Detective

     Bruce lay in his bed, turning over everything in his mind.
     Ra's claimed to be a man seeking knowledge in order to peacefully aid mankind toward advancement. He also claimed that he was here in the mountains because Nanda Parbat was the source of powerful knowledge. Both Bruce and Ra's had been accused of trying to steal from the temple. Bruce knew he hadn't stolen anything, but Ra's had already lied to Bruce once before. And Bruce doubted that the monks would have made up that story or been mistaken.
     There was another thing. Ra's said that the men under his command were simply there to help the cause, but they were obviously under a military structure. Ra's said that they were largely there as a security force, and considering Talia's story about the attack that killed her mother... it could be true. If Bruce could have hired a small army to protect his parents, he would have. But... no. These men weren't prepared for an outside attack. The base wasn't laid out in any defensive pattern, nor was there anything resembling a radar dish to watch for an aerial assault. And even more disturbing, who would attack the camp here in the Himalayas? In the African desert, where water is scarce and tribes can be violent, sure, but here? Who on Earth would have the resources to do that? What kind of enemies did Ra's—a supposed humanitarian—have that were so dangerous?

     Bruce got up and left his room. In the few weeks he'd spent at the temple, he'd learned almost nothing that he'd consider practical, but he did learn quite a bit about spiritual and physical balance. The monks were insistent upon total silence unless necessary—especially in the temple walls—so Bruce quickly learned how to walk silently. As he carefully stepped through the dark hallway, his footsteps less audible than a whisper, he heard Ra's' bedroom door open. Bruce quickly ducked behind a corner, using the warped reflection of a nearby vase to see down the hallway. Ra's stepped out of his room, wrapped in a green cape. Bruce risked a glance around the corner. Ra's stood taller and prouder than before, his hair and his beard well-groomed. His hair, at a certain angle, almost seemed shaped into horns. His cape was a dark emerald, with golden lines of Arabic text woven into the edges. A large curved sword was sheathed on his belt, which was covered by an elaborate sash. He might have seemed kingly to some. Bruce knew, however, that all it meant was that Ra's believed himself a king.
     Ra's said something quietly to Ubu at his side, then left out the main door. Bruce quickly went to Ra's' door, checked to make sure it wasn't rigged with an alarm, then quickly stepped inside. The room was definitely laid out for royalty. Golden artifacts from a dozen ancient civilizations were arranged across the room, almost like an Egyptian tomb. Bookshelves lined one wall. Bruce glanced at them and almost instinctively recoiled. They were books of alchemical black magic. Some were simple scientific research on mystical rituals from around the world, but some of them seemed to be legitimate tomes of dark mysticism.
     The closet door had a keypad on it. Bruce typed in "TALIA." Nothing happened. Bruce went to the bookshelf and pulled out a book of ancient Arabic translations. He looked up "Ra's." Arabic translation: "رأس." Literal meaning: "head." That figured. Bruce guessed that it was likely a name Ra's chose for himself, rather than one he was given. Next, Bruce translated "Al Ghul." Arabic translation: "الغول." Literal meaning: ...Bruce nearly felt a shiver reading it. He went back to the keypad and entered the full translation:
     "THE DEMONS HEAD"
     The door slid open.
     It was a dark room filled with computer displays, maps, and a large illuminated glass table. Bruce went to the nearest computer and looked through its system. It was a database, apparently, filled with folders named for events organized by date and geography. Bruce was shocked when he glanced at the current date on the system: March fifth. That wasn't possible. He looked at every other computer and saw the same thing. Bruce had arrived at the temple on March third and spent over five weeks there. It should be April seventh. Either every clock in this incredibly advanced base was somehow off by a month, or something truly bizarre affected the passage of time in Nanda Parbat.
     Bruce opened one folder on the computer named "STRYKER'S ISLAND 23-11-09." A video file was inside; Bruce accessed it.
     The video showed a darkened prison cell, with Floyd Lawton, Deadshot, strapped to it. A lone young woman stood before him—it was Talia.
    "You failed, Lawton," she said.
     "Yeah, sue me." Lawton flippantly replied.
     "It's a shame, really. Had you succeeded, you might have been on your way to one day joining us."
     "Joining? Who, Luthorcorp? Yeah, I 'aint the businessman type. Look, are you done? Are you gonna get me out of here, or what?"
     "I speak not of Luthorcorp."
     "Wait, what...? Aw, seriously? You're upset over that job? Come on; that was a stupid plan anyway! I mean, why'd you need—"
     "My father's designs are not to be questioned, least of all by you. Your assignment was merely a small part in his grand plan."
     "Huh. Okay. Well, little girl, you go tell your daddy I'm sorry, and that I'll do better next time."
     Talia didn't blink.
     "The League of Assassins does not allow failure, Floyd Lawton."
     Talia reached behind her back, slowly pulling a short sword from its sheath. With a single swift motion, she stepped forward and stabbed, slipping the blade gently into Floyd's heart. She then stepped back, wiped her blade, and sheathed it.

     "Apparently you are quite the detective," a voice said from behind Bruce. It was Ra's.
     "And you're the head of a league of assassins," Bruce said as he turned around.
     Talia stood behind Ra's, her stance firm as if to support her father, but her face slightly dismayed.
     "Yes," said Ra's, "it was unfortunately necessary for me to hide the truth from you. My League is indeed often known—whenever it is known at all—as the League of Shadows, for many do not appreciate the fact that for the world to truly rise above its state of dismay, many must die. There are few who truly know its real name, the League of Assassins."
     "I've heard of the League of Assassins before," Bruce said. "There've been whispers about you in Gotham for decades. I ran into some of your people once—the hooked ones."
     Ra's almost sneered. "Those imbeciles were not my men! That pathetic hooked assassin's guild was made of mere pretenders. Children playing at a master's game. They were defeated by the local police, were they not? No, my league is made of only the finest; those who truly understand the art of death."
     "Like Deadshot?"
     "An unfortunate and rare error in judgment on my part. He was never truly part of the league; we used him to unbalance the scales of economic power."
     Bruce caught on instantly. "You wanted him to kill all of us at Excelsior. Me, Oliver Queen, Lex Luthor..."
     "Yes, in fact, I did. You underestimate the true power you wield with merely your family name. The Wayne and Luthor names notably have great influence in America."
     "And without heirs to either company, you figured you could slip in and control a huge chunk of American industry, and have easy access to the best medical, biological, and weapons technology in the world."
     Ra's grinned. "Once again I must credit you, detective. You truly are a remarkable young man. But I must leave you now; I have an invasion scheduled for tonight."
     Bruce had feared this, but hoped he was wrong. Ra's had indeed tried to steal from Nanda Parbat under the false guise of a humble student, and now that he'd failed, he was going to use a small army to invade the temple, armed to the teeth with every modern firearm known to man. The monks were all going to die.