DC: All for One Chapter 4: Race Start!

"Listen, kid, this blazer of yours has been confirmed as a direct match to the piece we found at the scene," Harvey said. He leaned forward on the table, pressing both hands flat against the metal surface as he fixed his eyes on Justin Blake. The kid's shoulders hunched in on themselves, and despite his usual smug posture around the academy, right now he looked like a cornered animal.

"You've got to be making a mistake," Justin said quickly, his words tumbling over each other. "There's no way. I don't even know who this guy is." His voice pitched higher. "I've never even been near someplace like that. Why would I? I wouldn't step foot in some filthy dump."

Renee, sitting beside Harvey, rolled her eyes at the snobbishness, resting her elbow on the arm of the chair.

Harvey's scowl intensified. "We've had an analyst compare the tear marks. Ninety-eight percent accuracy, Blake. That's about as good as it gets. We have evidence linking you directly to the crime scene, and you're gonna sit here and tell me you know nothing? I'll tell you what, you keep stonewalling, and maybe I'll let you spend the weekend in lockup to think about your story."

Justin's mouth opened, then shut again. His gaze bounced between the two detectives.

"I don't think there will be a need for that," Renee said, breaking the tension slightly. She leaned forward. "Look, Mr. Blake, this is a very serious matter. Now, you don't strike me as the kind of kid who would go out of his way to murder someone—"

"I'm not!" Justin said, cutting her off almost desperately. "I really am not!"

"Exactly," Renee replied, giving a small smile. "But you have to admit, all this? It's not looking good for you. Right now, we've got enough to charge you with third-degree murder."

Harvey smirked faintly. "Do you know what they do to good-looking boys like you upstate?"

Justin's breathing quickened, his chest rising and falling as panic started creeping into his voice. "I didn't do it. I didn't! I swear I didn't!" His fingers curled into fists on the table. His eyes darted toward the door as if searching for a way out.

"Calm down," Renee said sternly. "When we spoke to you at school, you told us you were alone between four and eight p.m. that day. That means you've got no alibi, and we have physical evidence tying you to the crime scene. Justin... you need to give me something if you want my help."

Justin sat frozen, his mouth opening and closing without sound. Harvey suddenly slammed his palm down on the table, the crack echoing off the interrogation room walls. "Talk!"

"Alright! I wasn't alone!" Justin blurted out. Sweat trickled down from his hairline and dotted his temple.

"Now we're getting somewhere," Renee said, flipping open her notepad with deliberate calm. "Where were you between those times?"

Justin shifted in his chair, staring down at the tabletop. It took a long moment before he spoke. "I was... on a date."

Renee's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Alright. And who was the other person?"

"Nathan Lane... he's another student at Gotham Acadmey," Justin muttered, almost like he regretted saying it the second it left his mouth.

Renee made a quick note that he was in the closet. "And where was this date?"

"The private dance club at Gotham heights, The Astoria," he said, looking as if he were ashamed.

Before she could follow up however, the door swung open. A tall man in a charcoal suit strode in, he had a hard expression on his face, especially when he looked at the two detectives. "What exactly do you two think you're doing? Interrogating my client before I arrive? This is completely unacceptable."

He stepped to Justin's side, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's alright, Justin. Your family will be here shortly. We'll get this whole misunderstanding straightened out."

Harvey leaned back in his chair and gave the man a slow once-over. "Oh, great, they hired you... still enjoying the money from Falcone? Eh Tommy boy?"

The lawyer seemed to twitch with anger, but did well in keeping it hidden. "Sofia Falcone you'll find was ruled innocent at the trial by a jury of her peers, so I find it highly unprofessional for you to insinuate she is a criminal."

Harvey snorted and looked to be about to offer a rebuttal.

"Harvey," Renee said, shooting him a look that cut the jab short. She closed her notepad and stood. "We've got what we need for now."

Harvey let out a grunt that might have been agreement and pushed back from the table. Without another word, the two detectives made their way to the door. Renee gave Justin one last look before stepping out into the hallway, leaving him alone with his lawyer.

Once outside the interrogation room, Renee and Harvey made their way back across the bullpen to their adjoining desks, each dropping the case files and Harvey's battered notepad onto the cluttered surfaces. Harvey collapsed into his chair, the springs groaning under him, and ran both hands over his face before leaning back with a slow exhale.

"Damn it..." he muttered, the frustration plain in his voice.

"What a waste of time," Harvey grumbled.

"You don't think he's guilty?" Renee asked, a little sarcasm in her tone as she flipped through the pages of the file.

Harvey gave a short chuckle. "Give me a break. That boy would pass out at the first sight of blood. Hell, he probably still gets his dinner cut up for him."

That drew a faint chuckle from Renee. "Alright, so what's next?"

"Still need to confirm the alibi with the Astoria," Harvey said, tapping his notepad with a pen. "I'll shoot a message over to Judge Harrison and get a warrant for their CCTV and guest records."

"And after that?"

"All we can really do is follow up on the client list. That's the big one."

Renee nodded. "We've got the size of the blazer. I can have the School Records pull every student who fits that size and get us a shortlist."

"Yeah..." Harvey said absently, his eyes unfocused, his mind clearly somewhere else.

"Yo, Bullock, what's your problem?" Renee asked, nudging the base of his chair with her boot.

Harvey blinked, snapping out of whatever track his mind had been on. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "I keep thinking about that kid."

"Which one?"

"The one in the science lab, Ethan Kane."

"What about him?" she asked, taking a sip from her coffee cup.

Harvey shook his head. "I don't know. I just got a gut feeling."

"You think he's our guy?"

"I can't say for sure. No alibi, lives close by... but we've got nothing solid tying him to the scene."

Renee considered that. "His parents could've been involved with Creedence. That'd give him a link, even if indirect."

"He's a better suspect if you put it like that," Harvey admitted. "But it's all circumstantial at best. Unless I can prove he was there, it would never hold up. Thing is, in my time on the job, I've met a lot of people, specifically some very bad people, and they all have one thing in common."

"What's that?"

"They can stay calm under pressure. I'm not talking about keeping a straight face. I mean completely detached, like they're watching the situation happen to someone else. Most people, especially kids, crack a little when they're sitting across from cops. Their body language shifts, their voice cracks, they sweat. But that kid?" Harvey shook his head. "He talked to us like we were just two people making small talk."

"Maybe he was confident in his innocence?" Renee commented with a shrug.

Harvey snorted. "Tell me one other kid we interview that wasn't at least a little nervous speaking to us, who else was that calm?"

"Now that you mention it..." Renee said slowly. "I can't think of anyone else being that calm."

"Exactly. But it's still a gut feeling," Harvey said. "We stick to the other leads first. One of them's bound to lead us to something."

Renee nodded, but before she could say more, a uniformed officer approached their desks.

"Detectives, Commissioner Gordon wants to see you," she said.

"Thanks Irene," Renee replied, rising from her chair. Harvey heaved himself up with a grunt, and together they made their way down the hall to Gordon's office. Inside, the blinds were half-drawn, slanting light across stacks of paperwork on the Commissioner's desk. Gordon was bent over a report, the man looked almost as haggard as they did. He looked up as they stepped inside.

"Bullock. Montoya. Have a seat."

"Hey, Jim," Harvey said, dropping into a chair, without even so much as a salute.

"How you holding up, Harvey?" Gordon asked.

"Oh, you know," Harvey replied with mock cheer, "Living the dream. Bad coffee, worse takeout, same shitty wage."

Gordon smirked and turned his attention to Renee. "What about you Montoya, how's it working with that lump as a partner?"

Renee smiled faintly. "He's not too bad."

"Good." Gordon leaned back. "So, where are we on the case?"

"Not great," Harvey said plainly. "But it's still early. We've got some leads to work, should have more to go on soon."

Gordon gave a short nod, then reached for a file on the corner of his desk and tossed it onto the table between them. "I hate to drop this on you in the middle of that, I wouldn't have done it if I didn't think it was connected to your case."

Harvey pulled it toward him and flipped it open. "Ah, shit..."

"What is it?" Renee leaned in to look.

"Eric Davis. Aka 'The Apostle,'" Gordon said, sitting back in his chair. "Metahuman. Abilities unknown. Claims he's God's chosen."

Gordon continued, "He's been around a long time. Bounced between a few different gangs over the years. Me and Bullock have crossed paths with him before, but we never managed to catch him, he's good at lying low and has enough connections that he's protected pretty well."

"You think he's our killer?" Renee asked.

Gordon shook his head. "Not exactly. You see the building overlooking the alley where Creedence was murdered was broken into after the murder we are still trying to confirm what time. Four apartments were hit. Three people dead. The fourth managed to survive and as well as a description they managed to hand over footage from a nanny cam, it caught Davis's face clear as day."

"Shit, it really is him," Harvey said, looking at the attached photos. "Fucker looks as old as you, Jim."

"If he's not the killer, you think he's working with Iron Row?" Renee asked, her eyes narrowing.

Gordon nodded. "Most likely. Survivor says he kept pressing her about what happened in that alley. That tells me he's digging for someone, and if Iron Row's involved someone like Eric Davis then this isn't good."

"Great. So he's working for Iron Row." Harvey rubbed his face. "That's ruined my whole damn day, and I was already having a particularly shit one."

"One of you keep working the case," Gordon said firmly. "But I want one of you to take point on Davis. He's a higher-level threat than your current suspect."

"I'll take him," Harvey said immediately.

"That's fine," Renee said. "I'll track down Creedence's last known residence and see if I can turn up a client list."

"Good," Gordon said. "Then I won't keep you. You've both got work to do."

_____________________________________

The Gotham Police Department had left not long after detaining Justin for questioning, an arrest carried out right in front of nearly the entire class. Ethan wasn't the sort to dwell on petty victories, but he couldn't help feeling a small flicker of satisfaction at the sight of Justin's eyes watering as the two detectives marched him out of Gotham Academy. After that, the rest of the afternoon passed with little incident, save for the constant undercurrent of gossip. Every group of students seemed to be whispering about what they had seen, adding new layers of exaggeration with each retelling.

Ethan, however, barely heard any of it. His mind was fixed on his earlier conversation with the detectives. It was strange, the way they were operating, especially for someone like Creedence. This wasn't just a routine homicide investigation. Barely a day after the man's death, they already had suspects, leads, and were actively working them. That kind of efficiency wasn't typical for some low life drug dealer. It was possible they were just model detectives, doing everything by the book. But far more likely, Creedence was more important than he appeared.

'They implied they could protect me if I cooperated,' Ethan thought, tapping his pen against his notepad. But that could mean different things. A lighter sentence was one option. Protection from retribution was another option, assuming Creedence had people who might want to settle the score. Possible gang affiliation? It would make sense. No one sold in Gotham without being under someone's umbrella. The Cosa Nostra controlled the East End, but that still left the question of which of the five families Creedence belonged to, and that was assuming he was operating with permission. It was always possible he was part of a rival gang pushing into another territory.

'Speculation is a waste of time.' He needed Creedence's address.

The problem was, he didn't know anyone who had been close to the man, he didn't even know his name until the detectives had told him. He didn't know which gang he belonged to, and he couldn't even be sure he lived in the East End. It was possible he could set up a facial recognition software and run it through the city's camera network when he eventually accessed the servers to erase his own trail, but that would take too long. He needed something faster.

The bell for the last class rang, pulling him from his thoughts. Students began gathering their things as they excitedly got ready to go home or to their various clubs.

"Hey, Ethan, are you coming to the club room?" a voice called from behind him.

He turned to see Barbara Gordon, smiling brightly at him.

Barbara Gordon, daughter of the Police Commissioner.

Ethan felt the corners of his mouth lift, the expression forming almost without thought. She mistook it for a smile meant for her, and her own cheeks colored faintly. "Yeah, let's go," Ethan said, slipping his books into his bag and standing up.

"Right..." Barbara replied, her blush deepening slightly.

They walked down the corridor together. Ethan kept his pace just behind her, letting her lead the way, while his mind turned over the problem in a new light. With her father being the Commissioner, it was almost certain that his home computer setup had secure access to the GCPD database. If Ethan could get to that machine, it would be a simple matter to search for Creedence's address directly. All he needed was an excuse to be invited to her house. That was the real obstacle. While they'd known each other in passing for a few years, they'd only begun speaking properly over the last couple of days. He wasn't sure how to go about forming that kind of relationship, he wasn't sure how to form any kind of relationship. The only friend he had was Artemis and even then he wasn't sure how that happened.

This would require planning something that felt natural enough to avoid suspicion but specific enough to get him where he needed to be.

Barbara unlocked the club room door, and they stepped inside together. "I was thinking, since we worked on my project yesterday, we could do one of yours today, if you have one," Barbara said, turning toward him as she set her bag down beside one of the desks.

Ethan gave a small nod. He didn't exactly have a prepared project, but an idea was already forming in his head. The only real thing he'd been working on outside of the lab was a half-finished drone, but that was more for passing the time. This, however, could be something far more useful. If he was going to be more active in certain... activities... he would need to stay ahead of surveillance. Cameras were everywhere in Gotham. Avoiding them was possible, but avoiding them without being obvious about it was much harder. He could think of a relatively simple device—something that emitted a narrow-band interference signal targeted at the CCD and CMOS sensors used in most digital surveillance systems. The signal wouldn't disable the camera, but it would create a consistent, localized blur or distortion in the area immediately around him. With enough fine-tuning, it could even modulate its frequency so it didn't trip automated tamper alerts.

That would be enough for one function. But he could build in a second, with only a little bit more tinkering.

According to Dr. Eduardo Dorado's research, metahumans emitted a faint, unique form of bioelectrical energy—it was subtle, barely distinguishable from background noise, but measurable with the right sensitivity. Ethan already had detailed readings on his own metagene, so building a short-range directional scanner capable of picking up similar signatures was plausible. It wouldn't detect someone across the city, but within thirty or forty meters? It was possible, and perhaps he could extend the distance later.

How to explain this to a Barbara...

The first function could be passed off as a test-bed for exotic particle interference on camera sensors. The second could be disguised as an attempt to detect "exotic matter emissions" in an urban environment. Perfectly harmless-sounding for a science club experiment.

He looked up at Barbara. "I've got something in mind," he said. "I was thinking about building a small device to scan for exotic matter, or at least, phenomenon that shouldn't naturally be present in an urban area. The sensors would be short-range, so the idea would be to test them around the city and see if we can pick up anomalies. It'll need a portable power system and a custom receiver module, so we'd have to fabricate most of it ourselves."

Barbara's expression brightened as he spoke, her head tilting slightly as she listened. She nodded along, clearly interested. "That... actually sounds fun," she said with a bright smile. "Way better than rocket boots at least..." Barbara tilted her head slightly. "Where'd you even get the idea for this? And do you already have the schematics?"

"I just came up with it," Ethan replied without hesitation. He set his bag on the table, unzipped it, and pulled out a spiral notebook and a mechanical pencil. Without any further explanation, he began sketching shapes and component layouts.

Barbara found herself watching him closely, her eyes fixed on the way his hand moved over the page. She could feel her cheeks getting warm, but she didn't look away. Ethan didn't seem to notice, his focus was locked entirely on the diagrams.

It wasn't until he suddenly looked up and asked, "What materials do we have on hand?" that she snapped out of it. He then held up a piece of paper with the different materials that the device would need.

"Uh—uhm," Barbara stammered, startled by how intently she'd been staring and feeling a little embarrassed. She cleared her throat and looked at the list. "We have a couple of R+ Pi boards, an Arduino Mega, micro-servos, a set of LiPo batteries, heat sinks, old camera lenses from a disassembly project, basic resistors, capacitors, some RF modules, and a box of miscellaneous sensors I'm not sure about the rest, though we do have quite a lot of raw materials."

Ethan paused mid-sketch, then methodically crossed out certain parts of his design. He started adjusting the schematic to compensate for what they didn't have—substituting the Arduino in place of a custom PCB, swapping the ideal frequency-tuned transmitter for the RF module, reworking the power system around the LiPo batteries.

Barbara leaned over to look at the page, her hair brushing lightly against his shoulder. "Mmm," she hummed thoughtfully. "That's clever, changing the RF setup to dual-purpose. You could actually route the sensor feedback through the same channel to reduce wiring."

Ethan glanced at her. "You're right..."

"And maybe," she added, "replace the lens housing with one of the old phone camera mounts. It'll be smaller and more compact."

He studied the note, then gave a small nod. "Yes, it would provide more space for an amplifier." He went about to making the corrections while Barbara watched him.

"This is really good, Ethan," Barbara said, smiling at the layout. "It's hard to believe you just thought of it."

Ethan gave a small shrug and went back to work. Once the design was roughed out, he stood and headed to the large storage room across the club room. He turned the handle, but it didn't budge.

"Oh, sorry," Barbara said quickly, walking over and joining him. "We keep it locked when it's not in use. Too many expensive parts in there." She pulled a small key from her pocket and unlocked the door. "Probably a good thing, too, since the science lab door broke last night."

They stepped inside together, scanning shelves filled with neatly labeled bins and stacked equipment. They collected the components they needed, placing each on a tray. As they worked, Barbara glanced at the 3D printer in the corner. "You know, we could print the base casing for this. That way, we can get the hardware fitted perfectly without having to build a frame from scratch."

Ethan nodded. "Agreed."

They set up at the main table and began building. Ethan's plan to get closer to her was nagging at him, he knew he had to do something but he didn't know what—he wasn't good at social interaction, on any level deeper than the surface.

Ethan tried conversation and found himself asking what he found were the most logician questions questions. "Do you always stay for science club?"

"Most days," Barbara said, smoothing filament across the printer's feed. "It keeps me from climbing the walls at home. I like building things. I like fixing things. My uncle got me into soldering when I was little. I fried a motherboard once trying to overclock it and learned a lot about smoke detectors..."

Ethan nodded. "You must have a good base in coding?"

"Yeah. Python for most of it, C when I care about speed, a little Rust when I hate myself," she said, laughing. "I did a summer course in embedded systems."

"I see," Ethan said.

Barbara then looked up at Ethan. "What about you, what do you do out of school?"

"I build small things. Drones. Tools. Some other stuff."

"What do you do on weekends?" she asked, curious.

"I stay in," he said. "I workout. I cook. I study."

She glanced at him. "Any siblings?"

"No."

"Favorite class?"

"None," he said after a beat.

"Favorite food?"

"Rice and eggs," he said. "It is easy to make."

She smiled at that, then filled the space again without making it feel forced. She told him about a robotics competition she wanted to enter next term, about trying to decide between Gotham U and an out-of-state program if she got in, Hours passed, the two of them soldering, assembling, and testing. By the time they had the main body and hardware complete, the clock on the wall showed just past six.

Barbara rubbed her forehead and gave a satisfied smile. "We made good progress today."

Ethan, however, frowned faintly.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I was hoping to finish the device today," he said.

Barbara gave a small, understanding nod. "Me too. But the academy will be closing soon. They'll probably ask us to leave."

"I know we could finish it if we had just a few more hours," Ethan said, brushing his hair back with one hand.

Barbara's heart skipped at the word we. In her mind, it meant he wanted her there with him to complete it. She felt a sudden, nervous rush, a flutter in her body. "W-we could... um, if it's not too forward, we could go to my house," she said quickly. "I've got a workshop in my garage. It's got enough equipment to get this finished, we only need to program it right?"

Ethan looked at her with a thoughtful expression. To Barbara, it seemed like he was weighing whether to turn her down. In reality, he was stunned. He'd been close to giving up on finding a way to get an invitation; ready to write it off as a puzzle he couldn't solve, and now she had handed it to him. He was still unsure why she'd offered, but he wasn't going to reject it. "That sounds like a good idea," he said, already beginning to pack away tools and materials.

Barbara was caught between shock, excitement, and nervousness. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words didn't come.

"Let's go," Ethan said, breaking the pause.

She swallowed, nodded quickly, and grabbed her bag, following him out of the club room. They stepped out into the cool evening air, the streetlamps flickering on one by one as Gotham's sky turned a deep gray. The sidewalk outside the academy was nearly empty, just a few lingering students shuffling off toward the bus stop or down side streets.

"I brought my car today," Barbara said as they crossed the front steps. "We can take it, if you want."

Ethan turned his head, one eyebrow lifting. "If you have a car, why do you walk to the academy?"

Barbara felt her cheeks warm but kept her t voice calm. "I like to walk. It clears my head. But my dad... doesn't think it's the safest way to get here. He insists I use the car when I can."

Ethan nodded in agreement. "He's right. Gotham is unsafe."

They rounded the corner toward the faculty parking lot, where a dark blue sedan sat near the far end. Barbara hit the key fob, and the car gave a short chirp. They slid inside, Barbara behind the wheel, Ethan sitting in the passenger seat as he fastened his belt. The engine rumbled to life, and Barbara eased out onto the road, merging with the slow stream of traffic. Ethan turned his gaze to the passing streets—storefronts with bars over the windows, the occasional food cart, graffiti-covered walls slipping by in streaks of color.

Barbara started to speak the moment she merged into traffic, though Ethan wasn't fully paying attention and was instead thinking of a plan to get access to the commissioners personal computer. Though when she accidentally brushed his thigh when changing gears he snapped out of his thoughts.

"There's a science competition in a few months. Nationwide. Biggest one in the country for students. The smartest people in America show off their inventions," Barbara said, while trying to keep the excitement out of her voice.

Ethan glanced at her briefly, then back to the glass.

"I want to apply," she continued. "But the competition's brutal, college-level projects, students from Harvard, Princeton, Yale. That's kind of why I started the rocket boots. I thought they'd be a good entry."

She caught herself and gave a quick smile. "I'm sorry, I'm probably boring you."

"It does sound interesting," Ethan said. And to his surprise, he realised he meant it.

Barbara's heart gave an involuntary jolt at the sound of sincerity in his voice. She adjusted her grip on the steering wheel, focusing back on the road.

"The rocket boots wouldn't win, though," Ethan added after a pause. "They have practical uses, yes. But outside recreational or some military applications, they're niche."

Barbara made a humming sound, then nodded. "Yeah... maybe."

"The best entry would be something biological," Ethan continued.

She raised an eyebrow. "Biological?"

He nodded again. "Advanced tech is everywhere now. Too easy to replicate. If you can alter DNA or develop a new energy source, you'd get attention—not just from the judges, but from the world. DNA work is more realistic in your timeframe."

Barbara mulled that over. "Okay... but what could we do that would actually impress them?"

"I'd need to think about it," he replied plainly.

"We've got a few months," she said.

"What's the prize?" he asked.

"Full scholarship to any college, all the way to doctorate level. Half a million dollars. And a personal lab."

Ethan gave a short huff. "Excessive."

Barbara grinned. "It is. But it's only held every five years, and the foundation's backed by some ridiculous money."

"I'm interested," Ethan said. With that kind of capital it would make his future plans a lot easier and his own lab... while he wouldn't use the lab itself he'd certainly relocate the equipment to a more secure location.

That simple answer left her smiling again, and before long she was turning down a quiet residential street lined with brick houses. She pulled into the driveway of a neat two-storey home and killed the engine. "My mom might get... overexcited when we walk in," Barbara warned. "I've never brought a boy home before—" She realised what she'd just said and flushed scarlet. "Not that I mean like that, just—ugh, you know what I mean."

Ethan didn't respond, simply opened his door and stepped out.

Barbara quickly followed. "My brothers are probably home too. Hopefully they'll stay out of the way."

They walked up the short path, and Barbara pulled her keys from her bag, unlocking the door with a metallic click. "Mom, I'm home!" she called as they stepped into the hallway. "I have a friend with me—we're gonna work in the garage!"

Footsteps came from the kitchen, and Barbara's mother appeared, wiping her hands on a tea towel, the smell of something cooking wafting in behind her. Her eyes lit up the instant she saw Ethan.

"Well, hello," she said warmly. "I'm Barbara—like that one over there. Nice to meet you."

Ethan gave a polite nod. "Good evening, Mrs. Gordon. Ethan Kane. I attend the same academy as your daughter." He extended a hand.

Instead of shaking it, she stepped forward and hugged him. Ethan froze in place, every muscle going rigid. The only person who had ever hugged him before was Artemis, and even that was rare. He didn't move, didn't speak, just waited for it to be over. "Please, call me Barbara," she said when she let go. "Or Barb, so it's less confusing. Actually, no—call me Barbara, and we'll just use the family nickname for little Barbara."

"Mom!" Barbara groaned from beside him. "Don't."

"It's cute!" her mom insisted, turning back to Ethan. "Call her Barbie, like we all do. Less confusing that way."

Barbara's face dropped into her hand, the tips of her ears burning red.

"That would be more efficient," Ethan said matter-of-factly.

Her mom laughed. "Efficient—he's funny Barbie!" She reached out again, patting his arm, then giving his shoulder a playful smack. "Wow, you're in good shape. Barbie sure has good—"

"Alright, that's it. Let's go, Ethan." Barbara grabbed his arm and practically hauled him toward the garage.

"We'll be in the garage," she told her mom without looking back.

Her mom just smiled knowingly. "Dinner's in an hour! Ethan, you're welcome too!" she called after them.

Barbara dragged Ethan into the garage and shut the door a little harder than she needed to, leaning her back against it as if she was holding something back from following them in. She pressed her palms over her face and groaned. "Oh my god..." she mumbled through her hands before lowering them just enough to peek at him. "So, what are the odds you didn't hear any of that?"

Ethan just looked at her, his expression as unreadable as ever.

She sighed, dropping her arms with a resigned shake of her head. "Right. Figures. Let's just... get to work. Maybe we can finish before dinner."

"Okay, Barbie," Ethan said, turning toward the workbench.

The name hit her like a spark. Her cheeks flushed, and for a second she couldn't tell if she wanted to bury her face in her hands again or smile. She muttered under her breath, "Calm down, Barb..." and moved to unpack the device from her bag. They laid out the components, and Barbara slid her laptop across the bench. "You're gonna have to take lead on this. I don't really know exactly what the specifications should be."

"That's fine," Ethan said without hesitation. He pulled the laptop in front of him, fingers already moving across the keys as he began writing the program. Barbara focused on the hardware, checking connections, tightening the casing, swapping out a faulty wire for a cleaner one. For a while, the garage was quiet except for the tapping of keys and the occasional click of a screwdriver. The smell of warm dust from the overhead light mixed with faint hints of engine oil from the corner. Barbara finally leaned back and wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist. "Okay, I'm officially starting to feel gross. I'm gonna go shower and change, if you don't mind."

"That's fine," Ethan said, eyes still on the screen. "I'm just finishing up here anyway."

She smiled faintly. "Alright. Don't blow anything up while I'm gone." She headed for the door, her sneakers squeaking faintly against the floor before the door shut behind her.

The moment she was gone, Ethan closed the programming window and opened a new one. His hands moved faster now, this part he didn't want her seeing. He pulled up the laptop's system settings and began mapping the home network, isolating connected devices through IP traces. The goal was simple: find the Commissioner's home computer, set up a bridge, and make sure he could access. Halfway through, something caught his eye—Barbara already had a direct, encrypted link to the GCPD database. Not piggybacked through a public portal, but straight in using her father's login credentials.

Why would she have that?

Footsteps came down the hall. He moved fast, copying the network keys he needed, scrubbing the activity logs, and closing everything down before the door opened.

But it wasn't Barbara.

A boy stood in the doorway, maybe fourteen, with brown hair and wire-frame glasses. His gaze was fixed on Ethan with an intensity that was just slightly wrong. Ethan recognised it immediately. This was someone who didn't process the world like everyone else, it was clear he wasn't a human. Not the same as him, but not many people would be able to make the distinction.

"Hi," the boy said flatly.

"Good evening," Ethan replied. "You must be one of Barbara's brothers."

The boy nodded once, then asked without blinking, "Are you having sexual relations with my sister?"

"No," Ethan said plainly. "I'm here to work on a project we started at the academy."

The boy's brow creased just slightly. "I can't tell if you're lying. Why can't I tell?"

"You're looking for microexpressions. Eye movement, mouth tension, breathing changes," Ethan said. "I don't have any."

The boy stared at him another second before speaking again. "I don't like you being in my house. I'd prefer if you didn't come back." Then he turned and walked out without another word.

Ethan watched him go, filing the interaction away, perhaps he should let Barbara know her brother was a psychopath. 'No not yet,' he thought. The kid wasn't dangerous yet—not that he'd seen—but if he started hurting animals or people, then maybe he'd say something to Barbara. Until then, it wasn't his problem.

Barbara returned a moment later, now in jeans and a loose grey T-shirt, her hair damp from the shower. "I just saw James leaving. He didn't... do anything weird, did he?"

Ethan shook his head. "No." He glanced at the device. "It's done."

Her face brightened. "Let's test it, then."

"The likelihood of exotic matter being present here is minimal," Ethan said. "It's better to let it charge overnight."

Barbara hesitated, then nodded. "Alright. I'll charge it tonight and bring it tomorrow."

From the kitchen, her mother's voice carried in, warm and loud: "Dinner's ready!"

Barbara looked at him. "You don't have to come if you don't want to."

"I need to eat anyway," Ethan said simply.

They left the garage together, the smell of roasted chicken and herbs hitting them before they even stepped into the dining room. The table was already set, plates steaming, and the rest of the Gordon family was filtering in. Ethan sat beside Barbara, still silent, while she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye—half wondering if he'd survive dinner with her family and half hoping he would.

Barbara's mom set a plate in front of Ethan, still smiling like she'd been waiting for this moment for years. "It's so nice to finally meet a friend of Barbara's," she said warmly. "You know, it's been years since Barbie here brought a friend home. I was starting to think she was going to keep us all to herself forever."

Barbara groaned and dropped her gaze to her plate. "Mom..." suddenly wishing an asteroid would slam into the earth.

Undeterred, her mother gestured toward the two boys sitting opposite. "This is Anthony, and that's James Junior, Barbie's brothers and 24/7 pain in the butts."

Anthony gave Ethan an easy nod. "Hey, man."

James Junior flashed a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Hi there!" His tone was cheerful enough to sound polite but carried that strange, practiced quality of someone trying to mimic how normal people spoke. The average person wouldn't pick up on it but Ethan was anything but average.

Before Ethan could say more than a polite "Hello," the sound of the front door opening and closing drifted in from the hallway. Barbara muttered under her breath, "Oh no..." and immediately pushed her fork into the mashed potatoes like they'd personally offended her.

Her mom's grin widened just slightly, enjoying herself far too much. "Did I forget to mention your father's coming home early tonight?"

Barbara's head shot up. "Mom!"

"Oh, calm down, Barbie," she said with a chuckle. "It's not like he's going to bite."

Barbara leaned toward her, lowering her voice but still loud enough for Ethan to catch. "You know what he's like. He's going to make this unbearable."

While they whispered, Ethan remained still. The Commissioner's early arrival didn't concern him. Yes, the police were looking for Creedence's killer, but without hard evidence they had nothing to pin on him. Why would he have anything to fear?

Anthony shifted toward Ethan. "So, uh... do you watch anime?"

"I used to," Ethan replied flatly.

That was all Anthony needed. "Man, I've been watching a ton lately—Fullmetal Alchemist, Attack on Titan, some of the older classics like Cowboy Bebop. Oh, and I got into Gundam recently, though I've only scratched the surface. And JoJo's—God, JoJo's is amazing."

He then stopped as he finally noticed what Ethanhad said. "Why'd you stop?" Anthony asked.

Ethan didn't hesitate. "Because I discovered I didn't have the resources to build a Gundam. And my exploration into Ki yielded little results."

Anthony blinked, processing that. "Wait. Are you saying if you did have the resources, you could actually build one?"

"Yes."

Anthony's jaw slackened slightly. "That's... insane."

Before he could push for more details, heavy footsteps crossed the hallway, and Commissioner James Gordon entered. His presence immediately shifted the air in the room. He greeted his family first, leaning down to kiss his wife's cheek, but his eyes swept over Ethan without a word.

"How was your day?" his wife asked.

"Same old, same old barbs," Gordon replied, shrugging off his coat and hanging it by the door. Then he looked directly at Ethan. "You must be the friend Barbs mentioned."

Ethan rose from his seat, posture straight. "Ethan Kane. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gordon."

"I'm sure it will be," Gordon said before sitting. "Let's eat before it gets cold."

Barbara tried to disappear into her chair, quietly spearing a piece of broccoli like she could hide behind it. Ethan, unaffected, dug into his food as if he'd been part of the family for years.

"So, Ethan," Gordon said after a few bites.

Ethan looked up, meeting his gaze without hesitation.

"How did you and Barbie meet?"

Barbara groaned audibly. "Dad..."

"It's just a question," Gordon said waving her off.

"We've known each other since our first year at Gotham Academy," Ethan answered plainly, "but we only began talking casually this past week when she invited me to join the science club."

Gordon nodded slowly. "You enjoy science?"

"No."

That drew an actual pause around the table. Gordon let out a short chuckle. "Strange choice of club then, don't you think?"

"Maybe he had other reasons for joining, Jim," Barbara's mom teased with a smirk.

"Mom!" Barbara's cheeks flushed crimson.

"Science is easy," Ethan said, unfazed by the implications of what Barbara mom was suggesting. "It always has an answer. There are always laws and rules. The most difficult part would likely be discovering new laws, but in science everything is connected so in the end it isn't difficult."

"A lot of people would disagree with you," Gordon countered, as he leaned forward. He was a little more interested now.

"Perhaps." Ethan replied before setting his fork frown and looking up at Gordon. "If I gave you a crossword with a hundred thousand words, would you call it difficult?"

"I would," Gordon said without hesitation.

"What if out of those hundred thousand words, only a thousand were unique?"

Gordon leaned back, thinking it over.

"People confuse time with difficulty," Ethan continued. "Science is like that. No matter how complex something appears, it still obeys rules. That means it's not difficult, it's just time-consuming."

Ethan then returned to his meal, conversation closed in his mind. Barbara glanced at him from under her lashes, with barely concealed lust and affection; if she didn't know she was attracted to intelligence before she damn well knew it now. She could feel herself invulnerability rubbing her thighs together as he talked. Her mother caught it instantly, hiding a smile behind her wine glass.

"That's an interesting way of looking at things," Gordon said at last.

The rest of dinner carried on with lighter conversation. By the time plates were cleared, Ethan set down his fork. "I should be heading home." He had to go through the database and find out where Creedence lived, he'd go there tonight, it was only 8pm so he had time to get it done.

"I can drive you," Barbara offered quickly.

"I can walk," Ethan replied. "Thank you for the meal, Mr. and Mrs. Gordon."

"It was good to meet you," Gordon said, still appraising him.

"You're welcome here anytime," Barbara's mom added warmly.

Ethan nodded toward Anthony and James. "Goodnight," he said to them as he walked down the corridor. Barbara walked him to the door. "Sorry about... all of that," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"There's nothing to apologise for," Ethan said simply. "It was a new experience... You have a nice family."

Her lips curved into a small smile. "Goodnight. See you tomorrow."

"Goodnight."

Barbara lingered in the doorway, watching until he turned the corner and disappeared from sight, her mind still racing.

_____________________________________

Renee cursed under her breath as she yanked her car door shut, the stale smell of coffee and old case files lingering inside. The clock on the dash read 8:03 PM. She had just left Judge Harrison's chambers, and her blood was still running hot from the conversation. A warrant for the Astoria's security footage should have been a slam dunk. Normally, Harrison wasn't the kind of judge who made them jump through hoops. But tonight? Stonewall city. He'd folded his arms, leaned back, and hit her with the insufficient evidence line, like he hadn't signed off on plenty of shakier warrants in the past.

The Astoria wasn't just a club—it was a high-dollar watering hole for Gotham's top tier. The kind of place that served cocktails in crystal and made you feel underdressed no matter what you wore. And if Harrison had friends who frequented it—or worse, if the owners had him in their pocket—there was no way he'd want that footage out in the wild. Too many familiar faces might show up doing things they shouldn't.

She had to physically stop herself from slamming her fist into his smug face.

"Bullock should be dealing with this shit," she muttered as she slouched back in the seat, the leather creaking under her. But Bullock was chasing down an important lead with Eric Davis, which left the rest of the case squarely in her lap. It wasn't a total loss. Justin probably wasn't their killer, but she'd be a terrible cop if she didn't at least confirm it. And besides, she had managed to get a warrant for Creedence Upshaw's place. That, at least, was something she could work with.

She started the engine and pulled out into Gotham's evening traffic. The sky was a dull smear of orange and purple over the skyline, and the streetlights were flickering on one by one. Her hands gripped the wheel a little tighter as her mind drifted. Working for the GCPD had been... disappointing was too soft a word. Soul-draining was closer. When she graduated from the academy, she thought she was stepping into the fight of her life, ready to make a difference in a city that needed it. Gotham was where she'd plant her flag, where she'd start chipping away at the rot.

But after a few years, she'd learned the truth: the job wasn't about making things better. At best, it was about keeping them from getting worse. At worst... well, she'd seen enough cases buried, enough victims forgotten, to know that sometimes they didn't even manage that.

‘What the hell am I doing?’ she thought. Her parents barely spoke to her anymore. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen Benny. No relationship. No real friends outside the job. Just endless nights trying to fight crime and corruption. Yet Gotham was still the same festering hole it had always been. She'd quit, she told herself more than once. She'd walk away. But the idea never stuck, because under all the bitterness, there was still that stubborn core in her chest—the part that refused to stop trying. The part that wanted to some Gotham a safer place.

She shut the thoughts down before they dragged her any deeper.

By the time she rolled into the harbor district, the air had changed, salt from the water mixing with the stench of diesel and garbage. The buildings here were worn-down brick and rusted metal, their windows either boarded up or covered in grime. You’d think being a centre for trade would make this district one of the richer ones, but it didn’t in fact it was the opposite because of the Chinese triads and other gangs. The harbour District was one of the worst places in Gotham. She parked on the side of the street and got out, keeping her head on a swivel as she started toward Creedence's address. The sidewalk was littered with cigarette butts, crushed cans, and the occasional pile of something you didn't want to step in.

A couple of rough-looking guys leaning against a wall clocked her immediately. “Hey, officer," one of them called, grinning. "You lost?"

"Fuck off," she said without slowing her pace.

Another one muttered something she didn't catch, but she didn't care. She kept moving, her eyes scanning door numbers until she spotted the building she needed. That was when a sudden BOOM of pressure hit her ears, followed by a flash of orange and red exploding from a third-floor window. Glass shattered outward, raining onto the street in glittering shards.

She ducked instinctively, one arm up to shield her face, the other already reaching for her sidearm. The heat from the blast was still lingering in the air when she sprinted for the front door. Her boot slammed into it, splintering the cheap frame, and she was inside, taking the stairs two at a time. “Gotham PD!" she shouted as she hit the third floor. Her voice echoed down the smoky hallway. "Come out with your hands up! Don't make this difficult!"

No answer.

She edged forward, sweeping each doorway until she reached the one hanging half-open with scorch marks creeping up its edges. One hard kick and it banged against the wall. The apartment was clearly a shithole before but now it was a shithole one fire. Furniture overturned. Scorch marks licking along the carpet and walls. Smoke curling lazily through the air.

In the middle of it stood a man in a dark hoodie and mask, crouched over another man sprawled on the floor. The second man wasn't moving—either unconscious or worse. The masked one's hand was reaching out toward him.

"Hands up! Now!" Renee shouted through the room as she sighted down her pistol.

When he didn't move fast enough, she fired once into the wall just to the side of him. The sound cracked like thunder in the confined space.

His head snapped toward her.

And for the first time, she saw his eyes.

They were calm.

And a little familiar.

"Put your hands up now!"

"I said hands up!" Renee barked, squeezing the trigger just enough to send another deafening warning shot into the plaster by his shoulder. Dust and splinters rained down.

He straightened slowly, the firelight throwing his shadow high up the wall behind him, making him look bigger. His gaze locked on her like he was studying every twitch of her muscles.

Then, without a word, his free hand slid into his jacket.

Renee's pulse spiked.

"Don't!" she shouted, bracing to fire.

The man tilted his head just slightly, almost curious, almost daring her—

—and then he moved.

(AN: So here we go, the games begin, Ethan now has a way to track Meta humans, and a way to disrupt cameras. Now he just needs to get the device without leaving any loose ends. Sorry Barbie. Anyway I hope you enjoyed this chapter.)