DC: All for One Chapter 5 - Escalation

Ethan stepped out into the Gotham night. He walked quickly, his mind already shifting from the odd interactions of the dinner table to the task at hand. Barbara's home had been... illuminating, in more ways than one. Not just the invitation he'd maneuvered into, but the glimpse of a "normal" family—something so foreign it might as well have been from another planet. Her mother's hug lingered in his thoughts, he couldn't think of a time his mother had ever hugged him and yet a stranger did so... strange. He shook those thoughts away as quickly as they came.

Distractions later. Information now.

He reached his apartment building without incident, slipping inside and locking his door behind him. His parents were still out cold on the living room floor, their ragged breathing a familiar backdrop. Ethan sat at his makeshift desk, pulling out his phone and connecting it to a portable hotspot he'd rigged earlier. Using the network keys he'd copied from Barbara's laptop, he bridged into the GCPD's secure system. It was almost disappointingly easy. Ethan navigated the database, querying "Creedence Upshaw"

The file loaded quickly.

Creedence Upshaw, 36,

Multiple arrests for narcotics distribution, assault, and ties to low-level organized crime. Suspect in multiple killings.

Last known address: Apartment 3B, 147 Wharf Street, Harbor District.

Gang affiliation: Iron Row, a small-time crew operating out of the Harbor. They dealt in heroin, meth, and ran a few brothels as side hustles. No major players, but persistent enough to carve out territory amid Gotham's bigger fish like the Falcones or Penguin's outfit.

Ethan leaned back, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Iron Row likely had more metas; Creedence wasn't unique. Maybe he could find more of them... and take their abilities. He could think of this later. The address was a start. He'd find what he needed there.

But he wasn't going in blind. The police were circling, and Iron Row might already be sniffing around their dead member's place. Preparation was key. Ethan counted the cash he'd taken from Creedence—$3,000, minus a few bills for his parents' silence. Plenty left. He changed into darker clothes, pocketed the money, and headed back out into the East End's underbelly. Gotham's black market was as reliable as its corruption; finding illegal gear here was like buying coffee.

First stop: A dimly lit alley behind a shuttered pawn shop, where a wiry man in a hooded jacket leaned against the wall, eyes darting like a cornered rat. Ethan approached without hesitation. "Kevlar vest. Medium build."

The man sized him up, smirking. "Five hundred. Cash only."

Ethan handed over the bills without haggling. The vest was lightweight, slightly worn but functional—police surplus, probably stolen. He slipped it on under his shirt. He wasn't invincible and he would no doubt face people with weapons; it would be foolish not to take any precautions he could.

Next: A basement "store" run by a grizzled ex-con with tattoos snaking up his neck. "Large dagger. Balanced for throwing if needed."

The man grunted, pulling a 10-inch blade from under the counter—serrated on one side, matte black to avoid glints. "Three hundred. It's a good price the things sharp as hell."

Ethan tested the weight, nodding. It vanished into his jacket.

Finally, the gun: A backroom deal in a dive bar, where a bartender slid him a Glock 19 across the sticky counter. "Compact, reliable. Four hundred, plus ammo."

Ethan paid, loaded the magazine, and tucked it into his waistband. He grabbed a black hoodie, cargo pants, gloves, and a plain ski mask from a nearby street vendor hawking. The outfit was nondescript, easy to ditch if needed. No trace back to him.

Geared up, Ethan blended into the shadows, heading toward the Harbor District, the excitement he felt in his body was almost palpable; the idea of going into the unknown... it was so Interesting.

After a while of walking and avoiding most cameras he finally arrived. Wharf Street was a forgotten stretch of crumbling brick apartments, graffiti-tagged and lit by flickering neon from a nearby strip club. Number 147 was no different.

He circled the building once, scanning for watchers. No obvious guards, but Iron Row might have eyes inside. Ethan pulled on the mask. Time to find that client list—and maybe a lead on more metas in the gang.

Ethan approached the entrance to 147 Wharf Street, the door already cracked open. He pushed it wider with his boot and stepped into the dimly lit entryway. The air hit him first, thick with the stench of unwashed bodies, stale urine, and the acrid tang of burnt chemicals. Flickering fluorescent bulbs overhead cast shadows on the peeling wallpaper, revealing a small lobby cluttered with discarded needles, crumpled fast-food wrappers, and a few broken chairs pushed against the walls.

Huddled in the corner were three junkies, sprawled on the filthy floor like trash. The first was a gaunt man in his forties, skin sallow and pitted with sores, his eyes glassy under a ratty beanie. Beside him sat a woman with stringy hair matted to her scalp, her arms wrapped around her knees, rocking slightly as she muttered to herself. The third was younger, maybe mid-twenties, with a faded tattoo snaking up his neck and a sneer twisting his chapped lips.

The gaunt man looked up first, squinting through the haze. "Get lost, kid. This ain't your spot."

The younger one chuckled, a wet, rasping sound. "Unless you're holding. You holding somethin' good?" That set them off, all three laughing in ragged bursts, the woman wheezing until she coughed.

The third one, the woman, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and eyed Ethan up and down. "He's probably holding a lot of cash. Look at him, all clean like that."

The gaunt man pushed himself up slowly, using the wall for support, his joints cracking audibly. "Yeah... he probably is." His eyes narrowed as he stepped closer, the other two rising behind him like shadows. The younger one cracked his knuckles, while the woman pulled a rusted nail file from her pocket, gripping it like a makeshift shank.

They closed in, forming a loose semicircle, blocking the stairs. "Hand it over," the gaunt man growled. "Wallet, phone, whatever you got. Make it easy, and we won't carve you up."

Ethan stood still. "Move out of my way. I don't have time to deal with you," he said flatly.

That drew more laughter, echoing off the walls. The younger one reached into his jacket and pulled out a switchblade, before flicking it open. The blade caught the light, it wasn't a very good one, it was dull and nicked from constant use.

"You hear that?" the younger one said, stepping forward with a grin. "Kid thinks he's tough. How about I open you up and see what you're really holding?"

He lunged, the knife thrusting toward Ethan's gut in a sloppy arc, his weight shifting forward too soon, telegraphing the move. Ethan read it instantly: the junkie's right shoulder dipped a fraction before the strike, pupils dilated from whatever high he was riding, balance off from favoring his left leg, maybe a limp from the bones not properly healing. The arm extended fully, no feint, no follow-up planned, just a simple thrust.

Ethan sidestepped, grabbing the extended wrist mid-thrust and twisting it outward with a sharp yank. The junkie yelped as his elbow hyperextended, the knife clattering to the floor. Ethan drove his knee up into the man's exposed ribs, feeling the crack of bone under the impact, then slammed his elbow down onto the back of the junkie's neck. The man crumpled forward, face-first into the concrete, but Ethan wasn't done. He grabbed the junkie by the collar, hauling him up just enough to drive a fist into his solar plexus, knocking the air from his lungs in a wheeze. As the man doubled over, Ethan spun him around and hurled him into the nearest wall, his head bouncing off the brick with a dull thud. Blood sprayed from a split lip, and the junkie slid down, eyes rolling back, body limp and twitching faintly.

The gaunt man charged next, swinging a wild haymaker aimed at Ethan's jaw. Ethan ducked under it, the fist grazing his mask, and countered with a palm strike to the man's throat, crushing his windpipe just enough to make him gag. As the man clutched his neck, Ethan grabbed a nearby broken chair leg from the floor and swept it, cracking it across the gaunt man's knees. The man howled and buckled, dropping to one knee, and Ethan followed with an uppercut to the chin that snapped his head back, teeth clacking together. Blood poured from his mouth as he toppled sideways, but Ethan hauled him up by the front of his shirt and drove him backward into the stair railing. The metal groaned under the impact, and Ethan finished with a knee to the groin, then a brutal headbutt that split the man's forehead open, sending him sprawling unconscious, blood pooling around his head.

The woman came last, screeching as she slashed wildly with the nail file. Ethan caught her wrist mid-swing, twisting until she dropped it with a cry, then yanked her forward into a clothesline across the chest. She gasped, staggering back, and he grabbed her by the hair, slamming her face into the wall. As she reeled, he swept her legs out from under her with a low kick, sending her crashing to the floor. She tried to crawl away, whimpering, but Ethan planted a boot on her back, pressing down until she went still, gasping for air.

The entryway fell silent, broken only by their ragged breaths and groans. Ethan straightened, flexing his hands, the adrenaline fading without activation—unnecessary for trash like this. He looked down at the one who was least injured, his expression blank behind the mask. "Get out," Ethan said, nodding toward the first junkie, who looked dead, his body twisted unnaturally, blood trickling from his ear. The gaunt man, barely conscious, dragged himself over and hauled his friend away by the arms, the woman scrambled to help, her hands shaking as they pulled the limp body toward the door. They vanished into the night without a word, the door banging shut behind them.

Ethan turned and headed up the stairs. The hallway on the third floor was dim, lit by a single bulb swaying from a frayed cord. Apartment 3B was at the end, the door scarred with old knife marks and graffiti. He tried the handle... locked, as expected.

A faint smile crossed his lips under the mask. He focused inward, feeling his heart rate spike as he activated hyperadrenalism. Sweat beaded on his forehead, pupils dilating, every muscle coiling with power. He reared back and kicked the door just below the lock. Wood splintered with a crack, the frame buckling as the door flew inward, hanging crookedly off the hinge. He deactivated the power, the rush fading and he stepped inside.

The apartment was a disaster, even worse than he'd anticipated. The air reeked of stale smoke, rotting food, and the tang of old blood. Trash piled in corners—empty beer cans, fast-food wrappers, and scattered needles crunching underfoot. The walls were stained yellow from years of neglect, peeling in places to reveal moldy drywall. A sagging couch sat against one wall, its cushions torn and stained with god-knows-what. It reminded him too much of his parents' place. Disgust twisted in his gut, a rare flicker of emotion from him.

He moved through the apartment, ignoring the revulsion. In the kitchen, he rifled through drawers, finding small baggies of white powder—heroin, by the look—and a few vials of something stronger. He pocketed a couple for analysis later, in case they held clues to Iron Row's supply chain. Under the sink, behind a loose panel, was a wad of cash—maybe $2,000 in crumpled bills. That went into his pocket too. In the bedroom, he found a .38 revolver tucked under the mattress, loaded with six rounds. He added it to his arsenal, sliding it into his jacket.

Then, on the nightstand, a phone it looked pretty basic but it was unlocked. Ethan smiled faintly as he powered it on. The contacts list was a goldmine: Names like "Kieran Boss," "Tommy Runner," "Eric Crazy"—clearly Iron Row affiliates. Dozens of them. He scrolled briefly, memorizing a few key ones, then pocketed it. This alone could dismantle the gang if he played it right, or perhaps he could find another use for them bedfore ending them.

He resumed the search, flipping the mattress and checking under furniture. Finally, in a hidden compartment behind the fridge he found a crumpled notebook: the client list. Pages of names, amounts owed, delivery dates. He scanned it quickly, flipping through until his eyes landed on a familiar entry: 'Kane Couple—$12,200 overdue. High risk, frequent buyers.'

His parents, owing nearly the most on the entire list. If the police got this, he'd be suspect number one regardless of whether he'd gotten rid of the other evidence. He couldn't help but feel anger surge through his body, his parents were liabilities, but never had they come so close to ruining him. They would have to be dealt with. "Degenerates," he whispered, the word laced with quiet venom.

*Creak*

He tensed suddenly, ears picking up the soft creak of footsteps in the hallway outside. Someone entering the apartment. Ethan pocketed the list swiftly and melted into the shadows behind the kitchen door.

The man muttered to himself as he walked inside, his footsteps heavy  on the creaky floorboards, the door swinging shut behind him though not closing fully due to Ethan breaking it. Ethan watched from his hiding spot as the man paused in the living room, his broad frame silhouetted against the faint moonlight filtering through the  window, his head turning slowly as he scanned the overturned furniture and scattered trash.

"Filthy," the man growled, kicking aside a pile of empty vials that clattered across the floor, his voice rising in disgust. "Creedence, you sinner, you disgusting parasite, wallowing in your own rot like a pig in mud, you should've been cleansed long ago, I should've done it myself, burned the sin right out of you before it spread."

He paced now, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he looked up at the ceiling, tears starting to well in his eyes.

"Oh Lord," he whispered, his voice cracking as he dropped to one knee, clasping his hands together in prayer, the tears spilling down his cheeks. "I know how disappointed you are in me, I failed to see the corruption in him sooner, I let him linger in this world like a plague, forgive me, please forgive your servant, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

He sobbed then, his shoulders shaking violently, mucus dripping from his nose as he rocked back and forth, his cries filling the apartment like a wounded animal's wail.

Ethan shifted silently, seeing his chance while the man was distracted, slipping out from behind the door with wuiet steps toward the exit, his boots avoiding the creaks in the floor as he edged closer to the door.

The sobbing stopped abruptly, the man's head snapping up, his eyes wide and unblinking as he stared into the darknness. "Someone is here," he said softly, almost to himself, then tilted his head as if listening to a distant voice. "Aren't they, my Lord?"

Ethan froze for a split second, then turned around slowly, deciding in that moment to deal with the threat now rather than risk being followed, his hand dipping into his jacket to pull out the Glock, leveling it at the man's head and squeezing the trigger without hesitation. The gun clicked uselessly, jammed, the slide refusing to cycle, and Ethan felt a surge of anger, his mind flashing to the bartender who had sold him the defective piece of junk, the man probably laughing now at ripping off another fool.

He dropped the Glock to the floor with a clatter and reached for the .38 revolver he had found in the bedroom, yanking it from his pocket and aiming again, but the man had already turned around fully, his arm lifting in a swift motion, and a plume of flames erupted from his palm, roaring toward Ethan.

Ethan twisted his body at the last second and dove sideways into the adjacent bedroom, the flames licking the edge of his hoodie as they scorched the doorframe, the heat intense enough to singe the air itself.

He slapped at the burning fabric on his shoulder, patting it out quickly before the fire could spread, then rolled forward onto his feet in one motion and pressed himself against the wall, slipping behind a half-toppled dresser for cover.

"Who are you who comes to this place," the man's voice boomed from the living room, his footsteps approaching slowly.

He twitched then, his head jerking to the side like a puppet on strings, his eyes glazing over for a moment.

"Do you think he's involved, my Lord," he murmured, pausing as if awaiting a response.

"You do," he said after a beat, nodding to himself.

"Could he be the sinner who killed Creedence," he continued, stepping closer to the bedroom doorway, his shadow stretching across the threshold.

"What should I do with him, my Lord," he asked, tilting his head again, listening intently to the silence.

"Yes... yes... kill him... yes, that would be the way," he concluded as he burst through the doorway, his palm flaring with light once more.

"Sinner... prepare to be cleansed by the Lords divine light, channeled through me his humble apostle!"

Ethan leaned out from behind the dresser and fired the .38, the shot cracking loudly in the confined space, it hit the wooden frame next to the man, but before he could fire off another shot, the man swept his hand in an arc and a shimmering wave seemed to rush towards Ethan, the gun's barrel suddenly hissing as an invisible corrosion ate at the metal, rendering it useless in seconds.

Ethan tossed the ruined revolver aside and ducked as another blast of flames scorched the top of the dresser, forcing him to roll sideways across the floor to avoid the heat, coming up in a crouch behind the bed frame while the man advanced slowly.

"And the Lord said, let there be light, and there was light," the man spoke, his voice booming as he thrust his palm forward again, sending a radiant burst that illuminated the room in blinding white, forcing Ethan to shield his eyes and sidestep blindly to avoid the searing wave that charred the mattress edge.

Ethan circled the room, keeping furniture between them, his dagger drawn now as he feinted left and darted right, but the man anticipated and released a plume of invisible force, knocking Ethan off balance and slamming him into the wall, the impact jarring his ribs even through the Kevlar vest.

The man pressed the advantage, stepping closer with his hand extended, and murmured, "For our God is a consuming fire," as flames licked from his fingers, forcing Ethan to vault over the bed and land on the other side, the heat singeing his pants leg as he rolled away. Ethan countered by grabbing a loose floor lamp and swinging it like a staff, the base cracking against the man's arm with a thud, but the man barely flinched and retaliated with a sweep of his hand, as a controlled blaze erupted along the lamp's length, forcing Ethan to drop it before it burned him.

The man lunged then, his free hand grabbing for Ethan's throat, but Ethan sidestepped and drove his elbow into the man's side, feeling ribs give slightly under the blow, then followed with a knee to the thigh that buckled the man's leg momentarily.

The man recovered quickly and backhanded Ethan across the chest, the impact carrying an unnatural heat that seared through the fabric despite the vest, sending Ethan retreating back into the kitchen doorway.

"And they shall know that I am the Lord, when I have executed judgments in her," the man intoned, advancing again with his palm glowing, releasing a focused beam of light that Ethan barely avoided by dropping low and sweeping his leg out, tripping the man forward.

The man caught himself on the counter and spun, his other hand flicking out with a burst of radiance that illuminated Ethan's hiding spot, forcing him to charge in close, dagger slashing toward the man's arm. The man blocked with his forearm, the blade glancing off as if meeting resistance from some sort of body armour he wore, then countered by grabbing Ethan's wrist, his grip burning hot like divine wrath, quoting, "The Lord will smite thee with the botch of Egypt, and with the emerods, and with the scab, and with the itch, whereof thou canst not be healed," as a corrosive warmth spread from his touch, eating at his skin making him drop the dagger.

Ethan wrenched free and headbutted the man in the nose, blood spraying as cartilage crunched, then drove his fist into the man's gut twice in quick succession, each punch landing with a meaty thud that doubled him over. The man gasped and swung wildly, his fist connecting with Ethan's shoulder and sending a burst of fire at him, but Ethan grabbed the man's extended arm and yanked him forward into a knee strike to the face, the impact lifting him off his feet slightly before slamming him back against the wall.

The man slid down but pushed off the floor with surprising strength, tackling Ethan around the waist and driving him through the doorway into the living room, both crashing onto the coffee table that splintered under their weight. Ethan rolled away as the man climbed to his knees, his hand flaring again with light, but Ethan kicked him in the chest, sending him sprawling back, then pounced, pinning one arm and raining punches down on his face, each blow splitting skin and drawing blood.

The man bucked and freed his arm, grabbing Ethan's throat with a burning grip, the heat intensified, forcing Ethan to break the hold with a punch to the elbow and retreat a step. Ethan pressed again, grabbing the man by the collar and slamming him into the ground, the impact shaking the floor, then lifted him slightly and drove his knee into the man's sternum, feeling bones creak under the pressure.

The man wheezed and rolled away, coming up with his palm extended, but Ethan sidestepped the burst of light and countered with a grab to the man's wrist, twisting it behind his back and slamming him face-first into the wall, the plaster cracking from the force. Ethan pounced again, mounting him and grabbing his throat while punching the solar plexus repeatedly, the blows compressing the diaphragm until the man convulsed.

Ethan quickly realized the "divine" displays were not supernatural at all but a clear emission and manipulation of various gassed. The clues had begun clicking together from the revolting chemical smell during the burns, the way the gun had corroded as if exposed to acidic vapors, and the brief glint of a lighter in the man's sleeve during one of the flares, meaning he was emitting flammable or corrosive gases and igniting them for the effects, which explained the resistance to his own gases but not the subsequent flames, the sscarred skin he could see all over the man's body confirmed that. Though it was possible he did have at least a partial resistance, as the scars would be worse if he used his ability heavily.

With that understanding, Ethan spotted the the rusted gas pipe running along the wall near the kitchen, its valve slightly leaking from years of neglect, and he realized he could use the environment to turn the man's power against him by forcing a mix of his emitted gases with the natural gas in the room, creating a volatile buildup that would ignite on the man's next flare and overwhelm his partial resistance.

Ethan snapped the pipe open and backed away, baiting the man to rise, and as the man staggered up, blood dripping from his mouth, Ethan feinted a charge to draw him toward the pipe, then dodged as the man thrust his palm forward again, the gases emitting in a plume that mingled with the leaking natural gas.

The man twitched and prepared another attack, but Ethan grabbed a loose floorboard he had noticed earlier and swung it like a bat, cracking it across the man's lighter-holding arm to force the ignition early, the spark catching the mixed gases and triggering a contained explosion that engulfed the man in his own flames, charring his skin further as he screamed.

Ethan then closed the distance. He was annoyed that he'd taken so long to do this. It seemed that hyperadrenal was a rather finicky ability; due to his body already being flooded with adrenaline, it interfered slightly with him activating it. Annoying. But once he realised the problem he calmed himself down, now that he knew of such a side efffecy he would not let it happen again. Focusing inward he activated his hyperadrenalism, his heart rate spiking suddenly as sweat beaded on his forehead and pupils dilated, every muscle coiling with amplified power that surged through his veins like fire.

He launched into a vicious combo, starting with a grab to the man's collar that lifted him off the ground before slamming him down onto the floor with bone-jarring force, the impact cracking ribs audibly as the man gasped. Ethan followed by hauling him up again and driving a punch into the already damaged jaw, the blow snapping the man's head sideways with a spray of blood and teeth, then grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back while delivering a knee to the spine that arched the man's body in pain.

He released the arm and spun the man around, slamming him chest-first into the wall where the plaster gave way in a cloud of dust and he went through the wall. Ethan walked through the hole in the wall then yanked him back by the hair and punched the same rib area three times in rapid succession, each strike deepening the breakages until the man wheezed blood. Ethan then lifted him overhead with both hands and hurled him toward the ceiling, the man's back hitting the exposed beams with a thud that rained debris down, before he crashed to the floor in a heap, and Ethan pounced again, mounting him and grabbing his throat while punching the solar plexus repeatedly, the blows compressing the diaphragm until the man convulsed.

A sharp pain stabbed through Ethan's chest then, his heart fluttering irregularly like it was skipping beats, the hyperadrenalism's surge straining his cardiovascular system beyond its limits after the prolonged usage of it, and a deep ache spread through his muscles, forcing him to deactivate the power with a gasp, the rush fading abruptly and leaving him vulnerable for a split second.

The man seized the moment and bucked hard, freeing himself enough to thrust his palm up, quoting through bloody lips, "For the day of the Lord cometh, for it is nigh at hand," as he channeled his remaining strength, his body emitting a massive buildup of methane and acetylene that filled the room, then sparked it with his lighter despite the damaged arm, unleashing a roaring inferno that exploded outward, flames engulfing everything in a blinding wave.

Ethan flipped backward over the nearby couch in one fluid motion, grabbing its edge mid-flip and pulling it down with him as a shield, the heavy frame crashing back and absorbing the blast's force, the fabric charring and smoking but holding long enough to protect him from the worst of the heat. Ethan stood up slowly, brushing off embers from his singed clothes, and looked at Eric, whose skin looked charred in patches, fresh burns mixing with old scars that covered his body like a map.

Ethan stood over Eric with his fingers still flexed. The man's body lay twisted on the floor and his chest rose and fell in shallow gasps. Ethan felt the pull of the power inside Eric stronger now and it caused him to step closer while his own heart throbbed with a dull ache from the earlier surge. The apartment smelled of charred flesh and smoke which made his eyes water slightly. He reached out toward Eric's chest, the energy leaked like heat from a fire and he needed to grab it before it faded.

Another meta-ability would be added to his collection.

*CRACK*

The door crashed open behind him and wood splintered from the frame. Renee Montoya stepped through with her gun drawn and her boots scraping on debris. She swept the room with her eyes and locked on Ethan which caused her to plant her feet wide. "Hands up! Now!" she shouted, while she heaved, making her shirt pull tight across her breasts.

Ethan paused his reach and turned his head toward her slowly, the sudden noise pulleing his attention. He kept his hands down and assessed her stance, it was clear she was ready to fire—he'd need to be careful.

She squeezed the trigger once and the shot cracked into the wall beside him causing plaster to explode in a cloud of dust that rained down on his shoulders and stung his eyes.

His head snapped fully to her. She met his gaze and her expression shifted slightly as recognition hit her which made her frown slightly. That wasn't good... he'd need to deal with her if she recognised him, but killing a detective would only make the situation worse.

"Put your hands up now!" she commanded, her finger tightened on the trigger again.

Ethan stayed still and calculated his options which included whether to activate his power despite the growing pain in his chest from the earlier use. The adrenaline residue still coursed through him, which caused his muscles to twitch faintly. His heart also skipped a beat irregularly making him hesitate, he'd never activated his ability in such quick succession before. A foolish mistake. It seemed constantly flooding his system over and over again is much more taxing than prolonged use.

"I said hands up don't make me ask again!" Renee barked and squeezed off another shot into the plaster by his shoulder causing more dust and splinters to shower down while the recoil jerked her arms and made her jacket shift open slightly.

Ethan blinked away the dust and felt it settle on his mask which caused him to exhale slowly. He raised his hands halfway because complying bought time but his mind raced as he looked for a solution.

He rushed forward in an explosive burst, each stride building from the last as his enhanced leg muscles coiled and released with amplified force, propelling him across the space. Renee reacted instantly to his charge and fired straight at his chest, the bullet striking the Kevlar vest with a muffled thud that compressed the layered fibers and absorbed the impact energy, bruising his sternum but not penetrating.

She adjusted her aim upward slightly since the first shot didn't stop him, firing again so the second bullet hit the vest near his shoulder, causing a sharper jolt that radiated through his arm muscles but the material held firm without tearing. Now too close for her to evade, Ethan slammed his shoulder into her midsection, the collision lifting her off her feet and hurling her backward across the room, her body impacting the wall with a crack that spiderwebbed the plaster while the force jarred her spine and loosened her grip, sending her gun flying from her hand to skid across the debris-strewn floor.

Ethan straightened immediately as the tackle's follow-through cleared his path, advancing on her slumped form to end the threat, but a sharp stab tore through his chest due to the repeated activation of Hyperadrenal which overtaxed his heart, the extreme adrenaline levels causing irregular contractions from depleted potassium and strained cardiac muscle fibers that hadn't recovered from the prior use against Eric, forcing him to gasp and fall to one knee as dizziness hit from the sudden arrhythmia.

His vision blurred momentarily while blood pressure fluctuated, but he panted heavily to stabilize his oxygen intake and deactivated the ability, the rush fading which left his muscles aching from lactic acid buildup as sweat poured down his back. He looked up through the clearing haze and saw Renee recovering, pushing off the wall with a groan that propelled her forward unsteadily toward the gun.

Ethan pushed through his own lingering chest pain and rushed forward again, sliding over a nearby table in a fluid motion, the surface allowed his momentum to carry him across, landing on the far side which positioned his boot to connect with the gun's slide and kick it spinning out of reach under the couch.

Renee cursed under her breath before she swept her leg in a quick arc toward his ankles to knock him off balance.

He hopped back to avoid the sweep, shifting his weight to his toes which enabled a light landing and preserved his stance for the counter. She lunged upward from her crouch as the failed sweep provided momentum, tackling him around the waist with surprising force that drove him backward a step before he braced his legs to halt the push. He leaned back to counter the tackle's pressure and gripped her sides, his hands sliding under her jacket to feel the curve of her ribs and lifted her, throwing her toward the TV with the added momentum from her lunge to send her crashing into the screen with a shatter of glass that sliced shallow cuts on her arms.

She cursed loudly, "Fuck!" as the impact jarred her shoulders and caused blood to well from the wounds, rolling to her side which enabled her to push off the floor with her hands and leave smears on the carpet as she got up. Ethan jumped forward into a superman punch, leading with his right fist extended as his body followed in a horizontal leap.

She avoided it by twisting her torso at the last second, causing his knuckles to graze her shoulder instead of landing solidly. He threw a right cross immediately after touching down as the missed punch left his arm positioned to chain the follow-up, aiming for her jaw in quick succession.

She deflected it with her forearm raised in a block that absorbed the impact and led to a forming bruise, countering with a straight jab to his shoulder that connected solidly. He grabbed her wrist after the jab as her arm remained extended from the punch, twisting it to pull her off balance before stepping in and pivoting his hips against hers, pressing their bodies together briefly where her thigh brushed his.

She pushed off the nearby wall with her legs as the throw had positioned her close to it, adding momentum to her flip over his hip which let her land on her feet instead of the ground. She used the extra force to counter by grabbing his neck and yanking him forward while her leg hooked his, throwing him down onto his back with a thud that knocked the wind out briefly.

She dropped onto him immediately as the throw placed her on top, straddling his waist which pressed her hips against his groin, her thighs clamping tight as she drew her fist back and hammered down toward his face in rapid strikes. He blocked the first with his forearms crossed, absorbing the impact that caused his muscles to ache, then bucked his hips up to unbalance her which shifted her forward slightly and allowed him to grab her punching arm mid-swing, twisting it sideways while his other hand pushed her shoulder, rolling them over so he ended up on top and pinned her wrists to the floor.

"Give up!" She grunted as she struggled. "You're already in trouble for attacking a law enforcement officer, don't make it worse for yourself."

Renee twisted her hips sharply to the left and bridged up with explosive force from her core muscles, bucking him off balance which caused his grip to loosen on one wrist as she yanked it free and drove her elbow into his ribs, the impact thudding against the Kevlar but still jarring his side enough to make him shift his weight, allowing her to roll them sideways where she reversed the position momentarily by hooking her leg over his and using the momentum to flip him onto his back.

She scrambled to her knees as he hit the floor and followed with a downward hammerfist aimed at his throat, but Ethan caught her forearm mid-strike and twisted it outward while kicking up with his boot into her midsection, the sole connecting solidly with her abdomen which knocked the air from her lungs in a whoosh and sent her stumbling back onto her feet, clutching her stomach as she gasped for breath, her breasts rising and falling rapidly under the strained shirt.

Ethan kipped up to his feett from the ground and closed the distance with a feint jab to her face that drew her guard high, then dropped to sweep his leg at her ankles, but Renee hopped over the sweep and countered by stomping down on his extended calf which pinned it momentarily and caused a spike of pain through his muscle, forcing him to roll away as she pressed the advantage with a knee strike aimed at his head that grazed his shoulder instead when he dodged.

He came up swinging a right hook that she ducked under while stepping inside his reach and delivering a short uppercut to his chin, the blow snapping his head back slightly through the mask but not dazing him as he absorbed it and wrapped his arms around her waist in a clinch, lifting her off the ground and driving her backward into the kitchen counter where the edge dug into her lower back, her thighs wrapping around his hips instinctively for balance which pressed their groins together through the fabric, the friction sending a brief, unwanted spark of heat through her as her sweat-slicked skin slid against his arms.

Renee grunted from the impact and raked her nails across his masked face, tearing at the mask near his eyes which forced him to release the clinch and step back, but she followed immediately by grabbing a loose pan from the counter and swinging it in a wide arc toward his temple, the metal whistling through the air as he leaned back to avoid it and countered with a straight punch to her solar plexus that landed flush, doubling her over as air exploded from her lungs and caused her to drop the pan with a clang.

She recovered faster than expected and lunged to tackle his legs, wrapping her arms around his thighs which brought her face level with his groin for a split second before she lifted and drove him backward, slamming his back into the refrigerator door that dented under the force while her shoulder dug into his abdomen, the close contact making her breasts press firmly against his legs as she strained to take him down.

Ethan braced against the fridge and brought his elbow down onto her spine in a sharp strike that made her gasp in pain and loosen her grip, allowing him to shove her away and follow with a knee to her chest that she blocked with crossed arms, the impact jarring her bones but giving her enough space to roll sideways and grab a broken chair leg from the floor, swinging it like a club at his knee which he sidestepped while kicking the weapon from her hand, sending it skittering across the room.

Renee cursed under her breath and charged again with a flurry of punches, starting with a left jab that he parried followed by a right cross he ducked under, then a hook to his body that glanced off the vest as he twisted away and countered with a palm strike to her sternum that pushed her back a step, her shirt riding up slightly to expose the sweat-glistened skin of her midriff where muscles tensed from the hit.Both of them were breathing heavily with sweat dripping from their faces, the room a wreck of shattered furniture and smoldering embers around them.

Renee shifted stances and moved forward and feinted a wild punch to his left side, drawing his guard there as she stepped in closer, then spun on her heel and unleashed a huge roundhouse kick that connected solidly with the side of his head, the force ripping the mask free and sending it flying across the room to land in a pile of debris.

Her eyes widened as she saw his face clearly for the first time, recognition hitting her like a gut punch that made her stagger back a step, her breath catching in her throat while her mind raced to process it. Ethan Kane, the kid from the academy. "It's you! Bullock was right!" She said in shock as she stood there.

Ethan touched his exposed jaw where the kick had split his lip, tasting blood that trickled down his chin, and looked at her. "I wished you didn't do that," he said calmly, the words hanging in the air for a beat before he focused inward, activating the hyperadrenalism despite the strain, his heart rate spiking as adrenaline surged through his system once more. He closed in fast, and grabbed her extended arm from the kick's follow-through, twisting it behind her back which forced her to arch forward.

She tried to elbow him with her free arm, but he ducked under it causally and drove a knee into her thigh, the hit numbing her leg and causing her to buckle slightly, which let him sweep her other leg out from under her and slam her down onto the floor, her back hitting hard enough to knock the wind out of her while her arms flailed.

Ethan mounted her quickly, pinning her thighs with his knees as he rained down punches, starting with a jab to her jaw that snapped her head sideways and split her lip, blood spraying across her cheek which made her taste copper and groan, then followed with an elbow to her collarbone that cracked audibly and caused her to cry out in pain, her body bucking beneath him as her hips ground up against his groin in the struggle.

She bridged her hips desperately to throw him off, but he shifted his weight forward to maintain control, grabbing her throat with one hand which restricted her air and made her gasp, her nails raking down his arm to draw blood that trickled warm over his skin, prompting him to release and drive a final punch into her temple, the impact dazing her as stars burst in her vision and her eyes rolled back, her body going limp beneath him with a final shudder.

Ethan released his grip on Renee's throat as the pain in his chest sharpened into a vise-like squeeze, his heart stuttering from the overload of adrenaline that had pushed his cardiovascular system beyond its limits for the fourth time that night, it left him lightheaded and caused him to roll off her, his back hitting the floor as sweat poured down his face and soaked into his shirt.

He pushed himself up slowly, the ache radiating through his limbs as he staggered to his feet and walked over to Eric's body, the lingering pull of the power inside the man drew him closer until he knelt beside the charred form, reaching out to grasp Eric's wrist; the energy had started to fade during the fight with Renee, and now as he focused, he realized it was gone entirely—the man was dead, his chest no longer rising, the body cooling rapidly in the smoky air which caused Ethan to freeze in place.

He stood there for a minute, staring at the corpse as disappointment built in his gut and twisted into frustration that tightened his throat, the loss of the ability hitting him like a physical blow that caused his fists to clench and his vision to blur with unexpected tears, the raw emotion surging up because the power had been so close, so tangible, and now it was wasted, prompting him to scream in anger, the sound ripping from his chest as he slammed his hands against the nearest wall, the impact jarring his palms and sending plaster dust cascading down while tears streamed down his face, his body shaking with sobs that wracked him uncontrollably.

"I didn't get the ability!!!!" he wailed, his voice breaking as he punched the wall again, the sting in his knuckles causing fresh tears to fall, "and the police found me, what do I do, what do I doooooo," the words tumbling out in a desperate howl that echoed through the apartment, his knees buckling slightly as he slid down the wall and pounded the floor with his fists, the emotional overload crashing over him like a wave that left him gasping and trembling on the ground.

"I HATE IT!!!!"

"I HATE IT!!!!"

"EAAAAHHHHH!!!!"

He stopped abruptly after a few moments, the sobs cutting off as he cleared his throat and wiped his face with the back of his hand, the tears smearing dirt across his cheeks which caused him to take a deep breath and steady himself. "That's better," he said to himself quietly, the calm returning as the outburst faded. 

He wasn't used to such strong emotions, like anger because his life had been a void of detachment until the power awakened him, making any intense feeling hit like a flood that overwhelmed his mind, but now that he'd released it causally through the breakdown, the fog lifted and he could think clearly again.

Set this place on fire and leave, he decided, standing up as the plan formed in his mind, the causality of destroying evidence leading him to scan the room for accelerants like the scattered liquor bottles and rags near the kitchen. He then looked at Renee, her unconscious form slumped against the wall where he'd left her, blood trickling from her lip and cuts on her arms that caused shallow pools to form on the floor, prompting him to tilt his head slightly as he pondered.

What to do with the nosey detective.

_____________________________________

Renee stirred slowly and found herself lying on a  thin mattress, her head pounding with a massive headache that throbbed behind her eyes like a hammer striking an anvil repeatedly, making every small movement send waves of nausea through her body as she groaned and forced her eyelids open. Her vision blurred at the edges, the room swimming in hazy shapes and dim light that filtered through what looked like metal bars or walls, causing her to blink rapidly while she pushed herself up on one elbow, the cool air raising goosebumps on her skin which made her realize with a jolt that she was completely naked, her body wrapped in various bandages around her arms, ribs, and thighs.

Not far from the mattress sat a simple metal tray with a plate of food and a bottle of water, the condensation dripping down its side as if it had been left there recently, but the sight only heightened her confusion and dread because this wasn't a hospital or precinct holding cell.

She swung her legs off the edge unsteadily, her bare feet hitting the cold concrete floor which sent a shiver up her spine that made her breasts sway slightly as she stood, but her knees buckled almost immediately from the lingering dizziness and she stumbled forward a step, catching herself on the wall while calling out in a hoarse voice, "Help, is anyone there, let me out," her words echoing off the confined space as she moved toward what looked like a door.

"You're awake," a voice said calmly from behind her, causing Renee to spin around in shock, her heart jumping into her throat as she lost her balance for a second and steadied herself against the wall, her naked body exposed fully in the turn which made her cross one arm over her breasts instinctively while the other shielded her groin.

She saw a massive glass wall that divided the cell from another room, one she hadn't noticed before because of the dim lighting and her blurry vision, and behind it sat Ethan, lounging on a chair with one foot propped up on the seat and the other dangling casually, his posture relaxed as he watched her with those same calm blue eyes that now sent a chill down her spine.

Renee stumbled over to the glass, her bare feet slapping against the floor as she hit it with her palm, which vibrated slightly from the impact but didn't give, and she pounded again while demanding, "Let me out right now, Ethan, this is kidnapping, assault on an officer, on top of two counts of homicide, you'll go down for life, the entire GCPD will hunt you, release me or I swear I'll make sure you rot in Blackgate."

Ethan remained unfazed, tilting his head slightly as he replied, "Do you think you're in a position to make demands," his gaze drifting casually over her bandaged, naked form without a hint of lust or shame, though the vulnerability of her exposed skin—her nipples hardening from the chill, the curve of her hips shifting as she pressed against the glass—registered in his mind as a simple fact, a body like any other but one that had proven surprisingly resilient in the fight.

She scowled, her face flushing with anger that made her breasts rise and fall faster with each breath, "Where have you taken me," she demanded, her eyes darting around the cell again to take in the sparse setup—a toilet in the corner, a sink, the mattress, nothing else that could be used as a weapon or tool.

Ethan scratched his chin thoughtfully before answering, "I suppose there is no harm in telling you," and he leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms casually. "I have a classmate called David Doothenhall, his family are pretty rich, a few years ago his father fled the country for crimes related to kidnapping and sexual assault."

Renee narrowed her eyes, the memory surfacing through the headache as she replied with disgust, "I remember that, we got a bunch of evidence through an anonymous tip, but didn't make it in time to—"

Ethan smiled faintly

Renee noticed this. "Don't tell me..."

Ethan nodded. "I wanted to be a hero when I was younger, I investigated the disappearances of a string of young women and managed to link them all to Richard Doothenhall, when I broke into his house I found this place, after that it was a simple matter of gathering the evidence."

She processed that, her scowl deepening while she pressed her body closer to the glass to hide her nakedness somewhat, the cool surface making her skin prickle as her thighs clenched together unconsciously.

"As to why I brought you here? The police will expect you to be hidden in an abandoned building or a warehouse or a gang hideout but not a place like this," Ethan continued, "and considering no one has lived here for years it's the perfect place."

"Why kidnap me?" Renee growled, as she banged on the glass again, the vibration traveling up her arm which made the bandages shift slightly over the curve of her breast.

"After I knocked you out I had a choice," Ethan explained calmly, "I could leave you in the fire I started and let you die which would protect my secret, or I could kidnap you which would also protect my secret though it would run the risk of complications further down the line."

"Why not just let me die," Renee asked.

"Whether it's because you're dead or missing, Gotham PD are going to put a lot more resources into the case," he replied, "either way it's bad for me, however killing you is a choice I cannot take back, it ends the endless branches of choices that lay before me, I am also quite adverse to killing people believe it or not." Ethan leaned back further as he added, "While I don't mind killing those who deserve it, I would prefer not to kill those who are just trying to do their job."

"How noble," Renee commented sarcastically, her lips curling in a sneer that made her full mouth twist while she pressed her forearm tighter across her breasts to cover the hardening nipples from the chill.

"Plus in a strange way I feel as if I owe you something," Ethan said with a grin that didn't reach his eyes.

"What?" Renee said, confusion knitting her brows as she leaned forward against the glass.

"You allowed me to take note of my weaknesses, both with my ability and my skill," he explained, "I believed myself to be a formidable fighter yet I could tell your skill surpassed mine, may I ask who trained you?"

"You may not," Renee replied flatl.

"No matter," Ethan said dismissively.

"How long are you planning to keep me here," she asked.

"Until I can find a suitable alternative," he answered, "you have information of my identity, once I remove that you'll be more than welcome to leave."

Ethan then stood up smoothly, the chair scraping back as he turned toward the door on his side of the glass. "I have to go now, I've left all the amenities you might need."

Renee shouted after him, pounding on the glass with both fists which made her breasts bounce freely as she dropped her covering arm, "Release me now, Ethan, you can't keep me here, this is insane, the department will tear this city apart looking for me, you'll never get away with it!"

He ignored her completely, walking out without a glance back, the door clicking shut behind him which left her alone in the cell, her shouts echoing off the walls as frustration and fear mixed in her chest.

(AN: So Ethan has screwed up, he was too confident and because of that he didn't account for someone being a better fighter than him. Some of you may wonder why Renee is more skilled, she is pretty well renowned as a good Martial Artist and was trained by Richard Dragon in some comics. Ethan while trained did not do so because he enjoyed it, he did it because it gave him a feeling other than emptiness, he did not train to become the best. Anyway despite that the fight was still pretty even. Also regarding Hyperadrenal, the weakness is canon in alphas, bill gets it pretty bad until season 2 at least. Anyways things are going to be moving forward and Ethan is going to go power shopping pretty soon.)