Rain pelted the solemn gathering at Gotham Cemetery, black umbrellas forming a sea of mourning above the crowd. Six caskets lined the freshly dug graves, each adorned with photographs of young faces that would never grow old. Eliza Reed's portrait sat centered among them, her smile frozen in time.
Commissioner Jim Gordon stood at the podium, shoulders hunched against more than just the weather. His voice carried across the cemetery, steady despite the weight in his chest.
"These young people represented the best of Gotham. Bright, dedicated, full of promise. Their lives were stolen not just from their families, but from our city's future."
In the front row, parents clutched each other, their grief too raw for public consumption. Behind them stood Gotham's elite, the Waynes, the Kanes, politicians and business leaders. All united in tragedy.
"In times like these," Gordon continued, "we search for meaning. For answers. But some horrors defy explanation."
His voice caught briefly. Those who knew him well recognized it wasn't just the murdered students bringing him to the edge—it was the empty seat beside Barbara where his son should have been.
"Matthew Gordon, my son, remains missing. I stand before you today as both Commissioner and father, asking for your continued support in bringing him home."
A single tear escaped, quickly wiped away. Barbara Gordon squeezed her father's free hand, her own eyes red-rimmed from nights without sleep.
Bruce Wayne watched from beneath his own umbrella, Dick Grayson at his side. The billionaire's face was a carefully constructed mask of appropriate sorrow, betraying nothing of the investigation that had consumed the Bat-family for days.
The truth they'd uncovered made no sense. The bloodbath at North Point couldn't have been carried out by the quiet, blind teenager they'd known. Yet the evidence pointed nowhere else.
As the ceremony concluded, Gordon found himself receiving condolences from Superman himself. The Man of Steel had arrived without fanfare, standing quietly at the ceremony's edge until it concluded.
"Jim," Superman said simply, clasping the commissioner's hand. "I'm so sorry about Eliza Reed. Her father was a good man who once helped me in Metropolis."
Gordon nodded, too drained for pleasantries. "You heard about Matthew?"
"Bruce told me. The League is monitoring transportation hubs globally. If he's out there, we'll find him."
What went unsaid hung between them, the growing concern over what they might find when they did.
.....
.....
.....
Half a world away, Manchuria's mountains rose misty and ancient against the morning sky. A lone figure with a duffle bag navigated the winding path toward a remote monastery, his stride confident despite the walking stick in his hand.
Matt Gordon had traveled three days to reach this place, following whispers heard in Hong Kong about masters who taught forgotten techniques. The Beast's power thrummed inside him, raw and untamed. He needed guidance not just in controlling it, but in rebuilding his soul from the ashes of North Point.
Ultimate control was the goal.
His senses painted the landscape in extraordinary detail, the heartbeats of mountain goats half a mile distant, the subtle shifts in air pressure signaling an approaching storm, the ancient stone of the monastery ahead carrying centuries of incense and prayer.
As he approached the outer walls, Matt heard the labored breathing of an elderly man struggling with a broom against the compound's entrance. Without hesitation, he set down his bag.
"May I help you?" he asked in carefully practiced Mandarin.
The old man paused, leaning on his broom as he studied the newcomer. His heartbeat remained steady, unusual for someone confronted by a stranger in such a remote location.
"Most who find this place seek something," the old man replied. "What do you seek, blind one?"
Matt considered his answer carefully. "Control. Purpose."
The old man chuckled. "Honest, at least. Take the other broom and help an old man finish his chore. Then we'll discuss what you seek."
They worked in silence, Matt matching the methodical rhythm of the elder's sweeping. His enhanced senses detected the subtle imbalance in the old man's movements, a masterfully disguised combat stance incorporated into everyday motion.
This was no ordinary caretaker.
"I'm called Matt," he offered as they finished clearing the stone entryway.
"And I am simply called Teacher by those who stay here." The old man's voice carried both warmth and authority. "Though some once called me... O-Sensei."
"You conceal your abilities well," O-Sensei continued, "but your sweep betrays training. Unusual for one so young to move with such... experience."
Matt felt the elder's scrutiny like a physical touch. "I've had good teachers."
"And yet you seek more. Come, share tea before you decide if this old man has anything to offer you."
Inside the modest quarters, O-Sensei prepared tea with deliberate movements. Matt listened to the water boil, the leaves unfurl. Simple sounds anchoring him to the present when memories of Eliza's final moments threatened to pull him under.
"The shadows of violence cling to you," O-Sensei observed, placing a cup before Matt. "Not just violence done to you, but by you."
Matt took the cup, feeling its warmth against his palms. "Yes."
"Most would deny it."
"Would that make it less true?"
O-Sensei's soft laughter filled the small room. "Refreshing honesty. Tell me, Matt without a family name, what drives a young man to kill the Demon's Head and the Laughing Man, then flee across the world?"
The cup froze halfway to Matt's lips. "How could you possibly know that?"
"News travels faster than men, even to remote mountains. Besides, we have satellites here too." O-Sensei's tone turned serious. "Those were not ordinary men you killed."
"They weren't men at all," Matt replied, the bitterness in his voice surprising even himself.
"Perhaps. But their deaths have consequences that follow you, whether you run from Gotham or not."
Matt set down his tea untouched. "I'm not running. I'm preparing."
"For revenge? Or redemption?"
"For becoming what I need to be."
O-Sensei's heartbeat quickened slightly—the first sign of genuine emotion Matt had detected. "And what is that?"
"Something better than what I was before. Something worthy of the second chance I've been given."
The old master fell silent, considering. Finally, he stood. "We shall see. Return tomorrow at sunrise. Bring nothing but yourself."
Matt recognized dismissal when he heard it. He bowed respectfully and departed, finding temporary lodging in the village below.
___________________________
Black Mask surveyed the bloody mess that had once been Sean Riley, the original Ventriloquist. The gangster's eyes were cold behind his ebony skull facade.
"Make sure everyone understands why this happened," he told his lieutenant. "Anyone working with Penguin ends up the same way."
The henchman nodded, eyeing the splintered remains of Scarface scattered around the corpse. "What about the daughter? Heard she's been asking around about her old man."
"Peyton?" Black Mask chuckled. "Let her come. Girl's got more spine than her father ever did. Might be useful with the right... guidance."
Outside the warehouse, Gotham's underworld continued its violent restructuring. With Joker dead and rumors swirling about Ra's al Ghul, power vacuums were forming faster than they could be filled.
Across town, Thomas Elliot unpacked surgical instruments in his new penthouse, humming softly to himself. His return to Gotham had been carefully timed, the city's attention focused elsewhere provided perfect cover for what he had planned for Bruce Wayne.
_____________________________
The Justice League's annual summit took place in their orbiting Watchtower, Earth floating serenely below. Batman stood before the assembled heroes, his report on Gotham uncharacteristically detailed, particularly regarding the North Point massacre.
"So you believe Gordon's son was responsible?" Wonder Woman asked, her expression troubled.
"The evidence is conclusive," Batman replied. "What remains unclear is how. Matthew Gordon was blinded at age nine. Nothing in his medical records indicates enhanced abilities."
"Could Lazarus chemicals in the accident truly cause this?" Superman questioned.
"Possibly. Samples from the facility show traces of the same compound. Talia al Ghul confirmed their suspicions about Matt's exposure."
Green Lantern leaned forward. "If this kid took down Ra's al Ghul and the Joker, he's on a whole different level. Should we be concerned?"
"We should be vigilant," Batman corrected. "Matthew Gordon had no prior history of violence. Whatever triggered this was extreme."
Superman's face softened. "I met Eliza Reed's father years ago when he was with the MPD in Metropolis. Brilliant man. Saved dozens of lives during a lab explosion. I was kind of happy when he transferred to Gotham... thought he'd be a brightspot." He paused. "To lose both father and daughter..."
While sad, The conversation shifted to other global concerns.