The morning of graduation arrived with perfect Gotham weather. One of those rare days when sunshine actually penetrated the city's perpetual gloom, casting everything in a hopeful glow. Matthew Gordon had long since stopped believing in omens, but even he couldn't help appreciating the symbolism.
He sat in the fourth row among his classmates, the polyester gown itching against his skin as he fidgeted with his cap. Around him, heartbeats fluttered with excitement, anxiety, and pride. Parents clutching cameras. Siblings whispering. Teachers reciting final attendance lists. The sensory tapestry of endings and beginnings.
"Stop fidgeting," Eliza whispered from the seat beside him. "You look like you're planning an escape."
"Just uncomfortable," Matt replied, forcing a smile. "Not a fan of polyester."
The truth was more complicated. Ever since the confrontation with Deathstroke three weeks ago, something had shifted inside him. A growing certainty that his carefully constructed life was approaching a crossroads. Sleep had become elusive, filled with dreams of his past life, of Hell's Kitchen, of the man he once was.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Principal Reeves announced from the podium, his voice carrying across the football field where rows of chairs had been arranged for the ceremony. "It is my great honor to welcome Gotham High's special commencement speaker, Commissioner James Gordon."
Matt straightened in his chair as his father approached the podium. Jim's heartbeat had been steady all morning, but now it accelerated slightly. Nervous. Emotional.
"Thank you, Principal Reeves," Jim began, adjusting the microphone. "I've faced down Gotham's worst criminals, testified before hostile congressional committees, and survived more press conferences than I care to remember. But speaking at my son's graduation might be the most intimidating challenge yet."
Gentle laughter rippled through the audience.
"I've been asked to offer wisdom to these graduates as they prepare for the next chapter of their lives. But the truth is, I've learned as much from them as they could ever learn from me. Particularly from my son, Matthew."
Matt felt a flush of warmth spread across his cheeks. He'd known Jim was speaking today but hadn't expected to be singled out.
"When Matt saved that woman and her child eight years ago, he had every reason to be angry at the world He paid for that courage with his sight, but he never once complained. Instead, he showed us all what real strength looks like."
In the front row, Barbara sniffled loudly. Matt could sense her wiping away tears.
"These graduates have grown up in Gotham City. They've lived through blackouts and earthquakes, villain attacks and corruption scandals. They've witnessed our city at its worst. Yet here they stand, ready to become its future. That takes a special kind of courage."
As Jim continued his speech, Matt's attention drifted toward the perimeter of the field. Something felt off. His senses detected unusual movements among the maintenance staff. Heartbeats that didn't match the relaxed patterns of workers doing routine jobs. Radio frequencies buzzing with encrypted communications.
"Matt?" Eliza nudged him. "You okay?"
"Just thinking," he murmured, extending his senses further.
Eight men positioned around the field's perimeter. Another four near the parking area. All armed, based on the subtle sounds of holstered weapons shifting against fabric. And something else. A familiar scent of gun oil and metal that triggered warning bells in Matt's mind.
Deathstroke.
"As I look at these young faces," Jim was saying, his voice catching slightly, "I see Gotham's future. And for the first time in my long career, I feel genuine hope for what that future might hold."
The crowd burst into applause. Matt clapped automatically, his mind racing. Why would Deathstroke be here? Was this revenge for the rooftop fight where Matt had outclassed him? Or was this something bigger?
The ceremony progressed through awards and recognitions. Matt accepted his academic honors with practiced smiles, his attention divided between the proceedings and the growing threat he could sense gathering at the edges of his awareness.
Finally, the moment arrived for the conferring of diplomas. Students began filing across the stage alphabetically. Davis. Edwards. Fitzgerald. The steady rhythm of names and applause continued as Matt tried to formulate a plan. How could he alert Jim without causing a panic? How could he protect everyone if things went sideways?
"Gordon, Matthew," Principal Reeves called.
Matt rose, unfolding his white cane more for show than necessity. He navigated to the stage with the careful movements of a blind student who had practiced the route, accepting the principal's guiding hand with a grateful smile.
"Congratulations, Matthew," Reeves said, pressing the diploma into his hands.
"Thank you, sir," Matt replied, turning toward the audience with a practiced wave.
That's when he smelled it. Chemical accelerant. Multiple devices, strategically placed around the field. And beneath that, a scent so distinctive it froze the blood in his veins.
Greasepaint. Chemicals. Madness.
The Joker.
Before Matt could react, before he could shout a warning, the first explosion tore through the southeastern corner of the field. Screams erupted as a second blast followed immediately, then a third. The carefully arranged chairs flew into the air, bodies along with them.
"Ladies and gentlemen, graduates and guests," a maniacal voice echoed through the sound system, drowning out the screams. "We interrupt this BORING ceremony to bring you something with a bit more... BANG!"
The Joker's laughter cascaded through the speakers as more explosions ripped across the field. Matt abandoned all pretense of blindness, vaulting from the stage toward the fleeing crowd.
"Eliza!" he shouted, trying to locate her heartbeat among the chaos. "Barbara! Dad!"
A new sound cut through the mayhem. The distinctive mechanical whir of helicopter rotors. Not GCPD air support. Something else. Through the smoke and confusion, Matt detected armed figures rappelling down into the panicked crowd.
One landed directly in front of him, raising a weapon. Matt didn't hesitate. He launched into a spinning kick that connected with the attacker's jaw, dropping him instantly. The man's radio crackled with a voice Matt recognized immediately.
"Primary target is the ginger blind kid. Joker wants him alive."
Deathstroke's voice, cool and professional. A contract job, then. Not personal vendetta. Or maybe both?
Matt fought his way through the chaos, disabling three more mercenaries with brutal efficiency. Around him, the graduation ceremony had transformed into a slaughterhouse. Bodies everywhere. The scent of blood heavy in the air. Screams of names he recognized, and names he didn't. Heartbeats fading.
He located Barbara near the stage, helping an injured teacher. "Matt!" she called, relief evident in her voice. "Dad's calling for backup. We need to get these people out!"
"Where's Eliza?" Matt demanded, grabbing her arm.
"I don't know. Last I saw she was still in the seating area when the first blast hit."
Matt turned toward the rows of now-scattered chairs, extending his senses through the smoke and chaos. There. A familiar heartbeat, rapid with fear but strong. Eliza was alive, pinned beneath an overturned row of chairs.
He sprinted toward her, only to be intercepted by a wall of muscle and metal. A hard blow to his sternum sent him flying backward.
"Nothing personal, kid," Deathstroke said, his voice modulated through his mask. "Just fulfilling a contract."
Matt rolled to his feet, dropping into a fighting stance. "You're working for the Joker now? That's low, even for you."
"Business is business. Though I gotta admit, I'm looking forward to a rematch after our rooftop dance."
Matt lunged forward, feinting left before striking at Deathstroke's right side, where he'd noticed a slight favoring during their previous encounter. The mercenary blocked, but not as cleanly as he might have otherwise.
As expected Matt was simply more skilled. But their brief exchange of blows was interrupted by another explosion, this one closer to the stage. Matt's momentary distraction cost him. Something struck the back of his head, hard enough to send stars cascading across his non-existent vision.
As consciousness began to slip away, he heard the Joker's voice again, closer now. Not through speakers, but right beside him.
"Ohhh, this one's special," the madman crooned. "I remember you from our little family photo session at Commissioner Daddy's house. The blind boy who wasn't quite what he seemed."
Matt tried to fight back, but his limbs refused to cooperate. The blow to his head combined with whatever drug they'd administered was taking him under fast.
"Take him and the pretty brunette," Joker instructed someone. "And a few more for party games. The rest are just part of the punchline."
More screams. More gunfire. More bodies hitting the ground.
Then he lost consciousness.
______________________________________
When Matt regained consciousness, he was lying on a cold concrete floor. His wrists were shackled to the wall behind him, the chains allowing only limited movement. The room stank of mildew and old blood, suggesting an abandoned industrial space. His cap and gown were gone, leaving him in the dress shirt and slacks he'd worn underneath.
Most concerning of all, he couldn't feel his cane anywhere nearby. Not that he needed it, but its absence confirmed they knew enough to take potential weapons.
Matt extended his senses, piecing together his surroundings. The room was approximately fifteen by twenty feet. Concrete walls, steel door. Two other breathing patterns nearby. One he recognized immediately.
"Eliza," he whispered.
A sharp intake of breath from the corner. "Matt? Is that you? I can't see anything."
"It's me. Are you hurt?"
"No. Just scared." Her voice trembled slightly. "What happened? Where are we?"
Before Matt could answer, the third person stirred. Male, early twenties based on his breathing pattern. One of their classmates, though Matt couldn't immediately identify which one.
"Hello?" the young man called out. "Is someone there? Please, I need help."
"Eric?" Eliza said. "Eric Malton? From AP Physics?"
"Yeah," Eric replied, relief evident in his voice. "Eliza? Is that you?"
Their conversation was cut short by the sound of approaching footsteps. Multiple people, one with an irregular gait. The distinctive tap of a cane or walking stick on concrete.
Matt tensed, preparing himself for what was coming. He could handle physical torture. Had endured it before in his previous life. But Eliza and Eric were civilians. Innocents caught in whatever twisted game the Joker was playing.
The door swung open with a metallic screech. Fluorescent lights flickered on, momentarily overwhelming Matt's senses with their buzzing intensity.
"Rise and shine, graduates!" The Joker's voice cut through the room like a rusty blade. "Welcome to commencement part two, where we separate the men from the mangled!"
His laughter bounced off the concrete walls as he stepped inside, followed by two armed guards. Matt could sense others waiting in the hallway beyond. Too many to fight, even if he weren't chained.
"Now, I know what you're thinking," Joker continued, pacing before them with theatrical flair. "This wasn't on the official graduation schedule! Consider it extra credit. A chance to really test what you've learned about life and death in good old Gotham City."
Matt remained silent, analyzing every detail he could gather. The Joker's heartbeat was erratic, impossible to predict. His body chemistry a toxic cocktail of unknown substances. Behind him, the guards were nervous. Afraid of their boss, but following orders.
"Let us go," Eliza demanded, her voice stronger than Matt expected. "People will be looking for us."
"Oh, I'm counting on it!" Joker clapped his hands together. "The Commissioner's frantic search for his blind little boy. The Bat's desperate hunt for little old me. It's all part of the show!"
He crouched in front of Matt, so close that his chemical stench was almost overwhelming. "But you're the real guest of honor, Matty-boy. You and I have unfinished business from our last playdate."
Matt kept his expression neutral, fighting the urge to recoil. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"No?" Joker grabbed Matt's chin, forcing his head up. "You don't remember our little photo session at your daddy's house? How you came home to find me redecorating with dear Barbara? Did you think I would forget...such fun?"
Matt's blood ran cold. The Joker remembered.
"You've got the wrong person," Matt insisted.
"Oooh Matty, I'm quite sure of who you are.." Joker released him, standing with a flourish. "We're going to play some games, kiddos. Games that will test your limits, your loyalties, and your will to survive."
He turned toward the door, pausing for dramatic effect. "Oh, and we have a special guest observer. Someone very interested in your performance, Matty."
The scent hit Matt before the person entered. Rose. But wrong somehow. Her chemistry altered by fear and something else. Drugs, maybe.
And behind her, the unmistakable presence of Deathstroke.
"Let the graduation games begin!" Joker announced, his laughter echoing down the hallway long after he'd departed.
The door slammed shut, leaving Matt alone with his fellow captives.