Morning came harsh and unforgiving, the monastery bells jarring Matt from fitful sleep. His body still ached from yesterday's trials, burn marks wrapping his torso like macabre jewelry. The hallucinogenic visions from the Fourth Test lingered in his mind, fragments of his darkest self floating just beneath conscious thought.
He sensed Sandra approaching before she reached his door, her footsteps lighter than usual, her heartbeat slightly elevated. Something had changed in her overnight.
"Fifth Test begins in thirty minutes," she announced without preamble. "East courtyard."
Matt rose, stretching carefully to test his injuries. The Beast's power had accelerated his healing, burns already fading from blistered agony to tender pink. "What should I expect?"
Sandra paused, her usual clinical detachment wavering. "Combat against multiple opponents. Former students of mine."
"How many?"
"Five. Simultaneously." She lingered at the doorway, uncharacteristic hesitation in her posture. "They've been instructed not to kill you, but accidents happen."
Matt smiled grimly. "Worried about me?"
"Worried about my reputation if you fail," she countered, but her heartbeat betrayed the lie. "Don't embarrass me."
The east courtyard stood empty when Matt arrived, barefoot and dressed in simple black training clothes. Sandra waited at its center, five figures arrayed behind her in formation. Matt analyzed them instantly: three men, two women, each radiating the controlled lethality that marked Sandra's training methods.
"The Fifth Test," Sandra announced formally, "challenges not just skill but strategy. Defeating multiple opponents requires more than technique, it demands battlefield awareness and resource management."
One of the men snorted quietly. "This is who O-Sensei praises? A blind boy?"
Sandra silenced him with a look. "This 'blind boy' has completed four Tests that would have broken you, Mingyu." She turned back to Matt. "You may defend yourself by any means necessary. The Test ends when you can no longer continue or when all opponents are incapacitated."
Matt nodded, centering himself as Sandra moved away from the combat zone. The five fighters spread out, encircling him with practiced efficiency. He cataloged their positions, breathing patterns, the subtle shifts of weight telegraphing their intentions.
"Begin," Sandra commanded.
They attacked as one, coordinated with precision that spoke of years training together. Matt ducked the first strike, twisted away from the second, then was forced to block a flurry of blows from the third attacker. Two more closed in from behind.
For ninety seconds, he focused purely on defense, letting them exhaust their prepared combinations while mapping their individual fighting styles. The largest man favored power strikes to the body. One woman specialized in joint locks. Another relied on deceptive footwork.
Time to change the dynamic.
Matt allowed a punch to graze his shoulder, using the momentary contact to grab his attacker's wrist and twist, using the man's momentum to send him crashing into a female fighter. Both tumbled to the ground, creating a momentary gap in the encirclement.
He exploited it instantly, targeting the fighter named Mingyu with a series of strikes aimed at nerve clusters. The man blocked the first two but missed the third, his left arm going temporarily numb.
"What the hell?" Mingyu growled, backing away.
Matt pressed the advantage, moving from defense to calculated offense. He no longer waited for attacks, instead dictating the flow of combat by forcing his opponents to react to him. One by one, he isolated them from the group, exploiting individual weaknesses he'd identified.
The woman with the joint locks received a dislocated shoulder. The footwork specialist found her ankle swept at precisely the wrong moment. The power striker discovered his strength meant nothing when nerve strikes left his limbs unresponsive.
Within fifteen minutes, four opponents lay incapacitated around the courtyard. Only Mingyu remained, nursing his numb arm and looking considerably less confident than before.
"Yield," Matt suggested.
"Fuck you," Mingyu spat, drawing a concealed blade from his boot.
Sandra didn't intervene, her heartbeat steady as she observed this breach of the established rules. Another test within the test.
Mingyu attacked with desperate fury, the knife slashing arcs through the air that Matt tracked easily with his enhanced senses. He allowed several passes, gauging the man's technique, before committing to a counter.
When Mingyu lunged again, Matt sidestepped and caught his wrist, applying precise pressure to the radial nerve. The knife clattered to the stone. Before Mingyu could react, Matt swept his legs and drove him to the ground, pinning him with a knee pressed against his throat.
"I said, yield," Matt repeated, increasing pressure just enough to restrict airflow without causing permanent damage.
Mingyu struggled briefly before tapping the stone floor twice in submission.
Matt released him and stood, turning toward Sandra. "Test complete."
She approached slowly, her heart rate betraying emotions her voice and face concealed. "Acceptably done. Though real enemies won't be so predictable."
"Real enemies don't typically attack in choreographed groups," Matt countered. "They prefer ambushes or overwhelming numbers."
A faint smile touched her lips. "True enough." She gestured to her defeated students. "You've earned their respect, if not their affection."
As the fighters gathered themselves and limped from the courtyard, O-Sensei appeared from the shadows where he had been observing.
"Most impressive, Matthew," the old master said. "You adapted quickly to multiple attack vectors."
Matt bowed slightly. "Sandra has trained them well."
"Indeed. Though she rarely takes personal interest in her students." O-Sensei's voice held significance beyond the simple observation. "In all my years, she has never selected an individual for private instruction."
Matt turned toward Sandra, sensing her discomfort at this revelation. "I'm honored by the exception."
"Don't be," she replied sharply. "The Tests aren't complete."
O-Sensei chuckled. "Always demanding, our Sandra. Come, Matthew, you've earned rest before the Sixth Test."
As they walked, the old master kept his voice low. "You recognize her interest in you goes beyond professional assessment?"
Matt nodded slightly. "She's a little weird, so that's not surpising. Question is, why?"
"Sandra Wu-San has devoted her life to perfecting the killing arts. All else, including normal human connections, she considers distraction." O-Sensei glanced back to where Sandra supervised her defeated students. "Until you."
"Yeah and I don't understand why. We've barely spoken beyond training."
"Sometimes connection requires no words. Your abilities intrigue her. Your potential and affinity for violence..." The old man paused. "She sees in you what she has sought her entire life."
"Which is?"
"The perfect warrior. One who transcends human limitation." O-Sensei's voice grew contemplative. "Be cautious, Matthew. Sandra's interest may seem flattering, but her motives rarely align with the morality of others."
Matt considered this warning as they reached his quarters. "The Tests continue tomorrow at what time?"
"The Sixth Test at dawn. Rest well."
Left alone, Matt sank into meditation, processing the morning's events.
His hearing caught fragments of conversation from across the monastery grounds, including Sandra speaking with one of her senior students.
"...his genetic potential is extraordinary," she was saying, her voice carrying an intensity that surprised even her senior student. "God, can you imagine what a child with those abilities would be capable of? Proper training from birth, those senses, my combat lineage..."
"Y-You can't be serious," the student replied, genuinely shocked. "Another child is one thing, but them being raised with your methods and his capabilities would be—"
"Unstoppable," Sandra finished, a rare excitement bleeding into her typically controlled tone. "The perfect evolution of everything we've been working toward. Don't you see? This could be the culmination of my life's work!" Her laugh held a touch of mania. "Think of it, a fighter who can sense attacks before they're even launched, with reflexes beyond human limitation, raised with the killing techniques I've spent decades perfecting."
Jesus christ...
Matt stopped listening, suddenly uncomfortable with what he was hearing. This wasn't just professional interest from Sandra. She was sizing him up like a prize stallion for some twisted breeding program.
He sat back, running a hand through his hair. Christ. Even after everything he'd seen across two lifetimes, this was a new one.
A small voice in the back of his mind, probably the same one that had enjoyed smashing the Joker's skull into the pavement, whispered that it wasn't such a bad idea. A kid with his senses and her fighting skills would be something else. Unstoppable, like she said.
But then reality kicked in. "What the hell am I even thinking?" he muttered to himself. He hadn't been through everything he had, dying and somehow getting a second chance, just to become part of someone's experiment in creating the perfect killer. Yeah fuck that, not happening. Not in this lifetime or any other.
When Sandra brought him dinner that evening, a courtesy she hadn't extended before, Matt decided to address the subject directly.
"I overheard your conversation," he said as she set the tray beside him.
Sandra didn't pretend ignorance. "Enhanced hearing. Another gift."
"I'm not interested in becoming a breeding stallion for your warrior bloodline."
She laughed, a sound both cold and appreciative at once. "Most men would approach this topic delicately. You cut straight to it." She settled across from him, her eyes never leaving his face. "Do you know how long I've searched for someone worthy? Years watching fighters who claimed to be the best, all falling short. Pathetic pretenders." Her voice dropped, gaining intensity. "Then you arrive and demolish every test like they're nothing. You killed Ra's al Ghul with your bare hands. Do you have any idea how rare that makes you?"
"And now?"
"Now I've met someone who killed Ra's al Ghul with his bare hands. Who possesses senses beyond anything I've ever seen before. Someone who absorbs difficult techniques almost instantly." Her voice grew softer. "Someone...intriguing."
Matt could sense her pulse quickening, smell the subtle change in her scent. Beneath her cold exterior, there was genuine desire there, both for his abilities and for him. Normally, that wouldn't bother him. But...she made it weird...
She rose suddenly, moving with that liquid grace that made her so deadly. "The Tests continue at dawn," she said, her voice returning to its professional edge. "Whether you're interested in... other arrangements or not."
Matt couldn't help a half-smile. "Yeah, somehow I figured you weren't going to let me off the hook that easily
"I never do," she replied, and for just a moment, there was something almost playful in her tone before she disappeared through the doorway.
After she departed, he returned to his meditation, troubled by the encounter. O-Sensei had warned him about Sandra's unusual interest, but he hadn't anticipated this particular direction. Tomorrow would bring the Sixth Test, and with it, likely more revelations about Lady Shiva's true intentions.
_____________________________
"Again," Bruce Wayne commanded, his voice echoing through the Batcave's training area. "Faster this time."
Jason Todd, drenched in sweat after two hours of continuous drills, reset his stance with a muttered curse. The fourteen-week training regimen Batman had designed made military boot camp look like kindergarten.
"This is bullshit," the boy grumbled, though he complied. "When do I get to the good stuff?"
"When you can complete basic forms without complaining," Bruce replied evenly. "Again."
Alfred Pennyworth watched from the computer platform, concern evident in his expression. "Perhaps Master Jason could benefit from a brief respite, sir? He has been at this since dawn."
Bruce checked his watch. "Five more minutes. Then protein shake and academic studies."
Jason groaned loud enough for the bats roosting in the cave's upper reaches to stir. "More homework? Come on!"
"Robin needs brains, not just fists."
The word 'Robin' still felt strange in Bruce's mouth. He hadn't intended to take on another partner so soon after Dick's departure, yet here he was, training another young man for the dangerous life he himself had chosen.
Jason was different from Dick in nearly every way. Where Dick had been acrobatic and naturally graceful, Jason possessed raw power and street-fighter instincts. Dick followed instructions precisely; Jason constantly questioned orders, looking for shortcuts. Dick's natural optimism balanced Bruce's darkness; Jason's anger and cynicism threatened to amplify it.
Yet Bruce saw potential in the boy that no one else had bothered to nurture. Behind the tough facade lay intelligence, adaptability, and a fierce sense of justice forged in Gotham's harshest neighborhoods.
"Time," Bruce announced as the timer beeped. "Cool down, then upstairs."
Jason collapsed dramatically onto the training mat. "Finally! I'm starving."
"Master Jason's appetite continues unabated," Alfred observed with approval. "Growing boys require substantial nutrition."
Bruce nodded absently, his attention on the Batcomputer's main screen where a global search program continued running. For the past three months, it had been scanning international databases for any sign of Matthew Gordon.
"Still nothing?" Alfred asked quietly.
"His last confirmed location was Hong Kong International Airport," Bruce replied. "Then nothing. As if he vanished."
"Perhaps that was his intention."
Bruce frowned. "No one simply disappears, Alfred. Not completely."
"Says the man who routinely does exactly that," the butler remarked dryly.
Jason approached, towel draped around his neck. "Who disappeared?"
Bruce hesitated, then decided transparency might serve better than secrecy. "Commissioner Gordon's son. He's been missing since the North Point incident."
"The kid who killed the Joker?" Jason's eyes widened. "That was Gordon's son?"
"Yes."
"Damn. Good for him." Seeing Bruce's expression darken, Jason shrugged unapologetically. "What? Joker was a psycho who killed hundreds of people. More than you ever stopped."
Bruce turned fully from the computer. "We've discussed this, Jason. Our rule—"
"Yeah, yeah. No killing. I get it." The boy's tone made clear he didn't agree. "But you gotta admit, Gotham's better off without him."
Bruce couldn't entirely refute the point, though he'd never admit it aloud. Crime statistics since Joker's death showed significant reduction in civilian casualties, particularly from random terrorism that had been the clown's hallmark.
"The point," Bruce continued, "is that we don't get to make that call."
"Gordon's kid did."
"And now he's a fugitive, unable to come home."
Jason considered this, something shifting in his expression. "That why you're tracking him? To bring him in?"
"To understand him," Bruce corrected. "What happened at North Point was..." He paused, searching for the right word. "Unprecedented."
The Batcomputer chimed, indicating a new data match. Bruce turned back to the screen, scanning the incoming information.
"Nepal border crossing," he read aloud. "Facial recognition 89% probability match."
Alfred leaned closer. "Moving west, then. Perhaps headed to Europe?"
"Or deeper into Central Asia." Bruce initiated a more focused search protocol. "The region has numerous training grounds for martial disciplines outside mainstream knowledge."
Jason watched the process with undisguised interest. "So Gordon's kid is, what, leveling up his fighting skills? Gonna come back as Gotham's new vigilante?"
"Homework," Bruce said abruptly. "Upstairs. Two hours of calculus and physics, then we'll discuss advanced batarang trajectories."
Jason groaned but turned toward the elevator. "Fine. But I still think Gordon's kid did Gotham a favor."
After the boy departed, Alfred cleared his throat gently. "Master Jason raises an uncomfortable point, sir. The city has been notably safer since certain elements were... removed."
"That doesn't justify murder, Alfred."
"Of course not. But perhaps it explains why even good men like Commissioner Gordon seem ambivalent about apprehending the perpetrator."
Bruce had noticed the commissioner's lackluster coordination of the search for his son. Procedural delays, jurisdictional complications, resources consistently directed elsewhere. All technically justifiable, yet collectively suggesting deliberate obstruction.
"Jim is protecting his son," Bruce acknowledged. "Understandable, but dangerous if Matthew returns with intentions similar to his departure."
Alfred's expression softened. "Again...you've reviewed the footage, sir. The young man witnessed his friend's torture and murder. His actions, while extreme, occurred under extraordinary circumstances."
"True. But killing becomes easier after the first time." Bruce turned back to the computer, initiating additional search parameters. "We need to find him, Alfred. Before someone else does."
The butler nodded gravely. "Indeed. I only hope when you do, you remember there's a difference between justice and vengeance. For both your sakes."
Bruce didn't respond, his focus returned to the electronic manhunt spanning continents.