DC: All for One Chapter 3 - The Game

Gotham City one of the worst places to ever exist. People knew that. Yet they stayed the same; there were many questions as to why they did. Most people believe that it was due to money, which was as good a reason as any. Moving places is expensive and there aren't many opportunities in Gotham that would give that kind of capital. People just became trapped, the poor districts of Gotham were cheap but expensive enough It made saving hard. It also didn't help that energy companies were particularly ruthless during winter. If it weren't for foundations like the Bruce Wayne foundation and The keeping the lights on the initiative. A lot of people would simply freeze to death during winter.  A lot of people found Gotham was like a black hole. Maybe you could get away with skirting around the edges staying for a few days. But if you get caught, you'll never escape.

But Eric Davis had a different opinion.

Eric Davis, a man that stood just above 6ft; rough looking skin that seemed perpetually infected. He worked for Iron Row. He was one of the main enforces, he dealt with problems that were bound to get messy, and he loved every second of his job. Because he knew the truth. He knew the truth about Gotham.

Everyone in the city was a sinner, they were all in hell that was why no one could leave. Because God was punishing them, only a few would be granted salvation, and that was those who managed to leave and go back on the path that God has laid out for them. The rest of them stayed in this hell, forever torn away from the plan, God had for them. But that was why he was here, it was his job to make sure the sinners prayed for forgiveness. It was the reason God placed him here, sometimes he could even hear the Almighty whispering in his ear.

He had even give him a gift to use upon the sinners. One he plan to use the great effect. When he was done with the task, the boss had given him. Eric didn't know why the boss cared so much. Creedence was a disease, a disgusting parasite that added nothing to the gang. He was a sinner that needed to repent, yet every opportunity Eric gave him he declined. It angered Eric just thinking about it. As he tightened his fist, a small bus of flame erupted from his palms.

The Lord's holy fire. One the city will bathe in it.

But first, he had a job to do. Eric moved out of the alleyway he was hiding in and moved across the street towards the alley that Creedence had been killed in. It still had police tape surrounding it, but there were no police officers. He had made sure that when he blew up the bakery a few blocks away. He casually walked under the police tape and started looking around, the moment he did his senses were assaulted by the smell of burnt flesh, a smell he knew quite well. He focused on his sense of smell; by doing this he managed to focus on Creedence. Despite being burnt and his body not even being present, Eric was still able to get his scent from the residuals in the air. But Creedence wasn't what he was looking for. As he kept on moving around the alleyway whilst sniffing, he disregarded various smells. Some he recognised as police officers he had come into contact with, others he didn't recognise but disregarded them as they were around the same age as those he did recognise.

He paused.

*Sniff*

*Sniff*

*Sniff*

There it was on the wall, blood and it didn't belong to Creedence. He didn't recognise the scent, but he knew for sure that it was around the same time Creedence was in the alley. A wide smile spread across Eric's face, he had his man he was sure of it. But unfortunately, unless he just managed to run into him by chance he wouldn't be able to pick him up. Which meant he'd need to do more investigating. There were quite a few windows that looked into the alley he would just search them one by one until someone told him something.

Eric moved out of the alleyway and then into the fast building. He could've waited until night as there was always a chance of someone calling Gotham PD, but during the night is when the Bat came out; the biggest Sinner of them all. The crowned Prince of Gotham. If hell existed it was Gotham, and if the devil existed it was the Dark Knight. Even the thought of the Caped Crusader angered Eric, he tried to cleanse the man before but ended up in hospital. His faith was too weak then, but now it's much stronger and the next time he meets the Bat he would cleanse him as God wills it.

For now he would do as he was told and find out who killed Creedence. Breaking through the front door of an apartment building in this part of town child's play. Once he was inside, he manoeuvered himself to the first apartment that overlooked the alleyway. He knocked on the door politely, while taking his Bible out of his jacket. He heard footsteps inside the apartment, they came towards the door and stopped, he then heard them walk away. 'Another sinner...' Eric thought before he placed a kiss on his Bible and put it back in his jacket.

He then moved back for a moment before rushing forward and kicking the door open. Wood splintered across the ground as the door slammed open, a loud scream could be heard from within the apartment. Eric ignored it and walked inside and straight towards the woman who had ignored him and their Lord.

"Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me."

"Revelation 3:20."

The woman walked backwards into the living room as she kept her eyes on Eric, she kept screaming for help but deep inside she knew it was useless. This was Gotham and screams like this were a daily occurrence.

"The Lord came knocking to you, and yet you ignored his call, you ignored his prophet who was in the middle of doing his duty," Eric spat out.

"PLEASE HELP ME!!!" The woman screamed even louder.

"SILENCE WENCH!!!" Eric's screamed back.

The woman quieted down, the fear she felt making her throat close up. Though despite being unable to talk she still managed to move back. Eric moved closer to her, with slow steps that left very little sound in their wake.

"W-What, d-d-do you w-w-want," she finally managed to stutter out as the icy cold grip of fear grasped her heart.

Eric raised his hand and an otherworldly light seemed to emit from his hands. It was a pure white light that was almost blinding to look at.

"And this is the judgment: the light has come into the world, and people loved the darkness rather than the light because their works were evil. For everyone who does wicked things hates the light and does not come to the light, lest his works should be exposed."

The woman couldn't back up anymore she hit the wall. Now all she could do was stand there and look as Eric got closer and closer.

"As one gathers silver and bronze and iron and lead and tin into a furnace, to blow the fire on it in order to melt it, so I will gather you in my anger and in my wrath, and I will put you in and melt you."

Eric held his hand up directly in front of her. She could feel the heat coming from his palms, and a strange revolting smell that she could only imagine came from Eric himself.

"Judgement has come upon you sinner, now look into gods holy light and be judged!" Eric screeched.

The woman started to cough violently as the light intensified. That cough soon turned into a scream as she felt an unbearable burning pain across her body; on every inhale the burning sensation seemed to invade her lungs and it felt as if she were being burned inside out. Eric stood there in judgement as he watched the first parts of the woman's skin melt off. She fell to the floor still screaming, all her nerve endings were on fire, it truly felt as if she were submerged within the lakes of hell. Eventually her screaming stopped as her vocal cords either tore or burned; not long after that she went still.

Eric put his hand down and the bright light from his palm died down. He turned away from the woman and walked into the centre of the room before kneeling down.

"Our Father, who art in Heaven,

Hallowed be Thy name.

I have sent another sinner into Your embrace.

Let it be known—

She stood before Your holy light,

And was found wanting.

By fire, by steel, by judgment made flesh,

Her sins are no more.

Not by my will, but Thine.

I am but the vessel,

Your hand made real in a world of filth.

Cleanse what remains.

Purify what follows.

And let the wicked see what waits beyond the veil.

Amen."

He then paused as if he heard something. Eric looked up and strained his ears.

"...Yes... I hear You."

He nodded slowly, eyes wide, lips parting as if receiving words directly into his soul.

"I— I know, my Lord. I acted too quickly. I was overcome... Yes. Yes, I remember. You told me to question her. To discover the demon responsible for murdering Creedence."

His voice trembled. He dropped to his knees, bowing his head low to the ground.

"Your wisdom humbles me, Father. You are right in all things. I let my hand move before Your voice was done speaking. Forgive me. Please, forgive Your unworthy servant."

He spread his arms wide, as if offering himself to be struck down.

"I am dust beneath Your feet, Lord. Your will be done—only Your will. Not mine. Never mine. I will listen better. I swear it. I will hear You next time, I will wait. I will wait for Your word alone."

His eyes brimmed with tears as he looked back up toward the unseen presence.

"Thank You... for correcting me. Thank You for Your mercy. I am nothing without You."

Eric then stood up and turned to the girl, in his heart, he hoped she was alive. If so, he could fulfil God's plan. He moved over towards her and sat down. He held his fingers to her neck and checked her pulse; she still had a slow heartbeat. "She is still alive, Lord," he's spoke in a quiet whisper. He put his hand over her face and held it there for a moment. He held it there for a while before she suddenly opened her eyes, she looked around for a moment before she started to scream in pain. The burns across her body were more painful than she had ever experienced, and while no noise came out of her mouth when she screamed, it was easy to tell she was suffering.

"Be silent sinner, and speak of the event that took place outside in the alleyway," Eric tried to say, but the woman was clearly not listening, her eyes closed and her mouth was open, silence continuous emanating from it.

"Speak and God shall relieve your suffering child," Eric said again trying to encourage to woman. But it seemed to be in vain. Eric didn't even think the woman was aware he was there. It seems the devil had already claimed her soul and all he could do was send her the rest of the way. Holding his hand up again, he pointed it in front of her face and slowly the screaming stopped and the woman went still once more.

Eric stood up and dusted off his hands. "It seems like we'll need to check another apartment."

_____________________________________

Renee Montoya stood at the machine and watched as the dark liquid spilled from the spout into her cup. The cup vibrated slightly on the metal grate beneath it, catching the vshaking of the slow drip that came at the end. She didn't move, not even when the machine let out a short beep to signal it was done.

The beans used in the brew had started in Brazil. They were grown in rows across a sloping farm in the countryside, picked by hand and thrown into baskets, sorted by grade, then sent to a nearby facility where they were dried and packed into burlap sacks. Those sacks were loaded into crates, and the crates were stacked in the back of a shipping truck. The truck drove for miles to a port, where they were moved onto a container ship. The ship crossed the Atlantic Ocean. It stopped once for customs checks, then continued up the eastern seaboard until it reached a dockyard outside Gotham. The container was offloaded, sent to a roasting facility on the edge of the city, where the beans were heated, ground, packaged, and vacuum-sealed. Those packages were boxed, stamped, and sent to a regional warehouse.

They sat on metal shelving for eight days before being marked for distribution. One box went to a grocery store, another to a specialty café downtown. One was directed to a bulk supplier contracted with Gotham Police Department. It was delivered along with other cafeteria stock—napkins, plastic forks, powdered creamer, and paper cups. The staff unboxed it without reading the label, emptied the grounds into a plastic bin, and stored it beside the filters.

This morning, one of the cafeteria workers had scooped from that bin and poured the grounds into the machine. They pressed a button and walked away.

Now it was in her cup.

Renee Montoya picked it up, lifted it to her mouth, and drank without hesitation. She swallowed. She didn't blink.

"Still tastes like absolute garbage," she said, before pouring it down the sink and leaving the cup there. "Better hope Bullock has got me something better," she muttered as she walked out of the cafeteria and back towards her desk. It had been nearly two days since the new murder case had been dropped on her lap and she had just gotten the autopsy results of the murder victim. Though calling him a victim was a bit of a stretch, he had a rap sheet a mile long and honestly the world was a better place without him. However she still had a job to do, though looking at it, this wasn't going to be easy. Renee sat down at her desk and flipped open the autopsy file.

_____________________________

AUTOPSY REPORT

File ID: GPD-2008-0826-U

Subject: Creedence Upshaw

Sex: Male

Age: 36

Height: 6'1"

Weight: 203 lbs

Location of Recovery: East End alley

Examiner: Dr. Joseph Arnett

Case Assigned: Detective R. Montoya, Detective H. Bullock

⸻

SUMMARY FINDINGS

• Multiple fractures across both hands — knuckles, proximal phalanges, metacarpals

• Cranial trauma: Depressed skull fracture, left parietal lobe, with cerebral hemorrhaging

• Cause of death: Blunt force trauma to the head

• Secondary trauma:

• 3rd-degree burns over approximately 68% of the body surface

• Not consistent with immediate cause of death

• Burns appear post-mortem; likely intentional

• Toxicology Report:

• Blood shows severely elevated levels of epinephrine (adrenaline) — 12x the typical fatal threshold

• Note: This level of adrenaline would typically induce cardiac arrest in a healthy subject. Subject showed no signs of heart failure prior to cranial trauma

• No foreign DNA recovered

• No defensive wounds inconsistent with closed-fist striking

• No bullet or stab wounds

• Burn damage obscured most dermal identifiers

• Fingertips damaged to the point of eliminating usable prints

⸻

Renee flipped past the pages of organ weights and liver discoloration. She paused at the photograph inserts, barely glanced, then went back to the meat of it. The knuckle fractures stood out first. Both hands. Not clean breaks; stress patterns suggested they were sustained through blunt trauma, likely from landing punches. Not blocking them.

"So he was swinging," she muttered.

She flipped forward. Skull fracture. One good hit. No signs of hesitation. Smashed his head against the wall, must've taken incredible force. The burns came after. Intense enough to ruin any trace evidence. Nothing under the nails, no saliva, no hair, no skin from the attacker. Fire took care of that. A fast job. Probably gas or accelerant. Covered the body in it, torched it, and walked.

She tapped the page twice and sat back in her chair.

"Somebody wanted this done quickly but still knew enough to get it done effectively. No prints, no trace left."

She scanned the tox screen again. The adrenaline reading caught her eye. She leaned forward, frowned, and read it twice.

Twelve times the fatal dose. That wasn't a typo.

There was a note from the coroner in the margin.

"Epinephrine levels abnormally elevated. This should have induced cardiac failure. No signs of arrest. Unusual stability in cardiac rhythm. Consider chemical enhancement or abnormal physiology."

Her eyes narrowed.

Could be a meta. They had been popping up much more often these days, though they still weren't too common. Hell not even everyone in the police department knew about them. Creedence could be one of them. Then again, Creedence was a known junkie. His rap sheet read like a novel. Assault. Burglary. Arson. A few scattered narcotics charges. Could be some new drug. A booster. Something that floods the system with adrenaline and burns fast. Would explain the aggression, the fight, the lack of fear.

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.

"Still doesn't explain who gave it to him. Or who cleaned it up afterward." There was no signs of any drug delivery methods in the alleyway, no needles or pills or anything. Either it didn't exist or the suspect took it with him.

She reached over and grabbed her notepad, scribbling a few things down:

• Fought hard (knuckle fractures)

• One heavy blow ended it (skull trauma)

• Body torched — cleanup

• Epinephrine spike — drugged? Meta?

She stared at the list for a moment.

Creedence had enemies. That much was obvious. But from the autopsy report things just weren't looking right. Creedence had 12x the amount of adrenaline a normal human could have, and he was throwing punches that broke his knuckles. Whoever fought him must've been even more of a monster; to be able to handle that he'd need to be. Either way, someone knew what happened. And Renee wasn't going to let them keep it to themselves.

Renee put the for down and then flipped through the stack of witness statements on her desk, dragging her finger along the top of each page as if hoping one would suddenly offer something different. But they didn't. They all read the same way, line after line of useless repetition. Didn't see nothin'. Heard a noise, saw the fire later. Woke up when the sirens came. One even said they thought it was just some drunk lighting trash again.

She sighed and leaned forward with her elbows on the desk, and her hands pressing against her forehead. The buzzing of fluorescent lights overhead didn't help. Neither did the loud sound of someone laughing two desks down. She rubbed her eyes hard with the heels of her palms, then leaned back and stared at the ceiling.

"I need coffee," she muttered.

"Ask and you shall receive," came a familiar voice behind her.

She looked up. Harvey Bullock stood there holding two cardboard coffee cups in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other. He smirked and walked over like he was delivering sacred cargo.

"My hero," Renee said drearily, reaching for the coffee as he handed it off. She took a long sip. "God. That's actually decent."

"Good, 'cause I ain't makin' another stop," he said, plopping the bag onto her desk. A few glazed doughnuts inside shifted in the crinkled paper. "Got one for you. Don't say I don't treat my partners right."

"Mm," she hummed, sipping again.

Harvey pulled a chair up to the side of her desk and sat down. "So. You get anything good outta the meat report?"

She shrugged and handed him the autopsy folder. "Knuckles were wrecked. Guy must've fought like hell before death. Skull cracked wide open but we already knew that. No foreign DNA found. Seems like whoever did it must've been a capable fighter. Also—" she tapped the file "—he had adrenaline levels that should've stopped his heart before he even hit the ground. But it didn't."

"Meta?" Harvey asked.

"Doubt it. Junkie. Could've been drug-related. Or someone dosed him for effect. Either way, I've got no concrete angle yet. No prints, no eyewitnesses, nothing to follow up on."

"Well," Harvey said, grinning as he leaned back and reached into his coat, "good thing I'm the man of the hour."

He produced a sealed evidence bag with a folded piece of dark cloth inside.

"Recognize this?" he said, holding it up like a magician showing off his best trick.

Renee straightened. "That from the alley?"

"Bingo. I told you it looked expensive, didn't I? Turns out I was right. High-end fabric, tailored. Definitely not off-the-rack. It belonged to a blazer. And not just any blazer." He leaned forward and tapped the bag. "I tracked down the make. Gotham Academy uniform. Boys' formal jacket."

Renee blinked, surprised. "You're kidding."

Harvey grinned wider. "Nope. Just call me Harvey Bullock: detective extraordinaire."

Renee laughed once through her nose and shook her head. "Alright, hotshot. Did you follow up on it yet?"

"Nah," he said, standing. "I came back to get you. Figured we'd head over there together. Kids are still in class. Principal's expecting us."

Renee downed the rest of her coffee, set the cup aside, and stood.

"I'll get my jacket."

...

The tires hissed against the wet pavement as the squad car rolled out from the station lot and pulled into Gotham's late morning traffic. The sky was overcast, a blanket of gray hanging low enough to graze rooftops, and everything in the city seemed to be running slower than usual. They passed by boarded-up storefronts, soup kitchens already serving early lines, and corners occupied by men too tired or too doped up to care about the cold. Inside the car, the heater groaned faintly. Renee stared out the window for a moment, watching Gotham pass them by, before speaking.

"Did we manage to get anything else off the jacket?"

Harvey shook his head. "Nah. Nothing useful. No blood, no fibers that don't belong to the blazer itself. But..." he trailed off as he adjusted the wheel. "I did hear something interesting from my guy down in the Harbour District."

"Oh yeah?"

"Apparently Iron Row is mobilising," he said with slight concern in his voice. "They're pushin' out toward the East End. Squeezing anyone that might've heard anything about what happened to Creedence."

"Shit." Renee chewed on her thumbnail, her mind already running through the implications.

Harvey glanced sideways. "That's a dirty habit, you know."

"Fuck off," she said, without looking at him.

There was silence for a few seconds before she sat back in her seat and let out a slow breath. "If Iron Row's making moves like that... it probably wasn't gang-related. At least, that makes it less likely. They wouldn't be throwing their weight around like this unless they weren't sure who did it."

"I was thinkin' the same," Harvey replied. He brought his cup to his mouth with one hand while steering with the other.

The car swerved slightly across the yellow line.

"Harvey, stay on the fucking road, Jesus!" Renee snapped as she gripped the passenger door with one hand.

"Calm down, I got it, I got it," he muttered, righting the car and slurping from his coffee like nothing had happened.

Renee kept her eyes on the road for a few seconds just to be sure, then looked back at him. "Gangs aren't gonna take Iron Row crossing lines like that. There's gonna be movement. Retaliation, maybe worse."

"Yeah," Harvey said with a nod. "It's gonna get loud real soon."

Renee bit her lip, her thoughts turning over everything they knew. "Creedence must've been more important than he looked. Most crews aren't the types to light a fire unless someone was pretty high up."

Harvey shrugged. "Maybe... he had a record, yeah, but he's been quiet lately. Seems like he settled into mid-level dealing. Stayed out of the bigger messes."

"Any reason?"

"Could be anything," Harvey said as he turned the car left toward Midtown. "Could be he pissed someone off. Could be he was making side money no one knew about. Doesn't matter now. He's dead."

Renee nodded but stayed quiet. Her fingers drummed against her thigh. Her thoughts drifted back to the fabric; the blazer from Gotham Academy. The idea of someone from that place, a teenager probably, being in that alley with Creedence at that time didn't sit right. If the kid was involved, if they were the one who killed him, then things were already fucked. They'd have to bring him in. That meant paperwork, press, eyes from all sides, and with the department full of leaks, it wouldn't take long before someone sold the name to Iron Row. Then the kid was as good as dead.

Renee couldn't imagine a student from that school tied up with someone like Creedence Upshaw. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe Creedence started it. Maybe the kid was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But none of that would matter once his name got out. The department couldn't protect him. They didn't have the numbers. Or the loyalty from their own officers.

But on the other hand if they didn't find the suspect first, there was a real chance a gang war could start. So if this really was the worst case scenario then they'd end up in a situation where they can either choose the lives of people and offfiers caught in a crossfire in a gang war, or one teenager.

"I hate this job," she muttered.

"Heh," Harvey said with a smirk. "You and me both, Montoya. You and me both."

_____________________________________

At Gotham Academy in one of the classrooms Ethan tapping his pencil against his book. He was impatient. He wanted to be out of here already. He wanted to check on the progress of his program. See how much he has managed to dig up, but most of all he wanted more he wanted another power. He wanted to learn more about Meta humans. He had read the Doctors thesis from back to front at least twice since he had left the science room. Dr. Eduardo Dorado, he seemed to be the leading expert in the field of meta humans but honestly that wasn't saying much since it was all considered a pseudoscience at this point.

While, Eduardo had managed to discovered the gene. He had not been able to link it to any unusual abilities, Though Ethan was able to come up with dozens of different possibilities as to why that was. The most likely cause being that the Meta human he experimented on had an inactive ability or perhaps a passive one that did not present during basic scans. A lack of funding was also a probability he doubted Dr Eduardo even had half the equipment that Barbara had managed to supply to the science lab.

He would need to have a conversation with a good doctor at some point, but for now he needed to think of other things. For example, what was he going to do now? He had the potential to become one of the most powerful beings on this planet. He could be the greatest hero or the greatest super villain, but in all honesty neither appealed to him.

This was a difficult decision, Ethan had spent so much of his life as a mere shade of humanity. He was a mockery of them, despite his genius, he had nothing else in common with them. Until now he'd lived life on mute, he had lived life not wanting anything. But now he's in a position where he can get anything he wants all he needs to do is get more powerful.

Yet, despite that knowledge, he couldn't think of a single thing he wanted. In fact, he could feel the passion and interest he had ever since he first stole the power start to fade away. Was he really going to go back to a lifeless husk? No, he didn't want that. But at the moment there seemed to be no alternative.

'Maybe I should be a hero...' he considered. He had seen the praise and adoration that heroes like Superman got. Perhaps that would give him a greater understanding of people.

The teacher called on him suddenly. "Ethan. You look like you are not paying attention. Why don't you answer this?" She turned to the board and wrote down a long equation with multiple steps. "If you can solve that, you can go back to daydreaming." Her voice was pointed.

Ethan looked at it for only a second before speaking. "The answer is forty-eight."

The teacher frowned. "And how exactly did you arrive at that so quickly?"

"Because the second and fourth terms cancel each other out if you balance them properly. Then you multiply what is left by six and divide by three. It is not difficult."

A couple of the students snickered. The teacher's jaw tightened and she turned away from him without saying anything else. The bell for lunch rang and Ethan immediately stood, picked up his bag, and walked toward the door. He was heading for the lab when the teacher called out, "Everyone. Stay for a moment."

He stopped at the door and turned back.

"I want to inform everyone," she began, addressing the class, "That the Gotham Police Department is here today. They will be questioning students throughout the day, so if you are called, cooperate fully. There is no reason to be concerned."

The room filled with low murmurs as students began whispering to each other. Some asked aloud what it was about, others threw out theories. Someone mentioned hearing about a fire. Ethan stepped into the corridor without a word and walked calmly until he was out of sight of the classroom. Then he turned toward the bathrooms. He entered, checked to make sure it was empty, and locked himself in one of the stalls.

He sat down on the closed lid and began thinking. He was not panicking. The police showing up the day after he had killed that man in the alley was not a coincidence. It meant they had something, but it also meant they did not have enough to come straight for him. If they did, they would not waste their time questioning the entire student body. They were casting a wide net. Which meant he had left something in the alley that could be traced here.

He went through it step by step. Shoes were clean, nothing stuck in the tread. Trousers were fine, no tears or marks. Shirt was fine, though there was still a blood stain on the shirt 'Easily solvable.' His eyes moved to the blazer. He ran his hand along the inside lining and then the seams. That was when he felt it. A patch was missing. The edge was frayed. He could already picture the detectives matching it to whatever they had picked up in that alley. He needed to get rid of this blazer and get another one before they came to interview him.

He stood and unlocked the stall door. As soon as he stepped out, the door to the bathroom opened and Justin walked in with two of his friends.

"Well, well, look who it is," Justin said. "The scholarship case, the street rat, the junkie in training."

His friend laughed. "Heard your mom's still on the pipe."

Justin grinned. "And your old man still too broke to keep a job. You don't belong here, man. This place is for people who actually matter."

Ethan said nothing for a moment, letting them finish. Then he looked at Justin and spoke in a calm voice. "You know, for someone who thinks I don't matter, you spend a lot of time trying to get my attention, got something you want to admit Justin?"

Justin's grin faded into a scowl. He shrugged off his blazer and handed it to one of his friends. "You've earned an ass kicking."

Ethan slowly unbuttoned his own blazer, wrapped it around his waist, and tied the sleeves together. "Come on then. Show me."

Justin stepped forward, fists up. He threw a hard punch toward Ethan's head. Ethan moved to the side and let it pass. Justin threw another, and Ethan leaned back just enough for it to miss. Then another. Ethan pushed his hand against Justin's forearm to guide it past him and stepped around him entirely. Justin swung again, but Ethan turned his body and skipped past him. That was when he felt the shove in his back from Justin. He let himself stumble forward into Justin's friend, hitting him hard enough that they both went down.

"Get off him!" Justin shouted, trying to pull Ethan off.

Ethan stood, brushing himself off. "You really taught me a lesson there, Justin." Then he kicked him sharply in the thigh. Justin fell down, grabbing his leg with a loud grunt. Ethan slicked his hair back, and put on the blazer before walking past them and back into the corridor without another word. He had an hour for lunch break that meant he could return to the science lab and check the progress of his custom software.

He just hoped that Barbara wouldn't be there, it wouldn't be likely, 32% chance maybe? She had a lot of friends at the school and with that came social obligations. Once he finished walking around the corridor, he turned into the science wing and continued going some more before he finally came to the door, still unlocked from when he broke it. Entering inside he was glad to see that it was empty. Heading straight to the computer, he set it up and unhid all the background processes that he had set up that morning.

*20,672...20,834...21,378 individual entries*

A smile stretch across his face. He knew that most of these would be fake; filled with wishful fulfilment and people wanting to play hero. But with every hundred fake ones there was bound to the real one, he just needs to look and make the best decision he could. Opening up a separate window, he decided to start filtering the results; at the moment he would only be looking at Gotham and the surrounding areas. He created a separate program that would take the usernames on those that had posted and link them to any social media they have. By doing this, he was able to triangulate their location at least 83% of the time.

Ethan scrolled through the first batch of filtered results. The usernames, locations, and posts appeared in a clean list across the screen. He opened the first one.

"I can see at night and during the day the same way. It's always bright for me. It's terrifying. Doctors just think I'm crazy. I haven't slept properly in weeks."

Ethan typed into his notes: Enhanced vision — possible constant low-light adaptation, no need for pupil dilation. Potential retinal mutation. Located: Burnley District, Gotham. He marked it as low priority. Useful in some situations, but not exactly what he wanted right now.

The next post was shorter. "Every phone that gets near me stops working. No calls, no texts. They just freeze up. Even radios cut out."

He leaned back for a moment, thinking. Then typed: Electromagnetic field generation — likely low-level EM disruption. Potential to interfere with electronics at close range. Located: New Troy, Metropolis. Medium priority. Interfering with technology could have uses, but it would also be obvious in public.

The third was longer. "My legs don't feel right. They stretch. My arms too. I fell down the stairs and bounced halfway across my living room. My mom screamed. I don't know what's happening to me."

He wrote: Elastic tissue — spring-like kinetic storage. Potential enhanced jumping or striking force. Located: Coventry, Gotham.

The next entry made him pause. "I almost killed a guy last night. He shoved me, I swung, and my fist almost went through his chest. I didn't mean it. I didn't know I could do that."

Ethan typed: Superhuman strength — likely uncontrolled, possibly triggered by adrenaline. Dangerous to others without restraint. Located: Southside, Gotham. High potential if controllable. Also consider similarity to hyperadrenal? Combination of meta powers possible?

Then he clicked the last one in the list. "I think I'm the reincarnation of Christ. I can heal people when I touch them. Cuts close up. Bruises fade. My aunt's arthritis went away. I don't know why me."

He wrote: Regenerative healing by touch — unknown origin. Possible psychosomatic religious delusion present. Located: Bakerline, Metropolis.

He sat back and looked over the five notes he'd made so far. Out of thousands of entries, only a handful so far had sounded like they might be worth pursuing. He also had to consider these abilities might not be meta in nature, and if that's the case, there's a high probability that he would not be able to absorb them. As he considered this, his ears twitched. Three steps of footsteps all coming towards him likely a teacher and the two police officers, based on the fact that one of them was clearly overweight, much more so than any other teacher at the school. Not surprising. He was the street-rat after all. If the police were asking for anyone who knew that drug dealer or was associated with him in some way, then they would likely point the finger at him.

He once again closed down all of the programs he set up and left them running in the background. A couple seconds later he brought up some random science work and pretended to be working on it. He did it just in time for the teacher to knock on the door and then walk inside. Ethan turned around in this chair and looked as the principal and what he assumed were the two police officers walked inside.

"Good afternoon, Mr Kane," the principal said as he came inside.

"Good afternoon sir, is there anything I can help you with?" Ethan asked.

The principal stepped forward first, clasping his hands together. "Mr Kane, your teacher may have already told you, but the Gotham Police Department is here today to ask some questions." He gestured to the two people behind him. "This is Detective Harvey Bullock, and Detective Renee Montoya."

Ethan turned in his chair and nodded to each in turn. "Detective Bullock. Detective Montoya."

"Kid," Bullock greeted with a small nod.

"Ethan," Renee said plainly.

"I'm happy to answer any questions I can," Ethan replied with a polite smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Thanks, Principal," Bullock said, glancing at the door. "We can take it from here."

The principal didn't move yet. "Ethan is seventeen. He has the right to have a guardian present during any interrogation."

"It's not an interrogation," Renee said. "We're just asking a few questions."

"Regardless, I believe it wouldn't be appropriate—"

"Sir, I appreciate your support, but I have nothing to hide." Ethan's voice cut in smooth and certain. "I'm fine speaking with Detectives Montoya and Bullock alone." He smiled again.

The principal hesitated for a moment, then said, "Very well," and stepped out, closing the door behind him.

Bullock pulled a notepad from his coat pocket and flipped it open. "Can't imagine having to spend every day in this stuffy prep school. Your teacher sounds like a pain in the ass."

Renee rolled her eyes slightly but didn't say anything.

"They're not so bad," Ethan said, leaning back slightly. "How can I help you?"

"First thing," Bullock said, pointing at him with his pen, "whatever's said in this conversation stays in this conversation. This is an active investigation. You repeat any of it outside, you could be arrested for obstruction of justice and impeding a police investigation."

"Jesus, Harvey, give the kid a break," Renee said with a huff. "He's not gonna tell anyone."

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry, kid. I'm just bustin' your balls," Bullock said, smirking before flipping to a clean page. "Alright, Ethan Kane, can you tell me where you were yesterday between 4 p.m. and 8 p.m.?"

Ethan looked thoughtful for a moment. "I was here in science club after school finished. After that, I headed home."

"Can anyone corroborate that?" Bullock asked.

"Barbara Gordon," Ethan replied. "She was with me during science club. After that, I'm afraid not. I walked home alone."

"Where do you live?" Bullock asked.

"East End," Ethan said.

"Pretty rough area for a Gotham Academy kid."

"I'm here on a scholarship."

"Ah, resident genius," Bullock chuckled.

Renee reached into her pocket and took out a photograph, sliding it across the table. "Have you ever seen this man before?"

Ethan studied the image for a moment, then shook his head. "Never seen him, I'm afraid. Did something happen to him?"

"Afraid so," Renee said. "He was murdered yesterday."

Ethan's brows lifted, his expression shifting to one of shock and sympathy. "That's... awful."

"And we believe the one who did it might be going to Gotham Academy," Renee added.

Ethan leaned back slightly. "I can't imagine any of my classmates capable of something like that."

"Maybe it's all a mistake," Bullock said with a shrug. "But the job's the job. We follow all our leads."

He scribbled something in his notepad, then looked up at Ethan. "You know we've met before. You might not remember—"

"I do," Ethan interrupted.

Both detectives blinked at him.

"It was fifteen years ago. My parents had gotten into a domestic spat. I was interviewed by child services, and one of the arresting officers was you."

"You remember that?" Renee asked, surprised. "You must've been two years old."

Ethan allowed a faint grin. "Scholarship student."

Bullock cleared his throat. "As I was saying, I know who you are, and more importantly, I know who your parents are. They've got quite the record."

"I'm not sure what you're insinuating, Detective," Ethan replied evenly.

"I'm not insinuating anything. But I should tell you—every person we've spoken to so far pointed the finger at you the moment they knew what this was about. Any idea why that might be?"

Ethan shrugged, leaning back. "As you said, my parents have a few issues. The students here take it upon themselves to remind me of my origins. I'm not surprised they'd point their fingers."

"Creedence was a mid-level dealer close to where you live," Renee said. "Now, it's unclear who his client list was, but it's possible your parents were on there."

"Listen, kid," Bullock cut in, "if you got involved with this man, if he tried to hurt you 'cause your parents couldn't pay and you ended up in an altercation, then you need to tell us."

Renee stepped forward and pulled a chair in front of him. "We can help you. Keep you safe. But not if you're not honest with us."

Ethan's gaze stayed fixed on her. "Detectives, are you suggesting that because my parents are drug users, I have some kind of link to this?"

"Well, if the shit stinks," Bullock muttered.

"I'm afraid you've got it all wrong," Ethan said. "I don't associate with whatever my parents get up to. I do my best not to speak with them at all. When I'm eighteen, I plan to move out. Getting into a fight with a dealer, let alone killing them on my parents' behalf isn't something I'd do."

"You may not have had a choice," Renee said quietly.

"I can't help much more, Detectives. I have no idea who this man is. Based on your theory, it sounds like you'd be better off interrogating my parents."

"This isn't an interrogation," Renee said.

"Isn't it?" Ethan replied.

"Sorry if we seemed hard on you, kid," Bullock said, closing his notebook. "But we've got a job to do. We've got what we need."

"Harvey," Renee said.

"Ah, yeah. Just one more thing. Can we take a look at your blazer?"

"My blazer? Why?" Ethan asked.

"It's just something we've been doing. I can't go into detail," Bullock replied.

Ethan nodded, stood, and handed it over. Renee held it up, running her hands along the fabric, checking the seams and cuffs. Her eyes moved over every edge, but there was nothing, no tear, no missing patch.

"It's clean," she said to Harvey, handing it back.

Bullock looked back to him. "Alright, kid. Thanks for your time."

"Yeah," Renee added, giving him a small nod. "Appreciate you talking to us."

"Of course," Ethan said, taking the blazer and slipping it on. "Goodbye, Detectives."

They gave him one last look before turning for the door and stepping out into the hall. When the door shut, he sat back down, the polite mask slipping from his face until it was blank again.

'One annoyance done with for now,' Ethan thought. He had bought himself some time, but it wasn't much. The detectives would keep working their way through the student body until they got to Justin, and when they did, they'd find the torn blazer on him. During the bathroom altercation earlier, he had purposely pushed things far enough to provoke a fight. The goal hadn't been to hurt Justin—it had been to make the switch. They were roughly the same size, so the blazer fit without drawing attention, even if Justin insisted that Ethan had that natural crack den smell.

Getting him into the bathroom hadn't been difficult. All it had taken was a direct look before leaving class. Like the primate he was, Justin couldn't let that slide, and he followed.

When the detectives eventually brought him in, Justin would get the full treatment. Interrogated, pressed, and probably humiliated. It wouldn't take long for them to realize he wasn't their guy. Still, the blazer would end up in an evidence bag, and from there in a lab. DNA analysis was inevitable. They'd find Justin's. They might find Ethan's. He'd been careful and tried to remove everything, but there was always the chance of a missed hair or skin cell.

It wouldn't matter much. A popular kid's blazer would be covered in trace DNA from countless people—friends, girlfriends, teammates. It was lunch break now and so Ethan's blazer would get the same treatment resulting in nothing conclusive from the police.

What was more likely was that they'd match the torn piece they had to the size and cut of the blazer it came from. That would lead to them calling in everyone who wore that size. Another narrowing of the field.

There was also the matter of Gotham's street cameras. He'd done well to avoid them while trailing Creedence, but the high he experienced afterward had dulled his discipline. They wouldn't have footage of him entering or leaving the alleyway, but he was certain they'd catch him moving through the surrounding streets.

He tallied the situation in his head—four pieces of evidence:

1. The blazer

2. Being seen in the area

3. Most probable suspect

4. Actual motive

It was enough to make an arrest. The Justin ploy might buy him a few days, no more. In that time, he needed to strip pieces off the board.

The street camera footage was first. Those systems were almost certainly tied into a central server. If he could get into it and corrupt the relevant files, that piece of evidence would vanish. He'd still be their probable suspect, but without footage, they'd have nothing physical to work from. After that, he needed to set up a fall guy. For that, he required Creedence's client list. And for that, he needed to find out where Creedence had lived. The police would be after the same thing, with better access to information. That made time critical.

If he couldn't get that list and tie someone else to the killing, their focus would stay locked on him. It would only be a matter of time before they found something he had overlooked and that would mean he'd end up being hunted.

This was a race.

A smile stretched across his face.

And he would win.

(AN: The game is on, who is going to win our boy Ethan? Or perhaps the fine fellows of the Gotham Police Department? What about Iron Row? What about any heroes that stalk the streets of Gotham? Will they get involved. Anyway I'm trying to make this exciting and I hope I'm succeeding. I'm at nearly 30k words now for this story. It's fun to write. Hope you enjoy it)