghul. My grandfather is Ra’s al Ghul. I was born into the League. Trained to be their heir.”

Taylor’s stomach twisted at the revelation. She had known there was more to Robin’s story, but this… this was more than she had imagined. “And now you’re fighting them.”

“I made my choice,” Robin said firmly. “I chose Gotham. I chose to stand with Batman and fight against what the League stands for.”

Taylor didn’t respond immediately. She could see that he wasn’t just fighting Ra’s because it was the right thing to do—he was fighting his own legacy, his own past.

“That’s… a lot,” she said finally. “But it makes sense now. Why you push yourself so hard. Why you’re always trying to be one step ahead.”

Robin didn’t acknowledge her words directly, but there was something in his posture that seemed less tense, as if admitting the truth had lifted a small part of the weight he carried.

“I’m not looking for sympathy,” he said after a moment. “I just want to stop Ra’s before he destroys this city.”

Taylor nodded. “We’re on the same page. Whatever it takes, we’ll stop him.”

“Good because I got something,” Robin said, pulling her attention back to the terminal. He pointed to a decrypted file on the screen. “These are logs of outgoing communications. Most of them are routine, but this one…” He highlighted a specific entry. “It’s encrypted differently. High-priority.”

Taylor leaned over, reading the file. The coordinates listed didn’t match anything familiar, but the attached notes made it clear: this was where Ra’s intended to deploy his final weapon.

“Do you recognize the location?” she asked.

Robin shook his head. “No, but it’s close to the city’s eastern border. It might be an underground facility, maybe even a cave system.”

Taylor’s stomach tightened. “If it’s underground, he could do serious damage—sink entire districts, collapse infrastructure.”

“Exactly.” Robin pulled a flash drive from his belt, copying the logs. “We have what we need. Let’s get out of here before more of Ra’s people show up.”

Taylor nodded, already moving toward the door.

. . . . .

Back on the surface, the cool night air hit Taylor like a splash of cold water. She took a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering tension from the mission. Around them, the Narrows were quiet, but the distant sound of sirens and faint glow of fires on the horizon reminded her that Gotham was far from calm.

Robin pulled out his communicator, signaling Nightwing. “We’ve got a location. Sending it to you now.”

“Copy that,” Nightwing’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Batgirl and I are wrapping up a crime activity here. Meet us at the rendezvous point in fifteen.”

“On our way,” Robin replied, ending the transmission. He turned to Taylor. “We’ll regroup, plan the next move, and hit that site before Ra’s can deploy the weapon.”

Taylor nodded, but the weight of what they were up against pressed heavily on her shoulders. They had the information they needed, but this wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

“We’re getting close,” she said quietly. “But so is he.”

Robin met her gaze, his expression serious but steady. “Then we can’t afford to waste any more time.”