AN: Did someone say brace?
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Rose Wilson's fist connected with her opponent's jaw, sending teeth and blood spattering across the Meta-Brawl arena floor. The crowd roared, their bloodlust a tangible force pressing against her skin. She barely heard them.
Three weeks since North Point. Three weeks since she'd watched Matthew Gordon tear through her father's elite mercenaries like they were training dummies. Three weeks of replaying that final moment when Matt had looked in her direction before disappearing into the night.
Her opponent, a meta-human with scaled skin and enhanced strength, recovered quickly and charged. Rose sidestepped with practiced ease, driving her elbow into his kidney. As he doubled over, she caught him in a headlock and twisted until he tapped out.
Victory. Again. It felt hollow.
"Ladies and gentlemen, your champion remains undefeated!" Roulette's voice boomed across the underground arena. "The Ravager continues her bloodthirsty streak!"
Rose exited without acknowledging the cheers, heading straight for the locker room. The adrenaline high faded quickly these days, leaving only the persistent ache in her chest that appeared when Matt vanished from Gotham.
She wasn't supposed to feel like this. Wilsons didn't fall in love. They especially didn't fall for targets their father had marked for death.
"Impressive performance," a woman's voice interrupted her thoughts.
Rose turned to find Roulette leaning against the lockers, her skin-tight red dress a stark contrast to the dingy surroundings.
"Not really," Rose replied, unwrapping her hands. "He telegraphed every move."
"I wasn't talking about tonight. I've been watching your... extracurricular activities." Roulette smiled, predatory and calculating. "The Ravager has been making quite a name for herself outside the arena."
Rose stiffened. She'd been careful, or so she thought. The mask and modified costume should have concealed her identity during her nighttime excursions.
"Don't worry," Roulette continued. "Your secret's safe with me. I'm more curious about the motivation. Since when does a Wilson care about saving civilians?"
Since Matt's words to her father echoed in her head every night. She deserves to be her own person. Not your weapon.
"Maybe I got bored," Rose deflected, pulling on a jacket over her sweat-soaked tank top.
"Or maybe someone changed your perspective." Roulette's knowing smile widened. "Someone who disappeared right after putting your father in critical condition."
Rose moved fast, pinning Roulette against the lockers with her forearm across the older woman's throat. "Don't push it, bitch."
To her credit, Roulette didn't flinch. "I'm not your enemy, Rose. In fact, I have information that might interest you."
"What information?"
"About Matthew Gordon's location."
Rose released her grip, heart suddenly hammering. "Where?"
"China. Remote mountains in Manchuria. Training with an old master, if rumors are to be believed." Roulette straightened her dress. "In exchange for this tidbit, I want exclusive rights to your fights. No freelancing at other venues."
Rose considered the offer for only seconds. "Done."
...
....
...
Later that night, Ravager perched on a rooftop overlooking Gotham's East End. The information from Roulette burned in her mind. Matt was alive. Training. Moving forward while she remained stuck in this cycle of violence and emptiness.
A scream cut through the night air, pulling her attention to an alley below. Three men cornering a young girl, maybe twelve years old. The child clutched a backpack to her chest, eyes wide with terror.
Rose didn't hesitate. She dropped from the roof, landing between the girl and her attackers.
"Run, kid," she ordered, drawing her swords.
The girl remained frozen in fear.
"I said run!"
This time the child bolted, disappearing around the corner. Rose turned her attention to the attackers, who had recovered from their initial surprise.
"You just made a big mistake, bitch," the tallest one growled, flicking open a switchblade.
Rose felt something shift inside her. Matt's voice again, the man she had fallen in love with, in her memory...
"You can be better than what he made you."
"No," she replied calmly. "You did."
What followed wasn't her usual brutal efficiency. She disarmed and disabled rather than killed, using the flat of her blades and controlled strikes. When it was over, three unconscious bodies lay at her feet, but all still breathing.
The satisfaction felt different. Unfamiliar but not unwelcome.
She found the girl huddled behind a dumpster two blocks away, still clutching her backpack.
"They won't hurt you," Rose assured her, sheathing her swords.
The child stared up at her mask, fear giving way to wonder. "Are you like Batman?"
Rose almost laughed. "No. I'm something else."
"Thank you for saving me," the girl whispered.
Something warm and uncomfortable bloomed in Rose's chest. "Where do you live? I'll get you home."
As they walked through shadowed streets, the girl's small hand finding its way into hers, Rose realized what Matt had truly given her. Not just love, but possibility. The chance to define herself beyond her father's legacy.
She would find him. But first, she had her own path to forge.
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The mountain air bit at Matt's exposed skin as he moved through forms that O-Sensei had taught him the previous day. His bare feet found purchase on cold stone, body flowing from stance to stance with fluid precision. The Beast's power hummed beneath his skin, no longer fighting for control but merging with his movements.
He sensed Sandra Wu-San before he heard her approach, her presence distinct and unmistakable. Lady Shiva, whose reputation preceded her even in his previous life.
"Your form is excellent," she commented, stopping at the edge of the training area. "Especially for someone who cannot see."
Matt finished the sequence before responding. "Vision is overrated."
"So I'm beginning to understand." She moved onto the stone platform, dropping into a fighting stance. "Show me what else you can do."
Matt smiled slightly. "Are you challenging me?"
"Call it professional curiosity. O-Sensei speaks highly of you, but I prefer to form my own opinions."
He mirrored her stance, hearing her heartbeat quicken with anticipation. "I wouldn't want to disappoint."
The first exchange was measured, both fighters testing boundaries. Shiva struck with textbook perfection, her technique refined to mathematical precision. Matt countered with equal skill, relying on decades of muscle memory despite his young body.
"You move like someone who has fought for years," Shiva observed, increasing her speed. "Not months."
Matt deflected a kick aimed at his ribs, countering with a palm strike that brushed her shoulder. "I'm a quick study."
The sparring intensified, both abandoning pretense as they pushed each other's limits. Shiva had the edge in experience, her body a weapon honed through countless battles. But Matt possessed something she hadn't encountered before, his senses mapping her movements before she fully committed to them.
They fought for nearly an hour, neither gaining decisive advantage until Matt allowed the Beast's power to flow more freely. Suddenly, his strikes carried greater impact, his reflexes sharpening beyond human capability.
Shiva adapted quickly, but not quickly enough. Matt swept her legs and pinned her to the stone, his forearm against her throat.
"Yield," he said quietly.
For a moment, her body tensed with resistance. Then, surprisingly, she relaxed. "I yield."
Matt released her, offering a hand up. After brief hesitation, she accepted it.
"Impressive," she acknowledged. "Few have ever bested me."
"You weren't fighting at full capacity."
"Neither were you." Her voice held no accusation, simply stating fact.
O-Sensei's arrival interrupted further discussion. The old master surveyed them both with knowing eyes.
"I see you've tested each other's measure," he observed. "What did you learn, Sandra?"
Shiva straightened, respect evident in her posture. "That reputation doesn't always reflect reality. The boy who killed Ra's al Ghul is even more skilled than rumor suggests."
Matt stiffened. "You know about that?"
"Word travels quickly in certain circles," she replied. "The death of the Demon's Head created ripples felt worldwide. The Joker, a mentally deranged madman, was merely a footnote by comparison."
"Both deserved what they got." Matt's voice hardened, memories of Eliza's final moments flashing through his mind.
O-Sensei studied him thoughtfully. "Justice and vengeance often travel the same road initially, but their destinations differ greatly."
"I'm not interested in philosophy," Matt countered. "I came here to learn control."
"And what will you do with this control once mastered?" the old man pressed. "Return to Gotham? Continue what you began?"
The question hung in the mountain air, unanswered.
Internally, he wanted to say yes. But Matt himself wasn't certain what path he would follow when his training concluded. The rage that had fueled his rampage had cooled, replaced by something more focused. More dangerous.
....
.....
.....
"Perhaps," O-Sensei suggested gently, "the answer will reveal itself in time."
Later, as Matt meditated in his quarters, he heard Sandra and O-Sensei speaking on the terrace below, their voices carrying clearly in the still night air.
"Why him?" Sandra asked. "You've turned away students with far more potential than a blind teenager."
"Have I?" The old master chuckled. "In all my years, I have never encountered someone with Matthew's... unique qualities."
".....He's talented, certainly. But talent alone doesn't explain your interest."
"I believe in fate, Sandra. Always have. The universe places people in our path for reasons we may not immediately comprehend." A pause. "When I look at Matthew, I see possibility. The potential for greatness or terrible destruction."
"He killed my former master," Sandra said, her tone unreadable. "Few could claim such a feat."
"And how does that make you feel? Ra's trained you before you sought me out."
Another pause, longer this time. "Impressed. And curious. What creates someone capable of defeating a man who has lived for centuries?"
"That," O-Sensei replied, "is precisely what I intend to discover."
Their voices faded as they moved inside, leaving Matt alone with his thoughts. He hadn't come to Manchuria seeking anyone's approval or understanding. He had come for focus, for control over the power that was give to him.
Yet something in O-Sensei's words resonated. Possibility. Choice. A future not predetermined by past actions.
Perhaps there was more to learn here than just fighting techniques.
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Blackgate Prison's solitary confinement wing housed only the most dangerous inmates, those deemed too volatile even for Arkham's specialized containment. David Cain's cell sat at the corridor's end, a concrete box measuring eight feet by ten.
He was doing push-ups when the guard delivered his meal, maintaining perfect form despite years of confinement. His body remained a weapon, ready for the day he would inevitably walk free.
"Mail," the guard announced, sliding an envelope through the slot.
Cain finished his set before retrieving it. No return address, which meant it had passed through multiple hands to reach him. Inside, a single sheet of paper contained three sentences in code.
Ra's al Ghul is dead. Killed by a blind boy captured by the Joker. League in chaos.
For the first time in years, David Cain laughed. "HAHAAHAHAHAHAHAH"
A genuine, belly-deep laugh that echoed off his cell walls and caused the guard to glance nervously through the observation window.
The great Ra's al Ghul, brought down by a child. There was beautiful symmetry to it, considering Ra's had once tasked Cain with creating the perfect assassin through his daughter Cassandra.
More significant was the power vacuum this created. Talia would claim leadership, naturally, but others would challenge her. The League of Shadows would fracture, creating opportunities for those patient enough to exploit them.
And this boy... whoever he was, he had achieved something extraordinary. Defeating Ra's required skill beyond mortal capability. Either the Demon's Head had grown careless in his old age, or this child possessed talents worth investigating.
Cain tucked the paper into his mattress, mind already calculating how this information might accelerate his release. Perhaps it was time to contact certain former associates. After all, a world without Ra's al Ghul offered possibilities that hadn't existed yesterday.
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The Batcave's main computer displayed a series of files labeled "Contingency Protocols," each corresponding to a potential threat to Gotham or the world at large. Superman. Wonder Woman. Flash. Green Lantern. Each Justice League member had their own file, detailing methods to neutralize them if necessary.
Batman had created similar files for his most dangerous adversaries. Joker. Bane. Ra's al Ghul. Detailed strategies for containment or defeat, based on years of observation and analysis.
It was time...
Now he found himself creating a new file: Gordon, Matthew.
The cursor blinked accusingly on the screen as Bruce struggled to complete the entry. The surveillance footage from North Point played on a secondary monitor, showing Matthew dismantling trained killers with frightening efficiency.
"Master Bruce," Alfred's voice interrupted his concentration. "Perhaps this is premature."
Bruce didn't look up. "He killed Ra's al Ghul, Alfred. And the Joker. He took down thirty League assassins without sustaining significant injury."
"After watching his friend murdered before his eyes," Alfred reminded him gently. "After days of torture at the Joker's hands. Circumstances that would break most men."
"That doesn't change the facts. Matthew Gordon concealed enhanced abilities for years. He possesses combat skills that rival or exceed the world's greatest martial artists. And now he's disappeared, presumably to hone those skills further."
Alfred placed a cup of tea beside the keyboard. "Perhaps you're asking the wrong question."
Bruce finally looked away from the screen. "Meaning?"
"You're focused on how to stop him if necessary. Maybe you should be asking why you might need to. We've know Matthew for years. Why would he conceal this side of him? Maybe.. it's because deep down he's an execllent young man.... who doesn't want to hurt anyone."
The question hung in the air as Bruce returned his attention to the monitor. The frozen image showed Matthew's face just before he left the facility, his expression not one of madness or bloodlust, but of terrible clarity. A look Bruce recognized from his own reflection on the night he'd decided to become Batman.
"I can develop countermeasures for metahumans, for aliens, even for gods," Bruce said finally. "But Matthew... he's human. Enhanced, perhaps, but fundamentally human. Yet his abilities defy conventional analysis."
"Making him more difficult to categorize than your usual adversaries," Alfred observed.
"Making him potentially more dangerous." Bruce resumed typing, adding observations to the growing file. "I need to understand what he's capable of. What drives him. Where his boundaries lie."
"And if he's not actually your enemy?"
Bruce paused again, considering. "Then the file never needs to be used."
The cursor continued blinking as Bruce stared at the incomplete protocol. For perhaps the first time in his career as Batman, he found himself unable to formulate a definitive contingency plan. The variables were too numerous, the subject too unpredictable.
It was a feeling he deeply disliked.
He saved the incomplete file and closed it, turning instead to reports of escalating gang violence in Gotham. One problem at a time. Matthew Gordon would reveal his intentions eventually. Until then, vigilance would have to suffice.
But the uncertainty lingered, an irritant in Batman's ordered mind. A wild card he couldn't account for. A potential ally or enemy whose capacity for violence had been definitively proven, but whose moral compass remained uncharted.
A problem without a clear solution.