DC: All for One Chapter 2 - Meta-human

(AN: Had to remove some stuff cause Patreon didn't like it.)

Even after his new ability deactivated and his heart rate went back to normal, Ethan's mindset was changed forever. He walked through Gotham city like it was the first time experiencing it; despite how much of a shithole it was he loved every moment of it, and even slowed his walk to take in the sights before he made it back to his apartment. He had to get there quickly, there was so many tests he needed to run on himself, on his ability. The excitement of doing it was almost unbearable, and it was only the newfound interest of everything around him that stopped him from running home.

When he came up to his apartment building the excitement surged and he nearly broke the door to the lobby as he entered. His mind was too transfixed with the different possibilities and solutions to the current conundrum he was faced with. Why did he have powers? How did he steal the dealers powers? Could he recreate it? There were numerous questions that needed answers, and Ethan would have them all.

"Hey Ethan..."

Ethan looked up, his thought process interrupted. He was greeted with the form of Artemis who was standing by the elevator. She was wearing a tight crop top that looked like a sports bra, that showed her tanned skin and taut stomach; she also had on some yoga pants that fit her wait and thighs very nicely. She had her blonde hair in a pony tail like she usually did. Needless to say Ethan noticed it, but unlike before... he really noticed it.

"Hey," he said as he walked past her and pressed the button to the elevator. Despite having a newfound appreciation for Artemis's physical appearance he was still more interested in the questions that he had yet to answer.

Artemis frowned as she looked at him. "Are you okay?" She asked. He had a black eye and multiple other bruises, as well as his uniform looking scuffed.

"I'm fine... got into a fight," he replied casually.

"Clearly..." she said as he pushed off the wall. She grabbed his arm and made him face her. "Shit Ethan, you look kinda fucked, need me to call a doctor?" She asked as she touched one of the bruises on his face.

"I'm good," he replied as he moved her hand away. Since he was facing her he took the opportunity to look at her properly. She had a slightly pronounced collarbone, one that seemed to pair well with her breast; it seemed to emphasise them more. She wasn't wearing any perfume at the moment, from her scent it was clear she just worked out. It didn't smell bad, it was actually a little intoxicating.

Ethan turned his gaze away as the elevator opened. "See you later," he said as he pressed the button to his floor.

Artemis was left standing there feeling a mixture of confusion and concern. Though there was one prominent thought in her mind. 'Was he checking me out?' In the entire time they'd been friendly with each other he hadn't even so much as checked out her ass, to the point where she actually thought he might be gay—or she wasn't as attractive as she thought she was. To see him actively check her out was both flattering and concerning at the same time.

'What's going on with your Ethan?

...

Ethan walked out onto his floor with a spring in his step. Not even the sinking feeling of having to deal with his parents was enough to damper Ethan's mood. In fact, he happily walked up to the door and opened it; it smelled just as revolting as it usually did, the kind of smell you could only get from two people who pissed and shit themselves on a regular basis.

The moment he stepped through the threshold he was greeted with the sounds he was all too accustomed with.

"WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN YOU LITTLE SHIT!!!"

"IVE CALLED YOU 34 TIMES!!!"

"YOU DISRESPECT YOUR OWN MOTHER LIKE THAT!!!"

"LITTLE FUCKING PUNK!!!"

'Same old same old,' he thought to himself as he walked inside his apartment. Honestly his parents were likely one of the first things to bore him, they were so repetitive in their actions it was like being forced to watch the shittiest episode of your least favourite show. As he walked into the hallway from the entrance he saw both his parents moving past one of the trash mounds—formed from them not taking out the garbage—and strode towards him.

"I got beaten up by a dealer," he said as they continued to shout profanities at him.

"Useless fucking pussy!" His Dad cursed as he walked away back into the living room and plopped himself on the sofa.

"Did you get the shit at least?" She asked. Both of them were pale, their mouths dry and it was clear they were suffering from the shakes. Seems they overspent their social security this month and can't afford to buy anymore.

"Come on baby... you gotta have something right? Gotta have something for mommy right," she said sweetly as she put a hand on his arm and smiled at him showing black and yellow stained teeth. How he was related to these people he'd never know.

He walked past her and into the front room before taking out two of the small bags of heroin that he'd gotten from the dealer. The dealer himself had carried a big bag of it, but within that big bag were dozens of smaller ones. He held these up so that both of his parents could see them.

"Oh my darling boy! I knew you wouldn't disappoint your mama!" She said in that sickly sweet voice of hers. It's like she forgot everything she'd said just a moment ago—not that he cared. He threw both bags on the ground and watched as both of them almost dived to get them, when they did they held them up like they were the most precious things in their lives.

Not wanting to waste anymore time on them Ethan headed to his room. After unlocking the door he closed it and locked it; while it was unlikely he'd be disturbed for the next two days he didn't want his thought process interrupted by those degenerates. Ethan closed the door, slid the bolt into place, and let the lock click. He hung his blazer on the hook beside the frame, unbuttoned his shirt, and dropped it in the basket. He noted the tear at the shoulder and the blood on the cuff, then decided he would replace it tomorrow with the dealer's cash. He crossed to the far wall, pinched the edge of the cloth that hid an old project, and pulled it away.

The whiteboard stretched from floor to ceiling. Lines of blue and black equations listed chemical ratios, metabolic pathways, and dosage curves for a serum designed to raise oxygen capacity and accelerate myofibril repair. Symbols in red marked abandoned routes. A side column of dates ended six years earlier, the last entry a single slash drawn on the night he shelved the fantasy of becoming a hero, the night he truly discovered how rotten the world was. He stared at the inert math, uncapped the black pen, and began again.

He wrote one word at the centre—THEFT—and boxed it. An arrow pointed down to HYPERADRENAL VARIANT. He paced once across the room, tapped the uncapped pen against his palm four times to set his rhythm, then added HOST COMPATABILIYY LOW beneath a crude stick figure labelled DEALER. He paused, felt his pulse in his neck, timed the beats on his watch, and wrote BASELINE HR 62 AFTER EVENT beside it.

A second arrow branched to SELF. Under it he added ACCEPTANCE HIGH, EFFECT MAGNIFIED. He sketched a receptor chain and labelled one side ENDOGENOUS, the other AUGMENTED. Beneath the chain he wrote BINDING AFFINITY ↑ X5. He clicked the pen cap twice against his teeth, a habit he used when balancing coupled differential equations, and continued.

Possible triggers:

1. TRAUMA + STRESS LOAD

2. PROXIMITY TO ACTIVATED SUBJECT

3. GENETIC LATCH—UNKNOWN SEQUENCE

He circled each item, drew a line linking them, and ended it with ACTIVATION EVENT 0. He stood back, tugged at his lower lip once, and converted beats per minute to millilitres of blood per second, then to estimated adrenaline distribution across total plasma volume. He wrote 5× STRENGTH = 5× ATP DEMAND and underlined it twice. Next he added NO LACTIC BUILD-UP, POSSIBLE MITOCHONDRIAL UP-REGULATION.

He turned to the shelf, took down a pocket notebook, tore out the used pages, and copied out a few chemical formulas. He jotted shorthand notes: tactile conduit unlikely—distance pull observed, field interaction unknown, bioelectric coupling probable. Three slow taps of the pen on the metal hinge fixed the thought. He scribbled UNKNOWN ALLELE ACTIVATED BY EXTERNAL SIGNAL? and drew a question mark the size of his thumb.

It was clear to Ethan that the source of both of their abilities originated in their DNA. Only that explained how the adrenal glands was able to develop in such a way; but his ability to steal that ability was mystery to him. How did it work? How did the bodily process work when he reached out and tore the ability from his body? What was he even stealing?

He returned to the board and wrote across the bottom: DORMANT SEQUENCE IN DNA + ACUTE STRESS + NEARBY ACTIVATED INDIVIDUAL ⇒ GENE SWITCH. A final arrow looped back to SELF, followed by HOST ENHANCEMENT OPTIMAL IF BASE FITNESS HIGH.

He stepped away, rolled his shoulders, and felt a faint vibration under the skin of his forearms. His mind was in top form, it always was when he put his all into figuring something out. It even affected his senses, the room sounded louder. Dust motes drifted in clear resolution. He clicked the pen once, set it on the tray at a right angle to the markers, and added in the lower corner: TOMORROW—TEST MAX PULSE, VO₂, PEAK FORCE; REPEAT WITH BETA BLOCKER; RECORD DIFFERENCE; SEARCH FOR GENETIC MARKERS.

From there Ethan moved onto more interesting questions, mainly about his own ability. He stood and turned the light on and off aimlessly as he thought about it; he liked the noise the switch made and it helped him think a little. After a few moments he walked back to the board and uncapped the red marker.

STEALING ABILITY—?

He underlined it once. Then again. Then wrote the next questions underneath in a vertical list.

—How was it transferred?

—What triggered it?

—Where is the ability stored?

—Is it neurological? Genetic? Energetic?

—Can it be removed?

—Can abilities be returned?

He paced. Each step kept him in rhythm. He clicked the pen once per stride. He turned back to the board and wrote:

—Does the user lose the ability permanently when taken?

—Was it extraction or duplication?

—Does the ability degrade in the original host after loss?

He clicked the cap. Once. Twice. Then added one more.

—What happens if I try to take another?

He paused.

The idea held there for a long moment.

He took the black marker again and boxed the final question.

COULD I STEAL MORE THAN ONE?

He stared at the words.

He didn't know the answer.

Yet.

'It has to be in my DNA' he thought to himself, as he loooked at the work he'd done thus far. 'There isn't much else I can do now that would give me any substantial answers, what I need is lab equipment.'

A smile formed on his face as he remembered a certain red headed girl that had given him unlimited access to all the equipment he could ever need.

'Tomorrow is going to be very interesting...'

___________________________

"Another day, another murder," Renee Montoya muttered to herself as she stepped out her car into the rain, in one of the garbage infested alleyways of the narrows. She was glad it was raining, she liked the smell of rain; at least much more than whatever shit the rain was covering up.

"You say something Montoya?" Her partner, Harvey Bullock said as he got out the same car, albeit with a little more difficulty.

"I said you look like you've put on a little weight," Renee replied as she slammed the door. "Maybe lay off the free snacks at the station."

"Fuck off dyke, if I wanted advice from you it wouldn't be about eating food," Harvey said as he reached into the car and grabbed his umbrella.

"The wife feeling a little unsatisfied Harvey? Let me know when I should tag in," she quipped back before locking the car.

"Yeah yeah, come on let's get this shit over with, we don't get any extra for overtime you know," Harvey said as he walked past the car and towards the alleyway that had been cordoned off by the GCPD.

Renee smiled as she followed him. A lot could be said about her partner Harvey Bullock—he was oafish, fat, lazy. In fact, she had thought those same things when she was first assigned to be his partner, but after a few years working with him she realised that he was quite an intelligent man with a knack for detective work.

"Come on Montoya let's get this done, I know they're missing you down at Fox Glove," Harvey said as he flashed his badge to one of the officers and was let under the police tape.

He was still an asshole though.

Renee flashed her badge and was allowed inside. She walked into the alley and had to cover her nose due to the overpowering smell of garbage mixed with something fouler. She stepped over a puddle and adjusted her coat. Though the rain soaked through it anyway. Harvey was ahead of her, umbrella tucked under his arm now, crouched beside the dumpster with a hand braced on his knee. Steam hissed from the still-warm metal. The body inside was curled up like a dried-out husk, skin blackened, most of the face cooked beyond recognition. One eye had ruptured from the heat. The smell was strong even through the rain—burned flesh, plastic, and something chemical.

"Christ," Harvey muttered. "Cooked like a goddamn steak."

Renee stood beside him, keeping her distance from the worst of the smoke. She stared into the open dumpster without speaking. The body had clearly been dumped headfirst. The torso was slumped at an angle, one leg twisted under the other. The hands were curled, skin tightened and flaked.

A young officer stood nearby, shifting his feet back and forth, clearly not enjoying the rain.

"You the first on scene?" Renee asked, not looking away from the body.

"No ma'am," the officer said. "Fire department got the call just before three. Dumpster fire. They put it out, then called us when they saw what was inside. I've been keeping the scene secure since."

"Anyone see who started it?" Harvey asked.

"No witnesses so far. Everyone we've talked to said they didn't hear anything. Just saw the smoke."

"Figures," Renee said.

The officer continued. "We did find a wallet. Right over there near the fence. It was sitting just outside the dumpster."

"Show me," Harvey said.

They followed the officer a few steps to a small evidence marker. The wallet sat in an open evidence bag next to a soaked hoodie and half-melted phone case. An officer was jotting notes into a clipboard nearby.

"Gloves," Harvey said, holding out his hand.

One of the uniforms handed him a pair. He slid them on, knelt down, and picked up the wallet. It was singed around the edges but still intact. He flipped it open and started going through the contents—expired credit cards, a crumpled receipt, some damp bills. Then he pulled out a driver's license and paused.

"Well, no shit," Harvey said with a short laugh.

Renee leaned over his shoulder. "You recognise him?"

Harvey held up the card. "Creedence Upshore. I dealt with this prick a lot when I was working the harbour district."

"You sure it's him?" she asked.

"No doubt," Harvey said, standing up. "Height's about right, body type matches. Face is half gone but the bone structure's there. Plus I never forget scumbags." He glanced back at the charred corpse. "Though I'd say he was better looking before."

He slid the license back into the wallet, then dropped it into the evidence bag and sealed it shut. "Creedence was a dealer. Sometimes muscle. Worked for Iron Row."

Renee frowned. "Iron Row? Don't think I've heard of them."

"Small crew out of the harbour," Harvey said. "Don't deal in anything major. Street-level stuff. Heroin, meth, the usual. Couple of brothels under their thumb too. No serious connections, just parasites."

They both looked back at the body.

"This guy though was a real piece of work," Harvey went on. "A few years back, he was tied to a triple homicide up in Gotham Heights. Family got wiped out, pretty brutally too. We had his name. Had witnesses too. But nothing stuck. He walked."

Renee folded her arms. "Looks like someone finally decided to settle the score."

Harvey grunted. "I'm not sure about that. Whoever did this didn't want to make a statement. This was cleanup. Fast and dirty."

Renee didn't respond right away. She turned away from the dumpster and started walking the alley, eyes scanning every surface. The crime scene lights cast a pale glow on the wet pavement, throwing long shadows against the walls. She crouched near the far end, where one of the bricks had fractured clean down the middle.

"Harvey," she called.

He lumbered over and squinted at what she was looking at.

"Cracked wall," she said, tapping the fracture line with her knuckle. "That takes force. Serious force."

Harvey nodded and looked around. "Not from the fire, that's for sure."

Renee stood and kept moving. A few feet away, near a pile of broken pallets, she spotted a dark smear on the concrete. She knelt down and examined it closely. Blood. Dried but not that old, not fully washed away by the rain.

"Blood spatter," she said. "At least two spots. Looks like a spray pattern, something high velocity must've hit him." She followed the trail and stopped at the base of the opposite wall, where a darker stain marked the bricks. Brain matter, mixed with blood, streaked from the point of impact.

She looked up. Just above that spot, a jagged smear of tissue stuck to the brick. She didn't need forensics to confirm what it was.

"He was dead before the fire," she said, before going back to the body. "The guys Skull's cracked open. That much force... whoever did it didn't just kill him. They crushed him."

Harvey let out a low whistle. "Jesus. I don't wanna meet the guy who's capable of that, reminds me of that super fella down in metropolis, You know his name?"

"Superman." Renee turned toward the dumpster again, then glanced at a piece of fabric caught on a jagged nail sticking out from the nearby fence. She walked over and plucked it off carefully with her gloved hand. It was a dark blue. Smooth. Torn roughly at one edge.

"Bit of cloth," she said. "Doesn't match anything he's wearing."

Harvey took it, turned it over in his fingers, then held it up to the light. "Doesn't look like cheap trash, either. This could be from a blazer or coat, a fine one as well. Definitely not from our victim."

He motioned to one of the uniforms nearby. "Bag this and get it over to forensics. I want to know where this came from and if we can get match on it, expensive materials like that don't just come from anywhere."

The officer nodded and hurried off.

Renee glanced toward the fire escape. "Any luck with surveillance?"

"Nothing pointing straight into the alley," another officer called from the far end. "We're gathering footage from the nearby buildings, but there's no direct angle. No cams above the dumpster or either entrance."

Harvey rubbed his jaw. "Figures. These back alleys always fall in the blind spots." He turned to the young officer. "Get me any witnesses in the area once you pin down time of death. Someone had to have seen or heard something I don't care if they were outside smoking, eating or taking a shit get them down the precinct."

"On it, Detective," the officer said and moved off.

Harvey gave one last look at the alley, then back at the body. "This wasn't a hit. This was a fight. A brutal one. Someone did this up close. And if that piece of fabric didn't come from Creedence..." He shook his head. "Then we've got a second party capable of cracking someone's head open like a watermelon... just our fucking luck."

Renee said nothing. She was staring at the wall again, her eyes fixed on the point where the blood had splashed outward. Harvey took off his gloves and stuffed them in his coat pocket. "I'm heading down to the harbour. Gonna rattle a few cages, see if anyone's heard something. Upshore wasn't liked, but someone's gotta know if he was fucking around with the wrong sorts."

He turned to Renee as he walked toward the tape. "Keep tabs on forensics. See what they can scrounge up from the remains, the alley, whatever. We need a break somewhere."

Renee nodded. "Got it."

Harvey gave her a short wave and stepped out into the street. Renee stayed behind, eyes scanning the wall again, then the blood, then the cloth. The rain hadn't let up. She pulled her coat tighter and exhaled through her nose.

This was going to be a long night.

___________________________

The Siren's Call reeked worse than the docks it crouched beside, a rotting pile of wood and sin in Gotham's Harbour District. Inside, the air was a swamp of sweat, smoke, and spilled liquor. Dim bulbs buzzed overhead, casting light across peeling walls and stained carpets.

Kieran sprawled on a ripped leather couch in the back room, his muscular frame taking up half the space. His skin was tanned dark from years under the sun, but his face was a roadmap of scars, nose crooked from too many fights. His black tank top was damp with sweat, clinging to his chest as he leaned over a woman draped across his lap.

"Fuck, that's good," he slurred, his voice rough as gravel.. Kieran grinned his gold tooth flashing, and grabbed a beer from the table, chugging half before pouring the rest over her chest.

The door creaked open, and one of his guys shuffled in. A scrawny kid named Tommy, barely twenty, with a pockmarked face and nervous eyes. He froze, clutching a burner phone, clearly wishing he was anywhere else. "Boss," Tommy stammered, his voice cracking. "Got bad news."

Kieran didn't look up. "Fuck off, Tommy. I'm busy."

"It's Creedence," Tommy blurted, stepping a little bit closer. "He's dead. Cope found him in an alley in the Narrows. Somebody killed him rhen burned him."

Kieran froze, his hands tightening on the woman. He lifted his head, his eyes bloodshot and wild. "The fuck you say?"

Tommy swallowed hard. "Creedence. He's gone, boss. Cops have taken his body downtown..."

Kieran's jaw clenched, his veins bulging in his neck. "Who did it?" His voice was a quiet hiss, like a dog about to snap its leash.

Tommy shifted, his eyes darting to the floor. "Dunno. Nobody saw. Just... he was messed up bad."

The room went quiet, except for the woman's shallow breathing. Then Kieran exploded. He grabbed her by the arm and yanked her off his lap, throwing her to the floor. She hit the carpet with a yelp, scrambling to her knees, her torn dress slipping off one shoulder. "Get the fuck outta here!" Kieran roared, kicking a beer bottle at her. It shattered against the wall, spraying glass. She stumbled to her feet, clutching her dress, and bolted for the door, disappearing into the hall.

Kieran turned to Tommy, towering over him. "I want every fuckin' body we got out on the street. Find who did this. I don't care if you gotta burn the Narrows down. You hear me?"

Tommy nodded fast, backing toward the door. "Y-yeah, boss. I'll tell the guys. We'll find 'em." He turned and practically ran out, the door slamming behind him.

Kieran stood there, his chest heaving, fists clenched with rage. The coke made his heart pound like a jackhammer, but it wasn't just the drugs that was making him mad. Creedence was one of his top guys, a freak just like him, one of the few in Iron Row with a weird power. Kieran himself could blow up his skin, his spit, his blood—any part of his body whether it was attached to him or not. Creedence had some weird super strength shit. Now he was gone, and Iron Row was down to just a couple of freaks. 'This isn't good...' he thought to himself. The other gangs they'd smell blood in the water. They'd come for his territory, his product, his power.

"Fuck!" Kieran grabbed the table and flipped it, sending bottles and coke crashing to the floor. He kicked the couch, tearing a gash in the leather, then punched the wall, leaving a dent in the plaster. His knuckles bled, but he didn't care. He was coked up and needed to take his anger out on something.

___________________________

Ethan grunted as he lay flat on his back on the bench in his small apartment. The barbell wavered above his chest, loaded with an assortment of different heavy items; dumbbells, sandbags, and rusted engine parts chained together. The setup looked like a pile of junk, but it weighed a lot which was all that Ethan needed. His arms shook as he forced the bar up for the ninth rep. His heart was beating out of his chest and adrenaline was flooding his system, he could feel the strain in his muscles but the burn was put to the back of his mind. With a final push, he completed the tenth rep and racked the bar. The loud clatter echoed off the bare walls.

He sat up and breathed heavily. He grabbed a worn towel from the floor and wiped the sweat from his face and neck. His body still buzzed from the exertion and his ability being active. He closed his eyes and concentrated until the rush in his veins faded. His pulse slowed as he deactivated the power. The pain in his muscles was expected, but the slight tang in his heart was not. He'd have to make a note of that and investigate it later.

Ethan walked to his desk and picked up a tattered notebook filled with handwritten data. He opened it to a new page and wrote clearly, separating each observation:

June 23. Bench press test.

*Normal maximum: 250 pounds.* 

*With ability active (4x strength boost), theoretical maximum: 1,000 pounds.* 

*Loaded approximately 1,000 pounds

using sandbags, dumbbells, and miscellaneous items.* 

*Completed 10 reps. Difficult but achievable. Felt capable of lifting more.*

He leaned back and looked at the whiteboard leaning against the wall. The board was covered with notes from tests he conducted that night in his tiny room, each recorded in neat sections:

*Push-up test.* 

*100 push-ups without ability.* 

*400 push-ups with ability active. Hands sore from floor grit.*

*Grip strength test.* 

*Tested with bathroom scale. Broke at 400 pounds with ability active.*

*Vertical jump test.* 

*50 inches without ability.* 

*200 inches with ability active. Nearly hit ceiling.*

All were tests he could perform in a few hours with no special equipment. Ethan chewed on his pen and considered the results. The fourfold strength increase was consistent, but the bench press felt different tonight. He sensed he could have managed another rep or two, perhaps even more weight. The power might not be fixed at a fourfold boost. With training, he could potentially increase it. He added to his notebook:

*Growth possible?* 

*Attempt 1,050 pounds bench press next.* 

*Test maximum push-ups with bodyweight plus 200-pound backpack for endurance.*

He paced the room. His boots thudded on the creaky floorboards. If he treated the power like a muscle, he could develop it gradually, like adding reps or weight over time. He planned to begin with bodyweight exercises and perhaps install a pull-up bar in the doorway. Speed was another priority. He recalled the dealers unnatural quickness, being able to outrun him while he was at a full sprint. Ethan also made a note of the time he had the ability active, at the moment the longest he'd done it for was two minutes which was the same amount of time that passed during his fight with the dealer and the subsequent stealing of his power.

He stopped in front of the whiteboard and studied the organized array of numbers and notes. The power belonged to him now, but it remained unfamiliar. He resolved to refine it night after night until it became an extension of himself. But first he would need to find the true origins of their abilities, and for that he needed some specialised equipment.

Ethan stripped out of his sweaty clothes and headed to the shower, he passed by his drugged up parents on the ground and stepped over them. The shower in his apartment was just as disgusting as the rest of it, but at least the water was clean. 'Cleanish...' he thought to himself. He turned the shower on and stepped inside washing off the sweat and muck from the night he'd spent exercising. It was just past dawn now, his school would open in an hour or so for the clubs that some students had. This meant he could get there and run an analysis on his blood and hopefully find the answers he was looking for.

After washing he stepped out of the shower, avoiding the towels that hung up like they were plague infested. He headed back to his room and got a fresh towel that he kept separate from the primates that he inhabited this apartment with. As he dried himself and got dress, his mind was racing with different ideas as to the source of his abilities. Theory after theory moved through and was just as easily tossed out of his mind; he even considered the idea that he was actually an alien. It would make sense considering how different he was to his parents, but that theory was easily disproven when considering that junkie would also need to be an alien.

'Unless I simply possess the innate ability to steal powers regardless of their source?' He considered. Going by that logic he should be able to steal away superman's powers. Though he doubted they worked that way. It was much more likely it was linked to humanity, though if he had the opportunity to test it in the future he wouldn't decline.

Ethan dressed in his school uniform minus the blood stained blazer and exited his apartment out into the cold autumn air of Gotham. As he walked down the side of the road a thought occurred to him; he'd never actually messaged Barbara back when she had sent him a text yesterday. With everything that had happened it slipped his mind. Taking his phone out of his pocket he turned it on and saw that he had several other messages from Barbara.

Barbara: Sorry if it seems a little creepy, me messaging you out of the blue, I looked up your number on your phone when you were fixing the fuel line on your boots.

Barbara: Wow I really am creepy aren't I?

Barbara: I perfectly understand if you don't want to talk to me, especially since I just popped up out of nowhere.

Barbara: Is it bad I just messaged you out of the blue?

Barbara: I'm going to stop talking now...

Barbara: Sorry again...

Barbara: Also feel free to message me anytime.

Barbara: Alright I'm going now.

Barbara: Bye-bye

Barbara: bye...

Ethan looked down at the flurry of messages—all sent within five minutes of each other—with a raised brow. Based on her behaviour it would indicate that she liked him far more than should be possible considering they'd only just met.

A small chuckle escaped from his lips as he typed back a message and sent it.

_____________________________________

Barbara took a deep breath before she rushed forward transitioning into a serious of flips and handstands and ending it with a triple full twist flip. She executed the routine perfectly, yet the young redheaded woman was not satisfied in the least. It was all well and good when doing such complex manoeuvres on a gymnast mat in room with a flat elevation, but doing it out in the city, or in a fight was a completely different matter. But unfortunately she didn't have many places to train, so she'd have to make do with the gymnasium at Gotham academy. Practically no one was here this early, and she easily looped the camera footage; wouldn't want teachers asking too many questions.

The reason Barbara was doing such intense training was because she was frustrated. Bruce Wayne, or the person she knew him as—Batman—had recently sidelined her due to her not following orders during a drug bust at the docks. It wasn't even her fault! The suspect was getting away and if she hadn't have acted when she did then he would've gotten away.

How was she supposed to know that was part of the plan?

Barbara huffed as she started moving into various different katas she'd learned, while adding her own twist on them by combining her flexibility and acrobatics. While in hindsight it made sense, at the time it was hard to think. Something Bruce didn't hesitate to point out as inexperience and 'needs improvement'.

What bothered Barbara the most was that he was right, she should've listened to orders. She was smart, she should've been able to work on the same wavelength as Bruce and deduce what he was doing. The problem was the fighting, she wasn't used to it yet. She'd only been working as Batgirl for around 6 months and most of those had been training with Bruce.

'Yet he still didn't trust me enough to train in the Batcave...'

When she fought she'd get tunnel vision, it was like her IQ dropped by forty points. She knew that it was the adrenaline at work and that she'd just need to get used to it, but it didn't frustrate her any less.

After finishing her katas she finished by dropping into a perfect split, her legs had gotten thicker over the past few months; not with fat but with muscle, her stomach was flatter and taut with slightly visible muscle, but the biggest improvement had been to her backside.

Barbara much to her dismay was flat as a pancake that had been made with half an egg. While her training hadn't done much in the breast department it had done a lot to her backside, and while it wasn't the biggest it was bigger than it was, and very tight. It also had a small round shape to it. In summary it was the perfect little bubble butt that even jiggled when she moved. Needless to say she was very happy with it, in fact it made the countless nights training worth it all.

Also the saving lives part.

After stretching her body from toe to toe she rolled back with her legs still in a split and went into a handstand, before pushing off it and onto her feet. Sweat was rolling down her body, and going into the small valley between her breasts. She walked over to her bag and grabbed a towel out of it before she started mopping up the sweat on her breasts and forehead.

*Ding*

The sound of her phone going off made her almost drop her towel. It reminded her of the second thing she'd been frustrated about this morning.

Ethan Kane.

The mere mention of his name made her cringe, she wanted to disappear into a black hole when she thought about him. The million or so texts she'd sent him after she hadn't heard back from him had to rank among when of the worst ideas she'd ever had. Ranked next to that was stealing his number from his phone.

What was she thinking!?

What kind of boy would be attracted to that kind of psycho stalker behaviour. It was so unlike her, she'd never done anything like that before, but at the moment she just couldn't help it.

Barbara sat down on the floor drawing her knees to her chest, blowing a strand of her ginger hair out of her face as she rested her chin on her knees. As she sat there she thought about Ethan; he'd been on her radar for quite a while, almost a year in fact. The first time she'd noticed him was when Justin was bullying him by his school locker. He'd shoved Ethan into the locker and mocked him before he threw a punch and dropped Ethan to the ground. Now from everyone else's perspective it looked like Justin had punched Ethan so hard that he ended up injuring himself.

Barbara knew better.

She saw the slight movement of Ethan's leg, he kicked Justin's leg the moment he twisted his body. It was at the perfect moment as well; right as Justin clocked back his fist. Justin's center of gravity would be unbalanced and he wouldn't have planted his feet yet. That small kick threw Justin's punch off by an inch and his fist smashed into the locker instead of Ethan, yet to play it up Ethan still dropped to the ground and pretended he got hit. Tactically it was genius, he was in a situation where he avoided conflict while managing to injure his foe and yet appear weak enough that the conflict ends.

That caught her interest.

After that she would start looking a bit more closely; and in doing so she realised that he was a certified genius with a capital G. Every single class they were in he would do these doodles—never paying attention to the actual lesson. At the end of every class he'd always throw the doodle away, which she would promptly collect. The blueprints and different designs on those papers were incredible, on these papers he'd randomly pick anything that people use in daily lives and he'd pick it apart and improve it.

Car engines.

Submarines.

Guns.

Coffee makers.

Oven.

It didn't matter, he'd pick it apart, get rid of everything inefficient and improve it all while trying to keep the cost relatively low. In fact that's the only issue she's found with his more advanced designs, that they were too expensive to mass produce.

She was smart but even she had trouble following some of his designs. Though give her enough time and she'd figure it out. Her favourite was his improvement of the combustion engine. He'd replaced them with rotational turbines set in a spiral, so instead of moving up and down, the air and fuel spun inward like a cyclone, building pressure until it ignited near the center. The exhaust wasn't wasted either; it got pushed into a secondary chamber where it boiled liquid in a closed loop, powering a mini steam turbine that compressed the next round of intake. Any leftover heat got harvested and used to power things like the AC or to charge a battery. It was about forty percent more efficient than a normal engine, with fewer moving parts and less chance of failure — and he'd sketched the whole thing in pen during history class and threw it in the bin like it meant nothing.

Sure someone else could come up with the same design and it's possible that it might already exist out there, but to be able to do such advanced applications of physics and chemistry at seventeen was incredible. Also it wasn't just the engine, his mind seemingly worked the same way for anything. If Barbara hadn't been interested before she certainly was now, and what followed was an unhealthy amount of stalking; to the point where she'd even done so while donning her costume. It was worth it though as she managed to see Ethan in his room working out and constructing his drone.

As you'd expect Barbara only got more enamoured with the young genius. Eventually she put together a plan in order to facilitate their meeting, it wasn't a very well thought out plan, but in the mind of Barbara who didn't know the first thing about Ethan, it was fool proof.

Step 1: Use some leverage with the principle to form a club.

Step 2: Convince Bruce to donate some equipment from WayneTech.

Step 3: Ethan joins.

It was supposed to be foolproof, yet the first time she'd asked him he said no. She didn't give up however and kept asking and the very next day Ethan said yes. It was amazing, having him in there with her made her heart beat a thousand miles a minute but she couldn't keep the smile off her face.

He'd even spotted the defect in the rocket boots and helped her fix it! She purposely created that defect with that in mind, but she didn't think he'd actually help her himself.

Then she went and ruined it all by stealing his phone number and messaging a million times.

'Stupid.'

'Stupid.'

'Stupid.'

Barbara hit her head on her knees repeated cursing herself for how stupid she had been. Months of planing and observing and watching all for it to be thrown away.

'Maybe I should just move... metropolis is supposed to be nice during winter.'

'Who am I kidding... anywhere is nice when compared to Gotham.'

Barbara sighed before reaching into her bag and grabbing her phone. "Probably dad checking up on me again..." she muttered a little exasperatedly. He always worried about her, not that she didn't understand, Gotham was... well Gotham. She could handle his protective tendencies, but she'd already left a note saying she was heading to school early.

Grabbing her phone she turned the screen on. Her eyes widened when she saw that the message was not from her father, but from the very person she'd just been thinking about.

Ethan: Hello, I apologise that I did not reply to your message yesterday, I was preoccupied with certain events, as to answer your question I have no issue with you having my number, since we are to be part of the same club it would be more convenient.

Barbara looked at the message for a moment, she read it once, then read it again. "Hahahahhhahaha!" She burst out laughing, she'd never met someone that wrote messages like that before. He sounded like a posh robot; she wondered if he was talking like that on purpose or if he was just very socially inept. He definitely didn't talk like that at school, if he did she was sure the bullying would be a little worse than it was. Though message etiquette aside, she was over the moon that she finally got a reply back from him, and a positive one too! She was so sure he'd tell her to get lost or that he would just leave the club and never speak to her again.

With a smile on her face she began to type a reply when she paused. What should she say? Should she write him a long or a short text? What should they talk about? Does he want to? Should I call him?

Barbara: Heyyyy I'm glad you messaged—

"No that's way too familiar." She shook her head as she deleted the text and started typing again.

Barbara: Omg I'm so happy you messaged me I—

"Nope way too desperate," she said while rapidly pressing the delete button.

Barbara: Oh heyyy Ethie-kins, I'm soooo glad—

"Nope! Too familiar and too desperate." She huffed before blowing her hair out of her face again.

Barbara: Oh? Hey Ethan right? Yeah I was just chilling out maxin relaxin all—

Barbara threw her phone across the room before lying down and completely giving up on messaging Ethan. She felt like she'd just been mentally checkmated by herself.

"Come on Barb... gotta say something," she muttered before rolling backwards onto her feet and walking over to her phone.

She thought about it for a few moments longer before a smile formed on her face. "Maybe simple is the best route?" She turned the screen on and began texting a message to Ethan.

_____________________________________

Ethan had just crossed through the gates of Gotham academy when his phone dinged, indicating he had gotten a message. It could only be from one person, considering his parents were currently in a drugged out stupor. He slipped his phone out of his pocket and turned on the screen to read the message.

Barbara: I agree.

Ethan raised a brow, an interesting response. Not the actual message itself, but the fact that she seemed to have done a complete 180 in her personality. Did she have a mental health condition? It was possible but unlikely. He wasn't adept in human relationships so he wouldn't even try to understand; and from what he's read even normal human males have given up on understanding females.

Putting his phone away he continued inside the school making sure to slip past any teachers that may go out of their way to annoy him. When he arrived at the door to the science lab and tried to open it, the handle didn't turn. Made sense they'd lock it, especially with over a hundred thousand dollars worth of equipment in there. He stood there for a moment wondering what he should do, of course he could find a teacher but he didn't want to deal with them. He also didn't know how to pick a lock, in theory he knew since he was familiar with how a locking mechanism worked, but he didn't have the equipment.

A smile stretched across his face.

*Ba-dum*

*Ba-dum*

*Ba-dum*

*Ba-dum*

*Ba-dum*

*Ba-dum*

*Ba-dum*

Sweat started to pour down Ethan's forehead as he activated his stolen ability, after which he turned the handle and snapped the inner mechanisms which let the door fly open. Ethan always got a rush when he used his ability, he couldn't explain it, but it was like the pleasure centres of his brain were all being flooded with dopamine; pretty strange considering the amount of cortisol that would be in his system due to the increased amounts of adrenaline.

'Unless...' Ethan wondered as he began to piece certain things together. It would make sense for dopemine to be realised, cortisol in such large quantities would no doubt be damaging to the body, balancing it out with dopamine would make sense.

Casting those thoughts away Ethan walked inside and closed the door behind him, when it swung back much harder than he intended he chided himself as he'd forgotten to deactivate his ability. After doing so he walked to the DNA sequencer that was squared in the back of the room. He put on gloves. He took the vial of blood and added lysis buffer and proteinase K. He sealed the tube and placed it in the centrifuge. He turned it on. When it stopped, he added binding buffer, spun it again, then began the wash steps. He finished with elution and collected the purified DNA into a new tube. He brought the tube to the spectrophotometer. The readout showed the DNA was clean. He went back to the bench, fragmented the DNA, added adapters, and loaded it into the PCR machine. He started the cycle. When the amplification finished, he pipetted the DNA into the cartridge for the sequencer. He slotted it into the machine and tapped through the setup menu. He confirmed the parameters and hit start.

When the machine powered up he walked away and sat down at a computer before logging on. When the machine powered up, he walked away and sat down at the computer nearby. He logged in, bypassed the standard user interface, and opened the system root. A few lines of code removed the activity log. Another wiped the machine's background tracker. He disabled remote backups, cleared local caches, and flushed the DNS history.

He opened a terminal window and typed quickly. He created a new sandboxed process, isolated from the main OS. No logs. No trace. He ran a script that masked his network traffic through layered proxies and changed the device's MAC address.

Then he started coding.

The program was simple. It opened with a search query module. He fed it a string filter: keywords related to abnormal strength, speed, reactions, resistance, or anything tagged with "mutation," "powers," or "weird stuff." It would crawl every open-source forum, message board, chatroom, or blog. It flagged usernames, locations, and dates. Anything that matched went into a separate encrypted file.

He saved it to an isolated folder, set it to run continuously, he didn't have a personal computer at the level of the one in the school and getting one would waste the money he'd gotten from that druggy, so he'd have to make do with this. He was certain that no one would be able find out what he was doing and even if they did he doubted they'd care. At worst they'd think he was weird for believing in this kind of stuff.

The reason he was doing this was simple. He had stolen that drug dealers power and there was a high likelihood that he could do it again. What was the limit? How many could he hold? Just how powerful could he become? Those were questions he needed answering and by looking online he'd surely be able to find people who developed powers as he had. Then he'd find them and he'd taken them... depending on the power of course, but he wouldn't discard much considering he only had one.

The sequencing finished. The screen flashed green.

Ethan walked over and removed the cartridge, slotting it into the analysis port. The data loaded automatically. He opened the sequence files, mapped them against the human genome, and filtered out common variances.

At first, everything looked normal.

Then he narrowed the results. He isolated regulatory regions, filtered for non-coding segments with active expression patterns, and cross-referenced them against known databases.

One segment stood out. A dense, structured gene cluster hidden in what should have been inactive junk DNA. It had no match in any public or private genome archive. It wasn't a mutation. It wasn't damaged. It had perfect symmetry, no transcription errors. "This must be it..." he said to himself. While he didn't have a control group, from what he knew about DNA this was not normal. It's possible that it was this cluster that was triggered and developed his ability.

Looking back he grabbed his notebook and started making notes. He had confirmed that the source of his power was from his DNA, but to be perfectly sure he'd need to test a few other samples, preferably from someone who doesn't have this gene cluster, and from one who does but has not activated it yet. He made all of these notes and crossed off a few of the questions he'd answered.

"It can't be an uncommon occurrence," he muttered as he took his sample out of the sequencer and then erased the results. After he went back to the computer and sat down, his fingers tapping the table as he considered several different possibilities.

He wouldn't have been the first one to notice this phenomenon, it's also highly unlikely that the drug user is the first case of enhanced abilities of this nature. That means it's possible that a research paper exists out there. Logging back into the computer he adjusted the parameters of his program to specifically search for research papers of any kind involving the subject, and almost immediately the program found something. Clicking on the research papers he opened it up and was greeted with the title.

Genesis of the Meta-gene

By Dr. Eduardo Dorado

'The Meta-gene.' Ethan smiled. He liked that name, he liked it a lot.

*thud*

*thud*

Hearing footsteps coming up the hall Ethan quickly erased his research and hid his program in the background tasks. A moment after that the door opened and none other than Barbara walked in, her eyes widened in shock when she saw Ethan inside, but her expression quickly morphed into a smile a moment later. "Ethan!" She said brightly. "I didn't expect you to be here until after school." She walked inside not even noticing the broken door. "Not that it's not good to see you it is! I was just surprised... not a bad surprise a good surprise!" Barbara finally managed to stop herself talking, she cringed at how badly this conversation was going already.

Ethan stood up from the computer and walked over to her. "I wanted to inspect the equipment a bit more, there's quite a few interesting machines in here," he explained.

Barbara nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah isn't it great? I doubt even Gotham General has this kind of equipment, we really lucked out." She then looked past him and to the computer he was sat at.

"Did you use anything?" She asked.

Ethan shook his head. "No," he replied. He then grabbed his back from beside one of the tables and swung it around his shoulder. "I better get going to class, I'll see you after school," he said as he began walking towards the exit.

"You don't have to go just yet, I was just going to—"

*slam*

He was already gone.

Barbara breathed heavily before slumping. "Way to go Barb..."

(AN: So Ethan has figured out the meta gene and is actively searching for people with it. Will he find them, will he give them the succ. Will Barbara give him the succ. Yes and yes. Anyway I hope you enjoyed the chapter).

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