If the worldline had never shifted, the Court of Owls would have been nothing more than a secret Jewish financial consortium with several centuries of history, and the assassins under its command, known as Talons, would at most have been mortals highly skilled in assassination.
But now? Under the influence of some unknown force on this world, the ironclad rule that "people die when they are killed" no longer applied to these people whose blood had been injected with an electrum compound!
William Cobb was a perfect demonstration of this.
Just look at him.
Born in 1901, he should have been lying in a coffin, rotted away without even bones remaining. Instead, he was sprawled across the Batmobile's hood, prying at the cockpit canopy with one hand while extending a Hidden Blade from the other, intending to punch a few holes in Jason's chest.
Jason pressed the forced-close button. Driven by the powerful thrust of the hydraulic valves, the closing cockpit canopy sheared off four of William's fingers.
"You bastard! Cleaning the interior myself is a real pain!"
Dark brown blood spattered across his red mask. Cursing angrily, Jason floored the accelerator and cranked the steering wheel all the way over. Amid the piercing screech of burning tires, the Batmobile spun in place, flinging the uninvited guest off its hood.
He swung the car around. Under the dazzling headlights, the dark figure had nowhere to hide. Gatling Guns emerged from the weapons bays on either side of the wheels, their barrels spinning.
Born in the early twentieth century, William was an old relic who had never been on a battlefield. His understanding of heavy weaponry was still stuck in the age of exchanging bolt-action rifle fire.
In his youth, he had heard people say that tens of thousands of British