DCU: Split

City lights stretched beyond the glass, Gotham laid out in cold geometry beneath them. Up here, everything looked controlled. Ordered. It was a lie, but a convincing one. One that would surely shatter in just a couple of days.

Vey stepped inside first and shut the door behind them. He instantly felt at home compared to the frankly creepy and unnerving feeling of the tunnels beneath Gotham.

He reached up and removed the mask, setting it down without hesitation before moving toward the bar. The motion was casual, practiced. He poured himself a drink, the glass catching the light as the liquid settled.

"I'm surprised you agreed to my idea," he said, taking a sip before letting his eyes drift toward Batman.

Batman didn't approach the windows. He moved off to the side instead, positioning himself where he could see both Vey and the room without being exposed. It was instinctive.

"You aren't planning to break our agreement," he said.

It wasn't phrased as a question.

Vey let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he leaned slightly against the counter. "Of course not," he replied. "You're the type that needs control, and I'm not interested in testing how far that goes."

He took another drink, slower this time, thinking through the situation rather than reacting to it.

"This whole situation is outside my expectations," he admitted. "The Court turning inward this quickly, the fractures showing this early—it changes the board." His gaze sharpened slightly. "It raises a more practical question. What do we do with our captives once we're done?"

Batman didn't hesitate. "They'll be handed to the police."

Vey smiled faintly at that, turning the glass in his hand. "Killed, then?"

"The Court will be occupied," Batman replied. "They won't be able to act as cleanly as before. And those men can handle themselves."

Vey considered that for a moment, then gave a small nod. "That's true, I suppose."

He set the glass down, fingers resting lightly against the edge as his attention shifted fully back to Batman.

"Now," he said, tone changing just slightly, "would you like to hear it?"

Batman didn't speak.

He gave a single nod.

That was enough.

Vey studied him for a second, then continued, his voice calm, almost conversational.

"Finding out who you are wasn't difficult," he said. "Batman is a man with significant resources and an intimate understanding of Gotham. That alone narrows the field, but not enough. There are multiple people in the Court who fit that description."

He paused briefly, then continued.

"Then there's Robin. You adopt a child whose parents were acrobats. Shortly after, a partner appears who fights with precision, agility, and a very specific skill set. Oh and he's just about the same age." Vey's expression didn't change, but there was a quiet certainty behind his words. "It could be coincidence. That's what people would tell themselves."

He lifted his hand slightly, as if dismissing the idea.

"But coincidences stack," he went on. "And eventually they stop being coincidences."

His gaze locked onto Batman now.

"You maintain the image of Bruce Wayne. Public. Careless. Detached. A man who shouldn't be capable of what you do." He tilted his head slightly. "But when we met, I shook your hand."

A small detail.

But not to him.

"The calluses didn't match the persona," Vey said. "They belonged to someone who trains. Frequently and intentionally, I couldn't even fathom a guess into how long you have trained your martial arts."

"And then there's the part no one likes to examine too closely," Vey continued. "A child watches his parents get murdered in front of him. Not in war. Not in some distant tragedy. In an alley. In his own city." His eyes stayed fixed on Batman. "People tell themselves that kind of loss can be buried, reshaped into something polished and harmless. A playboy. A socialite. But that isn't how it works. That kind of moment doesn't disappear—it defines you. The anger you must feel toward this city… it doesn't just fade. If anything, it grows. The only thing that rivals it is the responsibility you've decided to carry. The need to fix it. To stop it from happening again."

Silence settled between them for a moment.

Vey let it linger before finishing.

"The real question isn't how I figured it out," he said. "It's how no one else has."

He picked up his glass again, turning it slightly as he spoke.

"You're a good actor," he added. "I'll give you that. But I think the more likely explanation is simpler."

He looked back at Batman.

"They don't want to know, it's easier to think of you more of a thing than a man."

The room held still after Vey finished speaking.

The city stretched behind the glass, distant and indifferent, but neither of them looked at it. The focus stayed between them, quiet and deliberate.

Batman didn't respond right away. He studied Vey for a moment, not the words he had said—but the way he had said them. The certainty. The precision. The parts that didn't come from deduction alone.

Then he spoke.

"Who did you lose?"

It wasn't accusatory. It wasn't soft either. It landed exactly where it was meant to piercing the silence and only causing confusion.

Vey's expression didn't change immediately, but something in his posture did. Just a fraction. His head turned slightly as if the question had come from somewhere unexpected, not because he didn't understand it—but because he understood it too well.

He reached for his drink instead of answering, lifting the glass and taking a slow sip before letting out a quiet breath.

"What are you talking about?" Vey said, his tone light, almost dismissive. He turned back toward Batman with a faint smirk. "Shouldn't you be more concerned that your identity was uncovered so… inefficiently?" Why didn't Batman press on or seem to care?

Batman didn't take the bait.

"When you spoke about my parents," he said, his voice even, controlled, "It felt like you were speaking from experience. Is that what made you like this Nolan? I know you can hear me did losing someone make you like this?"

That was all he needed to say.

Vey's smirk held for a second longer, then faded—not into anything obvious, but into something quieter. He set the glass down with a soft clink, his fingers lingering on it as if considering whether to keep playing the part.

"People lose things all the time," Vey replied finally. "It doesn't make them… this."

He gestured vaguely between them, dismissive in motion, but not entirely in meaning.

"Not like that," he said.

Silence stretched again, heavier now.

Vey let out a small breath through his nose, something almost like a laugh but without humor. He looked away this time, not at Batman, not at the door—just off to the side, like the room itself had become more interesting.

"You're projecting," he said. "Trying to make it neat. Understandable." He shook his head slightly. "Not everything is a defining moment in an alley Bruce."

Batman's gaze didn't shift.

"No," he said. "But yours was, wasn't it?"

That landed.

Vey's jaw tightened just slightly, the first real crack in the composure he had held since they entered the penthouse. It was small—barely there—but it was enough.

For a moment, it looked like he might respond.

Explain.

Push back harder.

Instead, he picked the glass up again, finishing what was left before setting it down more firmly this time.

"You're good at that," Vey said, his tone returning to something more controlled, more familiar. "Turning everything into a pattern. A cause. An effect, spread confusion to know more about your enemy right?" He glanced back at Batman, a faint edge returning to his expression. "But you don't know me as well as you think you do. Now leave I have a shower to get to, we can discuss the court soon."