Flipping Through the Pages
Copyright© 2026 by Dragonpig
Chapter 50
The last bodyguard crumpled to the floor with a heavy thud, blood pooling beneath his shattered mask. The Red Hood stepped over the corpse, his breathing deep but controlled. Three floors of hired muscle, and for what? To protect one man sitting behind a door.
He’d fought through waves of them—mercenaries, assassins, fanatics who threw themselves at him with religious fervor. Each one convinced they were dying for something greater than themselves. Each one wrong. Jason had put bullets in most of them. Unlike Bruce, he didn’t have qualms about permanent solutions.
The hallway stretched before him, marble floors stained with crimson, portraits of Gotham’s elite watching him with painted eyes. At the end, massive oak doors waited. Behind them, answers. Behind them, the man pulling the strings.
Jason kicked the doors open with violent satisfaction, splinters exploding inward as the wood gave way. His entrance was everything he’d planned—dramatic, intimidating, the moment where the villain would finally face justice. Or at least face him.
The Court of Owls member didn’t even look up.
The man sat calmly at a mahogany table, crystal tumbler in hand, amber liquid catching the lamplight. He was older, distinguished, wearing an expensive suit that probably cost more than most people made in a year. No mask. No theatrics. Just a man having a drink.
“You killed a lot of good people getting here,” the man said conversationally, taking a slow sip. His voice carried the cultured accent of old Gotham money.
Jason felt his jaw clench. “Good people don’t work for monsters.” The words came out rougher than he intended, filtered through the voice modulator in his helmet.
“Fathers. Husbands. Men with families who needed the money.” The Court member finally looked up, his eyes calm, almost amused. “But I suppose that makes it easier for you, doesn’t it? Thinking of them as monsters instead of people doing what they had to do.”
Something about the man’s tone grated against Jason’s nerves. Too calm. Too knowing. “Don’t lecture me about—”
“Please, sit.” The man gestured to a chair across from him. “You’ve come all this way. Fought so hard to get here. The least I can do is offer you a drink.”
Jason’s hand moved instinctively toward one of his guns. “I’m not here for conversation.”
“No? Then what are you here for? Justice?” The word dripped with gentle mockery. “Vengeance? To feel better about yourself?”
The casual dismissal of everything Jason had just fought through made his blood simmer. Despite himself, he found his feet carrying him forward. This bastard’s complete lack of fear, his casual dismissal of everything that had just happened, was unsettling in a way Jason couldn’t quite name.
“I’m here to stop you. To expose what you’ve done to this city.”
“Ah.” The Court member nodded as if this made perfect sense. He gestured again to the empty chair. “Sit. Please. This conversation will be much more productive if we’re both comfortable.”
Jason remained standing, but he didn’t draw his weapon. Not yet. Something about this felt wrong. Off. “You’re not afraid of me.”
“Should I be?” The man took another sip, and Jason caught the slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “You’ve already won, haven’t you? You’ve fought through my defenses, discovered my location, cornered me in my own home. What else could you want?”
The question sat wrong in Jason’s gut. He’d expected panic, threats, desperate bargaining. Not this ... whatever this was. “Answers. The truth about what the Court of Owls has been doing to Gotham.”
“The truth.” The man smiled, and it wasn’t cruel or mocking—it was almost sad. “Very well. The truth is simple: we run this city because someone has to. We make the hard decisions so others don’t have to. We maintain order in a chaotic world.”
Jason felt anger flare in his chest. “By controlling people. By murder and manipulation.”
“By giving people what they actually want.” The Court member leaned forward slightly, and Jason caught something predatory in his gaze. “Tell me, Jason—do you really think the people of Gotham want to make their own decisions? Do you think they want the responsibility that comes with true freedom?”
The use of his real name made Jason’s hand twitch toward his gun again. How the hell did this guy—
“Of course they do. Everyone wants to be free.”
“Do they?” The man’s voice remained gentle, patient, like he was explaining something to a child. “When crime was running rampant, who did they cry out for? The police. The government. Batman. Someone, anyone, to make it stop. When the economy crashed, who did they beg to save them? When disaster struck, who did they expect to rebuild their lives?”
Jason felt something cold settle in his stomach, but he pushed it aside. He’d heard this kind of justification before from every two-bit crime boss who thought he was doing Gotham a favor. “That’s different. That’s not the same as—”
“It’s exactly the same.” The Court member stood slowly, walking to a window that overlooked the city. “Human beings don’t want freedom. They want security. They want someone else to make the difficult choices so they can sleep soundly at night. They want to believe they’re good people while someone else handles the necessary evils.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Am I?” The man turned back to him, and his expression was almost pitying. “Think about it. Really think. When you save someone from a mugging, do they ask you what policies might prevent future crime? Do they volunteer to patrol the streets themselves? Or do they say ‘thank you’ and go home, expecting you to keep doing it for them?”
Jason opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. Because he could think of dozens of times when that was exactly what had happened. People grateful for the help but unwilling to do anything themselves to change the system that had put them in danger in the first place.
“When politicians promise them safety in exchange for a lack of privacy, what do they choose? When corporations offer convenience in exchange for freedom, what do they choose? When we offer them stability in exchange for control...” The man spread his hands. “What do they choose?”
“They don’t know they have a choice. You manipulate them, control information—”
“We give them exactly what they want to hear.” The Court member returned to his chair, and Jason noticed he was refilling his glass from a crystal decanter. “We tell them they’re good people. We tell them their problems are someone else’s fault. We tell them that if they just follow the rules, everything will work out. And they believe us because they want to believe us.”
Jason found himself sinking into the offered chair without realizing it, his helmet feeling suddenly heavy on his head. “But that’s ... that’s not how people should live.”
“Should.” The man smiled again, and Jason wanted to punch him for how reasonable he sounded. “There’s that word. According to whom? You? Me? Some abstract moral philosophy?” He leaned back, completely relaxed. “The truth is simpler and uglier than that. Most people are selfish. They care about themselves and those close to them, and everyone else is expendable as long as they don’t have to see it happen.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” The Court member took a slow sip, and Jason found himself staring at the amber liquid, wondering what it would taste like. When was the last time he’d had a drink that wasn’t cheap beer or whatever he could grab from a corner store? “How many people walked past their fellow human when they were bleeding in an alley? How many saw injustice and chose to look away rather than get involved? How many voted for politicians they knew were corrupt because those politicians promised to protect their interests?”
Jason’s throat felt dry. He thought about all the crime scenes he’d worked, all the witnesses who claimed they’d seen nothing, heard nothing. All the victims who’d begged him to save them but never once asked how they could help save others. All the times he’d bled for people who went back to their comfortable lives the moment the danger passed.
“Come on, have a drink,” the Court member said, gesturing to the tray of crystal glasses. His voice was warm now, almost fatherly. “I promise you’ll find this conversation ... illuminating.”
Jason reached up and pulled off his helmet, setting it on the table between them. His dark hair was matted with sweat, and he could feel the weight of exhaustion settling into his bones. “I’ll listen,” he said slowly, “but I’m not changing my mind about what you are.”
“Understandable.” The man smiled and snapped his fingers. “Sarah, would you get our guest a drink?”
Jason’s eyes swept the room, looking for servants, bodyguards, anyone else who might— A woman emerged gracefully from beneath the table, smoothing down her hair with one hand while wiping the back of her mouth with the other. She was elegant, beautiful, completely naked and utterly unbothered by his presence.
Jason’s world stopped.
“Hello, Jay,” she said casually, walking to the bar as if nothing had happened. As if she hadn’t just been—
“Sarah?” His voice came out as barely a whisper. His sister. His sister who he’d been searching for. His sister who’d gone missing eight months ago. “What ... what are you doing here?”
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