Shattered Souls - Clark Kent AU

by 0utback

Clark has always been different, and his stepdad Jake never lets him forget it. But it's not until his powers start to spiral out of control that he realizes just how dangerous his differences can be. As he struggles to keep his inner demons at bay, the shadows of Gotham threaten to swallow him whole.

Prologue

As the sun set over Gotham City, the streets began to fill with shadows and the familiar sense of dread. The towering skyscrapers loomed over the city like sentinels, their windows reflecting the flickering lights of police sirens.

Jonathan and Martha walked through the dark, gritty streets with a heavy heart. The decision to give up the farm that had been in their family for generations was not one they made willingly. Fate had dealt them a cruel hand. The once sprawling green fields that brought them joy had fallen victim to the relentless expansion of Lexcorp's corporate empire. They hadn't been living in the City of Shadows for long, but they had already heard rumors of dangerous gangs plaguing the neighborhood. Jonathan tightened his grip around the takeout food and quickened his pace.

Suddenly a loud boom shook the ground beneath their feet. They jumped, eyes widening in shock. There was a smoking crater in the vacant lot bordering the street. They stared at the scene for a moment, too stunned to move.

"It must have been a gas explosion!", Jonathan exclaimed, his eyes scanning the area for any signs of danger.

He took Martha by the hand and dragged her away from the crash. Suddenly he heard the distinct sound of an infant crying, freezing him mid-step.

"Wait!", Martha yelled, rushing towards the explosion site.

"Martha, no!", Jonathan yelled back, going after his wife. "This could be dangerous!"

But Martha's instincts had taken over, with nobody around to help, her intuition was telling her she had to step in and rescue this child. She gasped in shock when she spotted a tiny bundle lying in the middle of a twisted piece of metal, at the centre of the smoking crater. The metal carcass seemed to have been ripped open by the impact.

"How is he alive?" Jonathan asked, a look of utter bewilderment on his face.

The couple looked at each other, their mind racing, trying to make sense of what they had just witnessed.

The sound of sirens grew louder and a sense of urgency washed over Jonathan.

"Let's get out of here", he urged, "Now." They had to move quickly if they wanted to avoid the chaos that was sure to follow.

Without hesitation, Martha used her jacket to scoop up the infant, avoiding the hot metal, and turned to run. She pressed on, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and adrenaline. This was the miracle they had prayed for for so long.

Chapter 1

I opened my eyes to the blinding light coming in through the window. Another thrilling day in this madhouse, with him. I groaned inwardly. I wanted nothing more than to stay in bed, but I knew I couldn't avoid Jake forever. With a heavy sigh, I reluctantly dragged myself out of the warm embrace of slumber and shuffled down the hallway.

And there he was, in all his glorious mediocrity, peeling an apple wearing his signature scowl. I could practically feel his gaze boring into the back of my skull as I made my way to the kitchen table. Jake was watching my every move, waiting for the slightest misstep to pounce. The acrid smell wafting from his mug made my nose twitch. It definitely wasn't coffee.

The air thickened with tension as I took my seat. The scrape of the blade against the fruit echoed in my ears, making my teeth grind. I tightened my grip on my fork as I braced myself for the inevitable verbal onslaught. Deep breath, I thought, reminding myself to relax my hand muscles. I couldn't give Jake the excuse he was waiting for.

"What's that look for, boy?" Jake barked, his voice dripping with the sweetness of a thousand lemons. "And careful with that fork, you hear me? You break, you pay." He warned, pointing his cutting knife at me. So much for trying to stay out of trouble.

I clenched my jaw, channeling all my inner strength to maintain a facade of indifference. I couldn't give him the satisfaction. This morning routine had become as predictable as the rising sun, except with a lot less warmth and a whole lot more misery.

"Jake..." Mom leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper.

He snorted, casting her a disdainful look. "Oh sorry, you're the one paying for the damage now?" he scoffed, irony dripping from his words like venomous honey. "I thought not."

Jake's words sliced through me, rekindling the flames of guilt. I was the reason she was unable to work. The chronic pain my mother endured was a constant reminder of the damage I had caused and it never left my mind. Guilt quickly gave way to a seething anger towards Jake for using my mother's condition as a weapon.

"Please" she implored again, her voice carrying a desperate plea.

Jake suddenly slammed his fists on the table, causing the cutlery to rattle. Mom winced, but quickly composed herself.

My own fists clenched and I hid them under the tablecloth, trying not to touch anything while I regained some kind of hold on my body.

Meeting Jake's gaze head-on, I could feel the smoldering fire of fury in my eyes. "Leave her alone," I warned, my voice low but firm.

He sneered back at me, his hand inching menacingly toward his pocket. "Oh, what's your big plan, boy?" he taunted, a sickening grin spreading across his face.

I felt my blood boil, threatening to breach the surface of my composure. But I stayed rooted in my seat. "Just cut it out," I managed to grit out.

I took a deep breath and focused on relaxing my muscles. It was getting harder and harder to keep my cool around Jake, but I had to try.

I had snapped before, and it hadn't ended well.

The memory was vivid in my head.

I could still hear the bone-chilling sound of Jake's fist connecting with my mother's jaw. The pain etched on her face. The crimson droplets of blood splattering on her lips. "I'll fucking wreck you, woman!" he had roared.

It had been like a dam bursting inside me. Before Jake could so much as blink, I had him pinned against the wall, my grip locked around his throat like an iron vise.

"Say that again" I dared, heat building behind my eyes. He had thrashed and writhed, desperate to break free from my grasp, but I held on tight. "You seriously think you can mess with my mother? Do you have a fucking death wish?" I seethed, the words escaping through clenched teeth. His eyes bulged with fear as he futilely attempted to pry my fingers apart.

Jake got a kick out of my inability to keep my powers in check, using it as a twisted way to mess with my head and put me down. He never missed an opportunity to remind me of my status as an aberration, a living anomaly. He would be thrilled to know how much self-control it took not to snap his pathetic neck.

"Let… go," he rasped. The surge of adrenaline, the raw power coursing through my veins, it had been almost intoxicating. For once, I had held the cards, and it felt damn good.

Holding back had always been my default mode, to protect myself and others. I wondered if this was what it felt like for normal people, not constantly having to be walking on eggshells. But as quickly as the rush of satisfaction hit me, a pang of unease tugged at my gut. The monster I feared to become was lurking dangerously close, its fangs poised to sink into my soul.

"You'll never lay a hand on her again," I warned. He made a choking sound, and I loosened my grip, just enough to let him catch his breath.

The memory of my mother's pleas rang in my ears. "Please stop, you're killing him!" she had implored, clawing at my fist. But I could not bring myself to uncurl my fingers.

"Don't make me do it," Mom had said, her voice filled with a mix of warning and desperation, as she slowly reached inside the cabinet.

I reluctantly dropped my stepdad, who fell to the floor clutching his neck, and gasping for air.

"Give me the damn box, Martha!" he croaked with a look of pure rage in his eyes, "This is over, I'm gonna finish him!" he wheezed, struggling to speak between coughs.

Martha collapsed to her knees, her sobs echoing through the room. Jake pushed her aside, scrambling to retrieve the metal box. Seized with panic, I stumbled backward until I found myself pressed up against the wall. The container snapped open and a searing pain ripped through my chest. Jake grabbed the green rock inside and before I could react, his fist connected with my temple.

The force of the blow sent me sprawling to the ground, my head ringing with agony. The room spun around me as I fought to regain my senses. As I laid there, I could hear Jake's shouts, but the words were muffled and distant. I tried to push myself up, but my arms refused to cooperate. It was as if my body had turned to lead, trapping me in place. Another blow landed, this time striking my stomach. Gasping for air, my lungs burned with each painful breath. The pain was overwhelming, and I struggled to stay conscious. All I could do was lay there, helpless and defeated, while my stepdad continued to rain blows down upon me.

The morning after that fateful day, bruises faded, evidence erased, but the memory of the pain, however, lingered on.

I could easily overpower the man, but the cost of fighting back was too high to pay. Since that incident, Jake carried that metal box on him at all times. The moment I showed any signs of hostility or defiance, he would draw it out of his pocket like a gunslinger. The stone had become his constant companion. A symbol of his power over me. A reminder that no matter how strong I might be, he could always bring me to my knees.

As long as I remained trapped under his roof, the risk outweighed the reward.

"And you be useful and pour me some juice, child, I'm thirsty!" Jake commanded as he sat back down gesturing to his empty glass, his outburst seemingly forgotten.

I snapped back to reality, my heart racing. I tried to ground myself. I had learned my lesson that day. I had to take it. Let the words roll off my back.

I reached for the glass, my hand shaking slightly as I carefully wrapped my fingers around the stem. Jake's command was a deliberate setup, designed to see me fail at the simplest of tasks. It would give him the perfect excuse to unleash his drunken fury on his favorite punching bag.

I had always thought of my monstrous force as a punishment. For as long as I could remember, my lack of control over it and the repeated accidents had always made my stepdad's abuse worse.

The one that left my mother in a perpetual state of agony would haunt me for the rest of my days. Her broken ribs had never healed properly and the pain never truly subsided. A permanent scar caused by a forceful embrace.

It was a testament to the danger I posed to those around me. The mangled door handles in the house also served as a stark reminder of the destructive nature of this curse. In a world made of cardboard, I was a hurricane, leaving a trail of wreckage in my wake.

Glasses were the bane of my existence, why did they have to make them so damn fragile?

I poured the man his juice, the liquid cascading into the glass with an almost mocking cheerfulness.

I had thought of leaving, repeatedly. But I couldn't abandon my mother and leave her alone with Jake. It was a matter of survival. I had seen firsthand the kind of damage Jake could do, and I couldn't bear the thought of my mother suffering through it without me there to protect her.

I loved her deeply, but it was hard to comprehend what she was doing with this alcoholic monster, it was beyond me. I had witnessed the way he treated her, yet she always endured it, hiding the true extent of her turmoil. Her silence a thinly veiled attempt to protect the secret that bound us to Jake.

My mind wandered back to that day after Jake had hit her for the first time. I had been carefully dabbing at the cut on her lip, trying my best to be as gentle as possible. Not an easy feat in my worked-up state. I had always been the buffer between Jake and my mother, but he had crossed a line that I never thought he would.

"Why do you stay with him, Mom?"

She had run her fingers over my fading black eye, and I could see the pain on her face. "It wasn't always like this, Clark," she confessed with a hint of sorrow. "After your father... after I lost him, I was a single mother, barely making ends meet."

I had listened as she spoke, a mixture of guilt and anger rising in my chest at the mention of my father.

"When I first met him, he was charming and kind. He helped me through a difficult time, made me feel like I wasn't alone." She fell quiet for a moment, lost in her memories. "But then he started drinking," she said, her voice trembling. "The alcohol... it changed him, made him more aggressive," she hesitated, "especially when I tried to get between him and his bottles." I could sense that there was more to the story, that she was holding something back.

"I don't get it," I had muttered, trying to suppress my anger. "Why couldn't you leave him?"

Her touch lingered on my arm, her eyes searching mine for understanding. "He knows about you, Clark," my mother had said. "He threatened to tell the world if I ever dared to walk away."

"And now, get your sorry ass ready!" Jake's grating voice tore through the air, jerking me back to reality, "Don't you have school? If you are late one more time, I swear to God!" the threat hung in the air.

I didn't need to be asked twice.

Without wasting a precious second, I bolted toward the bathroom, seeking refuge within its familiar walls. The mirror stood before me, a silent observer of my inner turmoil. I locked eyes with my reflection, absorbing every disheveled strand of hair and the tempest raging within my cerulean gaze. It was like staring into the abyss, except the abyss had better hair today. As my fingertips made contact with the icy surface of the porcelain sink, a grounding sensation spread through my body.

"Please stay in control, please stay in control, please stay in control" I repeated the words like a desperate mantra, hoping they would carve themselves into my brain.

Being a scholarship student from the roughest part of town and attending Gotham Academy was challenging enough on its own. But with each passing day, my powers grew stronger, threatening to burst through the fragile facade I wore for the world. The mere thought of anyone finding out the freakish truth about me turned my stomach into knots.

Crrr - the sink let out a faint cry for mercy, snapping me back to reality.

With a jolt of panic, I quickly released my grip, sparing the sink from becoming another casualty of my relentless dance with destruction. Another close call avoided by a hair's breadth.

Damn it all to hell. How could I ever hope to fit into a world that trembled under my touch? Jake's rage was already a ticking time bomb, and the last thing I needed was to provide him with more ammunition.

Stepping away from the sink, I took a moment to collect myself, to gather the shreds of courage required to face the day. As I exited the bathroom, I inhaled a deep breath, desperately trying to steady my racing heartbeat. I snatched my backpack, its weight a tangible reminder of the mundane tasks awaiting me beyond those damn walls.

It was going to be a long day.

The sun peeked over the horizon, casting its gentle glow on the sleepy streets as I made my way to college. The early morning hush wrapped around me like a comforting blanket. But just when I thought I had the streets all to myself, a sneaky sensation slithered up my spine, prickling the hairs at the back of my neck.

It was as if a pair of invisible eyes were fixed on me, observing me with intense scrutiny. I strained my senses, attempting to pinpoint the source of unease, but there was nothing. No shady figures, no ominous whispers, nada. I kept glancing over my shoulder, but nothing stood out. The sensation persisted, like an itch that refused to go away. I quickened my pace, hoping to outrun the feeling, but it clung to me like a shadow.

Reaching the immaculately manicured grounds of the campus, I struggled to block out the hushed whispers and side-glances of my peers. Their disdainful gazes lingered on my second-hand clothes and my worn-out backpack. At least I took comfort in the fact my baggy clothes helped me blend in and dodge unwanted attention in other areas. Everyone knew I couldn't afford a gym membership.

Amidst the judgmental sea, my radar honed in on Helena, strutting towards me, and my heart did a little somersault. But I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something off about her family, something I couldn't quite put my finger on.

Maybe it was the subtle glares her butler threw at me when he picked her up, or how her brother always seemed to be lurking in the background, keeping tabs on our interactions. There was an undercurrent of tension that I couldn't ignore. Whatever it was, I couldn't help but wonder if there was more to their disapproving glances than met the eye.

It wouldn't be a stretch to assume they saw me as a liability to their daughter's reputation, or worse, a potential threat. I did live in the Narrows.

Helena fell into step with me as we made our way towards class. But then my eyes caught the fresh gash on her face.

"What happened to your face?" I blurted out, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

Helena shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh, just a little scuffle with a bunch of Neanderthals at the bar last night," she replied, absentmindedly rubbing her cheek where a bruise was forming. "They were getting handsy and wouldn't take no for an answer. Tried to walk away, but they wouldn't let it go. But hey, no biggie. I handled it," she said, flashing a defiant grin.

A surge of anger coursed through me, imagining those creeps laying their dirty hands on her. My hands involuntarily formed fists, the urge to give those men a taste of their own medicine burning through my veins. "They had no right to touch you, much less attack you like that," I spat through gritted teeth. "It's unacceptable."

Helena must have seen the fire in my eyes, because she reached out and placed a calming hand on my arm. "I appreciate your concern, really, I do. But trust me, I can take care of myself," she reassured me softly.

I took a deep breath, trying to quell the fury that still raged inside me. "I know that, but that doesn't make it okay," I replied, my voice firm. "Promise me that you'll call if those jerks dare to show up again."

Helena's eyes flickered with something that I couldn't quite decipher. "Thanks" she said, her voice low and husky. "That means a lot to me."

Chapter 2

I walked into the gymnasium, the sound of squeaking sneakers filling the air. Laughter and chatter reverberated off the walls, intensifying the knot of anxiety in my stomach. PE had always been a thorn in my side, an eternal source of worry and stress. It was the one class where I couldn't let my guard down. All in the name of Gotham Academy's commitment to "promoting overall well-being and holistic education" — or so they claimed in their flowery brochure. One wrong move, and the carefully constructed façade I had built over the years would crumble like a house of cards.

As the class began, I huddled in the back, hoping to blend in with the sea of students. The coach's voice boomed over the noise of the room, announcing each name like a harbinger of doom. My heart sank when I caught sight of the rope hanging ominously from the ceiling. Yeah, that was definitely a big no-no for me. I had to sit this one out. I couldn't risk ripping the whole thing off the ceiling. The thought of it sent a chill down my spine. I started discretely edging towards the door.

"Come on, Kent!" Tyler's arrogant voice cut through the air, slashing my escape plan to shreds. I froze, my eyes locking with his smug gaze.

"What's the matter? Can't handle a little exercise?" he taunted, his tone oozing superiority, as if he was speaking to a lower life form. Tyler's icy gaze bore into me, daring me to challenge him.

Summoning all the self-control I could muster, I took a deep breath and fired back, "Oh, exercise is no issue for me, Tyler. But hey, have fun swinging around like a chimp, I've got better ways to challenge myself."

Tyler's smirk widened. "Oh, really? So, what's your secret workout routine, Kent? Tiptoeing around life?" His voice dripped with sarcasm, striking a nerve I had carefully tucked away.

I mustered a dismissive smile. "Whatever, Tyler. I've got better things to do than entertain your ego. Now, if you don't mind…"

Before I could sidestep him, Tyler planted a hand on my torso, trying to block my path. I shot a glance at his hand, then met his eyes with a raised eyebrow. Seriously? Oh, the temptation to bulldoze through him like a tank was strong. But I stopped in my tracks. He was lucky I had to maintain this facade. How satisfying would it be to flick his hand off like an annoying fly. But I held myself back, aware of the catastrophic consequences that a mere flick could bring.

"Don't worry, Kent. You can run. But you're gonna have to climb that rope someday." He took a step closer, his expensive cologne assaulting my senses. "And when you do, I'll be there to watch you fall." Tyler's condescending stare scanned me from head to toe, his lips curving into a sneer as he took in my tattered shoes.

The jibe hit a nerve, causing my muscles to tense involuntarily. But I bit my tongue, refusing to let the situation escalate. This wasn't the place, nor the time, to let my frustrations get the better of me.

I turned away, keeping my head down. As I shuffled toward the exit, the echoes of Tyler's laughter and the cackles from his clique trailed behind me.

The darkness inside me churned, bubbling up like a cauldron of boiling rage. Each passing day seemed to stoke the flames of my inner fury, threatening to breach the fragile walls of control. I felt like a ticking time bomb threatening to explode. Like my anger was a living, breathing thing, demanding to be set free.

It didn't take a genius to figure out the root of the problem. I had no outlet for the pent-up energy simmering inside me. The thought made my skin crawl in disgust. I loathed the monster within me, the beast I was hell-bent on keeping at bay. Yet, a small voice whispered in the depths of my mind, reminding me that I couldn't keep ignoring this side of myself forever. It was urging me to find a release, before innocent souls got caught in its destructive wake. Maybe I did need to find that outlet, and fast. Before someone got hurt.

I stormed out of the gym, desperate to escape the suffocating tension. Inhaling deeply, the refreshing air filled my lungs, immediately easing the tightness in my chest. The warmth of the sun on my skin felt invigorating, each ray injecting me with renewed energy. My eyes searched for a sanctuary and I spotted a majestic tree nearby. I walked over and leaned my back against its sturdy trunk.

The rustling of leaves above provided a gentle soundtrack to my thoughts, their soothing rhythm calming my racing mind.

The peace was short-lived as I heard the sound of footsteps approaching me. I looked up and saw Helena's brother standing there, arms crossed and a scowl on his face.

"Kent," he said, his voice dripping with frostbite. I stood up, towering over him. "Wayne," I replied, returning the favor, trying to keep the tension out of my voice.

"What's your deal with Helena?" he asked, cutting to the chase.

"My deal?" I repeated, confused. "There's no deal, Damian. We're friends, nothing scandalous or newsworthy about that."

He let out a derisive snort. "Don't give me that. I know how guys like you operate."

I bristled at his insinuation. "Guys like me? What the hell does that even mean?"

"Oh, you know damn well what I mean," he spat back. "I suggest you keep your distance from her. For your own good."

I felt a surge of anger at his threat, but I clenched my jaw, determined to keep my cool. "I don't respond well to threats, Wayne," I retorted, my voice icy. "And I won't stop seeing her just because you tell me to."

Damian's jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might confront me. But then he seemed to think better of it and turned on his heel, storming off without another word.

I watched as his retreating figure disappeared around the corner. I wondered what his problem was. Was it me? Was he trying to protect his sister from me? Or was it something else entirely? Perhaps there was a more intricate web of family dynamics at play. The more I pondered, the more my head spun with questions. I rubbed my temples, trying to chase away the swirling thoughts.

I knew Helena's family was one big tangled mess. Her father being a wealthy socialite known for his lavish lifestyle meant they were constantly in the public eye. Drama and attention seemed inevitable. But despite all that, Helena remained kind and genuine, a rare find among the privileged offspring of Gotham's elite. I treasured our growing friendship, finally feeling like I belonged somewhere. The thought of losing that connection because of Damian's disapproval made me feel sick.

My thoughts drifted back to the chaotic scene at the convenience store that had brought Helena into my life.

I was fishing around in my pocket for some spare change, hoping to stretch it out for a meager lunch. I reached for the bag of chips that would constitute my meal, when the sound of scuffling caught my attention.

Amidst the shabby shelves, two ragged and emaciated figures were locked in a desperate struggle over a candy bar and a can of soda. One of them wielded a rusted pocket knife, its blade glinting ominously in the fluorescent light. I hesitated, unsure of what to do. This was exactly the type of situation I tried to avoid meddling in.

Suddenly, the scuffle ended with a loud thud, and one of the men stumbled backward, knocking over a rack of cereal boxes. I was about to offer my help when I picked up the unmistakable sound of someone typing 9-1-1 on their keyboard, immediately recognizing the distinct notes.

I strained my eyes to peer through the cluttered shelves, towards the source of the sound, and saw a disheveled woman fumbling with her phone. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed movement near the entrance of the store. I squinted through the aisles, trying to discern what was happening, when the glint of metal caught my eye. I watched in horror as a tall and lanky man holding a gun came into view, shouting orders for everyone to get on the ground.

The universe seemed to be playing a cruel joke on me. It was almost as if fate had conspired to bring me to this exact moment. I stood frozen in my spot. The thought of intervening made my heart race with apprehension.

How could I stop the man without causing harm, especially in front of the other customers? Any kind of physical restraint would likely be met with resistance. One small miscalculation and I risked breaking one of his bones, exposing the monster I really was for all to see. The man's eyes darted around the store, scanning for any signs of defiance. I was frantically searching for a solution but my mind was blank. Until screams started to pierce the air.

I dashed towards the front of the store. The mugger was aggressively demanding money from the terrified cashier, his eyes blazing with anger and desperation. The other customers were cowering behind the aisles, their eyes bulging with fear, and the cashier looked like she was about to faint.

As I got closer, I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins, my instincts taking over. The people nearer to the exit were already leaving the store, their hurried footsteps echoing on the linoleum floor. The mugger grew more agitated and twitchy, waving his gun around wildly and making threats that only served to heighten the tension in the air.

I stepped in front of the clerk, shielding her from the mugger's view, and raised my hands in a gesture of peace. "I think you better go," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "The cops are going to get here soon." The mugger's face twisted into an angry sneer. "Get out of my way!" he spat, his finger tightening on the trigger. A high-pitched scream rang out, startling him, and his finger jerked involuntarily.

For a moment, time seemed to slow down, and I could see the bullet racing towards me. My eyes widened in shock. I braced myself for the impact. A searing pain shot through my shoulder and I stumbled backward, gritting my teeth. I looked down to see the bullet dropping to the floor. It stung like a bitch, but it didn't pierce through. The man looked as shocked as I felt, his jaw dropped in disbelief.

I was left standing there in a daze, unable to process what had just happened. The mugger didn't miss the opportunity to make a run for it. He dashed towards the exit door, knocking over the display of candies, which spilled all over the floor like a burst of sweet confetti. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he spotted a woman tightly gripping her purse. He shoved her with force, snatching her purse in the process. The woman stumbled and fell to the ground. He paid her no attention and continued his sprint towards the door. My feet felt glued to the ground as he made his escape. I knew I was pretty tough, but bullets? The other customers, who had hidden during the commotion, were starting to come out of hiding, cautiously peering around the aisles.

The sound of the store bell caught my attention, jolting me out of my stupor. A young woman with raven hair had barged into the store. It was the first time I laid eyes on her. She had an air of confidence about her, and her eyes gleamed with a fierce determination.

She had heard the gunshot and ran right towards the danger. Shouldn't she be running in the opposite direction? Her bravery was both admirable and puzzling. She looked around with a frown, taking in the scene of chaos and confusion. "What the hell happened here?" she exclaimed, her eyes darting between the scattered items and the distressed customers who were helping each other up and tending to the traumatized cashier.

The young woman turned to me. I was still rooted on the spot. "Hey, I remember seeing you on campus," she said, a hint of recognition in her voice, "What happened? I heard gunshots." her eyes pierced through my daze. I shook my head, trying to clear the fog that had settled in my mind. "I...I don't know," I stammered, "Some guy came in here with a gun and started demanding money". I looked over at the shaken woman behind the counter, who was still visibly trembling. "He tried to shoot me, but he missed.", I added. The girl's eyes seemed to look right through me.

She frowned in concern, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. "It's okay," she reassured me. "You're safe now" she added soothingly. "But the police will be here soon and we don't want to get caught up in the chaos." With that, she took my hand and led me towards the door, the other customers following closely behind us.

Chapter 3

I could feel the familiar sense of dread gnawing at my stomach when I approached the door to my house. My eyes fell on the scattered mess of empty beer cans and cigarette butts that lined the porch. It was like a trail of breadcrumbs left behind by a sinister fairy tale character.

Coming home was never a pleasant experience, especially with Jake in the picture. I hesitated for a moment, my hand hovering over the doorknob when the sound of my stepfather's voice reached my sensitive ears. He spoke in hushed tones, his voice laced with a sense of urgency. He seemed to be on the phone.

I didn't pay much attention until I caught the words 'boy' and 'that was the deal', which immediately set me on edge. Was he talking about me? I wondered, my mind racing with possibilities. To whom? I strained my ears, listening closely to the fading sound of the phone call. It wasn't Mom's voice I heard, but a deep, authoritative masculine voice.

The worn-down door groaned in protest as I pushed it open, revealing the dimly lit interior. The air was thick with the pungent smell of smoke, and the oppressive scent of neglect. I wrinkled my nose in disgust. A jagged hole in the shape of a fist adorned the drywall, a testament to Jake's violent outbursts.

It was a wonder the entire house wasn't reduced to rubble, considering my own abilities. But the last thing I wanted was to cause more destruction, despite having plenty of reasons to lose my temper. I could almost feel the silent disagreement of the house's crumpled door handles.

As I stepped into the living room, Jake's gaze shifted towards me, his expression souring. "I'll call you back." he said, his voice tense as he quickly ended the call. A twinge of suspicion flickered through me.

His perpetual scowl deepened as he looked me up and down.

"Hey," I said, trying to keep my voice even.

"You're creeping up on me now, boy? "How long have you been lurking around?" Jake replied gruffly, his tone laced with contempt.

"I just got back from uni." I said, hoping to defuse the tension. "Where is mom?"

Jake snorted derisively. "Like I care," he spat." It was almost imperceptible but I could sense his initial tension easing. My suspicions grew stronger. What was he up to? I gritted my teeth, trying to hold back my frustration.

As I entered my room, an uneasy feeling crept up on me. Something wasn't right. At first glance, everything seemed normal, but as my eyes scanned the room, I noticed a few things that were out of place. The stack of books on my desk had been shifted slightly to the left. The picture frame on my nightstand was tilted at an odd angle, and I could see that a few of my clothes had been rummaged through in my closet.

These may seem like small, insignificant details to most people, but to me, they were glaring signs that someone had been in my room, someone who didn't belong there.

A wave of anger and frustration washed over me as I realized that Jake had likely been snooping around in my things again. It was just another reminder that I couldn't trust him, not even in my own room.

I closed the door behind me, inhaling deeply, expecting to catch a whiff of Jake's familiar stench. But all I could smell was the musky aroma of a different man. What the actual…? I strained my senses trying to identify the stranger's scent, but it was unlike any I had ever encountered before. It definitely wasn't Jake; I knew his scent too well. I picked up on subtle hints of expensive cologne, mixed with a faint smell of leather. My mind raced with possibilities, who could this man be and what was he doing in my room.

After the day I had, I felt like I was on the verge of losing it. Someone had walked right into the sanctity of my personal space and rummaged around, taking away a piece of my identity with them. I had a nagging feeling for days now that I was being monitored, followed, or even spied on, but I had brushed it off as my paranoia getting the best of me. Now, with this stranger's scent hanging heavily in the air, I couldn't ignore the fear that crept up my spine. My sanctuary, the one place where I felt safe and protected from the outside world, had been breached. It felt like a violation of not just my physical space, but of my very being. A wave of anger rose within me.

I strained my ears, trying to pick up any more clues, but I was immediately assaulted by the jarring sounds of the whole neighborhood. The incessant blare of car horns and screeching tires mingled with the booming bass from nearby clubs, creating a maddening and earsplitting cacophony. A never-ending symphony of chaos that drowned out any hope of deciphering the mystery man's identity.

I stood there helpless, feeling all the muscles in my body tense up. A familiar surge of power coursed through my veins, fueled by my anger. It burned inside me like a wildfire, and I struggled to contain it. As much as I wanted to unleash it, I knew I couldn't. I breathed deeply, trying to calm the raging storm within me, and crossed my arms tightly across my chest, as if holding myself in.

The events of the day hit me like a tidal wave, threatening to pull me under its merciless current. The constant taunts and jabs echoed in my mind, a never-ending loop of hurt and frustration. My temples throbbed with a pulsing headache as I felt the heat building behind my eyes. It was too much to bear. I had to get out. I had to find a way to release the tension before it consumed me completely.

Without a second thought, I bolted out of the house, the wind whipping past me as I moved at breakneck speed. The feeling of pure, unadulterated freedom was exhilarating. I ran and ran, my legs pounding the pavement beneath me until I found myself in a secluded stone quarry outside Gotham.

The world around me fell away as I closed my eyes and let out a primal scream. That's when it happened; the dam burst, and I felt the raw power I had been struggling to contain exploding through my eyes.

The quarry was suddenly illuminated by a blinding flash of red light. The air rippled and crackled with the force of the released energy. The rocks and boulders that were hit exploded into a shower of dust and debris. It felt as if the very earth was trembling under the sheer force of the impact. I stood there, a lone figure in the midst of the chaos, my breath coming in short gasps as I tried to regain control. The echoes of the explosions rang in my ears, drowning out any other sound.

I stared at the destruction I had caused, aghast. The once-solid stone wall was now a molten, twisted mess. The intensity of the blast had melted and fused the rocks together, forming a twisted, lava-like flow that spread out like a fiery blanket. The ground itself was scorched and cracked, and the air was filled with the smoky scent of burnt earth.

This was another level entirely from the glasses exploding in my hand at breakfast.

My world shattered at that moment. The realization that I was capable of causing so much destruction with just a flicker of my eyes sent a wave of dread through me. The thought of what I could do if I lost control, the lives I could destroy, was almost too much to bear. I stumbled back, my legs weak with the weight of my own fears.

My knees finally gave out and I collapsed to the ground, my hands shaking in front of me. A deep sense of shame washed over me. I couldn't even trust myself to be around others anymore. How many people was I unknowingly putting in harm's way? My face contorted with agony as I tried to come to terms with what I had just done.

I had always suspected that I had this destructive power within me, simmering just beneath the surface. That's why I never allowed myself to give in to my emotions, to let them take control. But today, I had let my guard down and the monster had escaped.

My journey back home was a silent and solemn one. The bus ride seemed to last an eternity, the passengers chatting and laughing as if nothing in the world was wrong. I could hardly bring myself to look up, my mind still racing with the images of the destruction I had caused at the quarry. The thought of using my speed now filled me with dread.

As I entered the house, my mother was waiting for me in the living room. I made my way inside to see her sitting on the couch. Her red hair, peppered with white, a sign of the stress I had been causing her, was tied back in a loose bun. I tried to keep my composure, but as soon as she saw my face, she knew something was wrong.

She could see the turmoil in my eyes, and without a word, she pulled me into a tight embrace. I let out a sob, unable to hold back the tears any longer. She ran her hand through my hair soothingly, whispering words of comfort, bringing me a momentary sense of relief.

I felt drained, emotionally and physically exhausted. But she told me that everything would be alright.

And for a moment, I believed her.

Chapter 4

I woke up to the sound of church bells ringing in the distance. It was a sound I had always found comforting, but now it felt distant and foreign. My mind was a whirlwind of questions, the invasion of my room still fresh in my memory. The fear that someone was always watching, always listening. Did they know about me? My heart sank at the thought.

I racked my brain, trying to remember if I had left any hints in public. Anything that could have given away my abnormality. But there was nothing. The only thing that came to mind was my recent meltdown at the quarry. But no, I told myself, that was just my paranoia talking. I had been careful, made sure there had been no witnesses once I had recomposed. Still, the nagging doubt persisted and I knew I had to be more vigilant than ever before.

I had to find out who was behind this. But how? I didn't have any leads, any clues to go on. The only thing I had was the memory of the man's voice on the phone. Could he be somehow related to the intrusion? It was a long shot, but maybe I could track him down.

I rubbed my eyes and sat up, feeling the exhaustion from the chaos of the previous night still lingering in my bones. I made a conscious effort to banish the memory from my thoughts. My room felt claustrophobic, and I longed to be out in the open air.

The smell of coffee filled my senses as I made my way downstairs. My mother was already up, the soft shuffle of her footsteps accompanied by a noticeable limp. She looked at me with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, I could see the flicker of worry behind them.

"Good morning," she greeted me, holding out a mug. "How are you feeling, honey?" she asked. A slight grimace crossed her face as she shifted her weight to ease the persistent ache in her abdomen. My heart ached at the sight, knowing that her pain was a constant companion that she tried to hide from me. She lowered her hand to gingerly rest it on her side, as if to hold her ribcage together.

I hesitated for a moment, wondering if I should tell her about the break-in. But I couldn't bear to worry her even more. I nodded, grateful for the warm beverage. "I'm fine," I lied, trying to keep my voice steady.

The sound of the toilet flushing echoed through the hallway, and my heart skipped a beat. The mere thought of facing Jake made my skin crawl. I knew better than to stick around.

The sun had barely risen, casting a golden glow over the campus grounds as I made my way towards the auditorium for my morning lecture. The ivy-covered brick buildings towered over me, exuding an air of prestige and exclusivity. Inside, the walls were adorned with portraits of past alumni, each one looking down upon us with a mixture of pride and expectation.

I scanned the crowd for familiar faces, my eyes landing on Helena, who was seated a few rows away. She caught my eye and returned my wave with a smile.

Professor Harrison marched into the classroom, a stern look on her face, her staccato heels echoing on the marble floor. With a sharp nod, she began her lecture on the forensic analysis of crime scenes.

As she spoke, my mind buzzed at the prospect of uncovering clues that could lead to the identity of my intruder. I made a mental list of all the possible evidence that could have been left behind at the scene of the crime: fingerprints on the windowpane, DNA samples from skin cells or hair follicles, footprints. I was determined to sift through every shred of proof from the break-in, to uncover even the tiniest hint that could lead me to the perpetrator.

I didn't have access to the fancy equipment that professors had at their disposal. No high-powered microscopes or high-tech forensic tools. But perhaps my unusual set of skills could actually be useful for once. My ability to pick up the most minute details might just be the key to solving this case.

As the lecture ended, I packed my bag and headed towards the door. I caught sight of Helena standing by her desk, gathering her own things. She looked up and our eyes met. Her familiar face was like a balm for my anxious thoughts.

"Hey" she said, while she continued packing her belongings. "I saw you in class. How was the lecture?"

My eyes flickered to the cut on her face. It was still as raw as the day before. Anger flared up in me once more when I thought of the men who had dared to harm her, but I pushed it aside. "It was informative," I replied, trying to keep the tension out of my voice. "It's amazing how much we can learn about a person from the smallest details."

Helena's fingers toyed with the edges of her criminology textbook as she spoke again. "Clark, I know this might be sudden, but my family is throwing a gala at our manor this weekend," she said. "And I was wondering if you would like to come with me as my plus one."

My heart thudded in my chest at the unexpected invitation. I shifted nervously on my feet, unsure of what to say. The gala sounded like something out of a fairy tale, something that happened to people who lived in a world far removed from mine. My family could barely afford new clothes, let alone fancy ones for a formal event. "I...I don't have anything to wear," I stammered, feeling embarrassed.

Helena placed a reassuring hand on my biceps. "Don't worry, Clark. I'll help you pick something out" she said, still beaming at me." Her hand felt warm and comforting on my arm. Her smile was infectious, and I found myself returning it despite my nerves.

I swallowed hard, feeling grateful for her kindness. I didn't want to let her down. With a deep breath, I nodded my agreement. "Okay," I said, my nerves settling a bit. "I'll go with you."

Helena's smile widened, and her grip on my arm tightened slightly. "Great!" she said. "It'll be fun, I promise."

The cafeteria was filled with a buzz of activity as students bustled about, chattering and laughing over their meals. The high ceilings of the grand hall amplified the sound, making it seem almost cacophonous. Waitstaff in crisp black and white uniforms gracefully maneuvered their way through the throngs of people.

A group of well-dressed young women sat at a table, nibbling on salads while chatting and giggling amongst themselves. Their designer handbags rested on the back of their chairs, each one seemingly more expensive than the last.

I heard the snide voice of Tyler Kingsley before I saw him.

"Well well well, if it isn't the charity case and his little girlfriend" he taunted, eyeing us both with disdain. "I'm surprised you can even afford to buy food" I glanced over at Helena, who stood tall and defiant, her eyes locking onto Tyler's.

"Leave us alone, Tyler. We're not interested in your little power trip," she retorted, rolling her eyes.

His gaze flicked over to Helena, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Ooh, aren't you a feisty one?" Tyler's combed back hair caught the light as he sneered at us. "They are the most fun to play with" he added, his lips curling into a ferocious smirk.

My grip tightened on my metal tray and I felt small dents forming under my fingers. I shifted slightly in front of Helena, silently willing Tyler to back off. The last thing I wanted was for him to drag her into this. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to throw him through the nearest wall. The world around me faded into a blur as I struggled to control the primal urges that threatened to overtake me. I couldn't let Tyler push me over the edge, couldn't let him turn me into something I wasn't.

Tyler's eyes flicked back to me, his smirk widening as he took in my defensive stance. "Oh, look at the hero," he jeered. "Protecting his little girlfriend. You gonna fight me, Narrows Boy?

My jaw tightened at the nickname, feeling the knot of anger twist tighter in my stomach. All I could think of was wiping the obnoxious smile off his face. I felt the power within me surge, itching for an outlet. But I didn't rise to the bait. I stood my ground, my eyes locked with his.

Helena's hand brushed against mine, a silent show of solidarity. Before I could say anything, she spoke up. "Well, it's been lovely chatting with you, Tyler" she said through gritted teeth. "But I think we'll go find some more pleasant company."

As we turned to walk away, my heightened senses picked up a subtle flicker of movement. There was a flash of silver and a moment later, I heard a cry of pain. Tyler was clutching at his thigh, a fork sticking out, his eyes wide with surprise and anger. He stumbled back, yanking out the metallic object that had impaled him. Tyler's friends began to cluster around him, their confused expressions mirroring my own.

For a moment, I just stood there, staring at Helena in disbelief. Did she…? I hadn't fully processed what just happened when she grabbed my arm. "Let's find somewhere else to eat." she said, pulling me out of the lunch room.

The adrenaline was still pumping through my veins as we left the bustling hall, the sounds of clinking silverware and murmuring voices fading behind us.

My thoughts were a jumbled mess. I couldn't believe what I had just witnessed. Did Helena really do that? The idea she could have been able to move so quickly and expertly with the utensil made me wonder. It was like she had done it a hundred times before.

As impressed as I was, the reality of the situation quickly set was not one to take a hit lying down, and I knew he would come looking for revenge. I feared what he might do if he started suspecting she had anything to do with the fork in his thigh.

Tyler's incessant teasing had always been an annoyance, but the thought of Helena becoming a target sent chills down my spine. I couldn't let him hurt her.

"He's not going to let this go," I muttered, my voice low with concern.

I made a silent vow to keep a close eye on Tyler and ensure Helena's safety, no matter what it took.

Chapter 5

As I stepped into the front door of my house, my heart pounded in my chest like a war drum. The familiar knot of anxiety coiled in my stomach as the memories of the break-in flooded back to me. I couldn't wait to use what I had learned in my forensics class. I pushed forward with renewed determination, my mind focused on one thing and one thing only: finding clues that I had missed before.

The house was quiet, save for the sound of the TV blaring in the living room. As I made my way down the hallway, I could hear the muffled voices of the news anchors. They were in a frenzy over the latest round of vigilante activity, talking about a figure who had become notorious in Gotham.

They spoke of the shadowy figure who operated outside the law, bringing his own brand of justice. His merciless ways had everyone on edge. But their reports of his brutal tactics stirred something within me. A sense of understanding, of connection, as though I too had felt the pull of such power. I felt a familiar tug in my gut, a restlessness that begged for an outlet.

As I approached the living room, the smell of stale smoke and cheap beer hit my nostrils. I could see Jake sprawled on the couch, his eyes fixed on the screen. The clink of the beer can on the coffee table punctuated the dull roar of the TV. He barely registered my presence as I made my way past him. My mother sat in the armchair, her fingers working deftly as she darned a hole in a sock.

"Hey, Mom," I murmured, not wanting to disturb her peaceful activity.

I silently made my way toward my room, feeling a sense of anticipation mixed with dread at the prospect of what I might find. I pushed the door shut behind me, cutting off the noise from the living room. I took a deep breath and focused my senses. I scoured every inch of the room, my eyes scanning the walls, the floors, and the ceiling for any sign of a clue.

I wracked my brain, trying to recall everything I had learned in class. I knew that every piece of evidence was important, no matter how small. I began to search for any signs of forced entry that might give me a lead. My eyes would be able to detect the faintest markings or impressions. But despite my best efforts, I couldn't find a single fingerprint, no trace of the intruder.

I turned my attention to the closet, but besides the slightly rummaged clothes, it was a dead end. My patience was wearing thin, and the frustration was mounting with each passing moment. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, attempting to calm my nerves. I moved on to the dresser, rifling through the drawers with increasing desperation. But everything seemed to be in order, as if the intruder had been meticulous in covering his tracks. All I could detect was his unbearable scent.

And then I saw it, a faint imprint on the carpet. It was barely visible to the naked eye, but to me, it was a beacon of hope. I dropped to my knees and examined it carefully, searching for any distinguishing features that might lead me to the perpetrator. I could see every detail. The size, the pattern, the depth - I committed it all to memory. It was a long shot, but it was all I had.

I collapsed onto my bed, the mattress giving a soft sigh under my weight. The day had been a complete mess, and I felt like I was drowning in a sea of anxiety. Questions swirled around my head like a tempest - who had broken in? Why did they come here? Were they still around, hiding in the shadows, waiting for me to let my guard down? My mind spun out into a never-ending vortex, and I found myself clutching at the sheets, trying to hold on to some semblance of control. The sense of violation was overwhelming, like someone had peeled back the layers of my life and invaded the most intimate parts of me.

But as I lay there, my heart still thumping from the adrenaline of the discovery, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. I hesitated for a moment, unsure if I wanted to face the outside world. But curiosity got the better of me, and I reached for the device. My eyes scanned the notifications, and I froze when I saw the message from Helena.

"Barbs and I are hitting up this new bar tonight. The Crow's Nest. You in? ;) "

I hesitated, my fingers hovering over the phone screen. Part of me longed for the distraction of a night out, a chance to forget the break-in. But the thought of being in a crowded bar made my stomach churn. The memories of the quarry were still fresh in my mind, a haunting reminder of the destruction I could inflict and the risk I posed to others.

But at the same time, I knew I couldn't stay holed up in my room forever, constantly looking over my shoulder. I needed to find some semblance of normalcy.

Then, another message caught my eye, and my heart skipped a beat.

"Long time no see, we should catch up!" It was from Pete. I paused to catch my breath. It had been months since we'd last spoken, but his message seemed casual, almost lighthearted.

I stared at the text, my heart racing with a mixture of excitement and fear. For years, Pete had been my constant, the one person who truly knew the whole "me" and still chose to stand by my side. I thought back to our high school days, where Pete and I had been inseparable. We were the outcasts, the misfits, who had found solace in each other's company.

But after graduation, our paths diverged. Pete had talked about leaving Gotham behind to pursue his dreams at Met-U. I remember feeling a pang of jealousy, wishing I had the courage to leave too. But I couldn't leave my mother behind, not with Jake still in the picture. So I stayed, and watched as Pete moved on to bigger and better things while I remained stagnant, trapped by my own fear and guilt.

As I typed out my response, my fingers trembled with a mix of anxiety and anticipation.

"Hey Pete, it's been too long! Are you back in town? Want to meet up tonight? We're heading to the Crow's Nest." It was a risk, but I needed his support now more than ever.

Would he still accept me, flaws and all? Would he finally see the monster lurking beneath the surface, or the scared kid who just wanted to fit in? I found myself pondering if our friendship was still as strong as it once was, or if it was just a facade waiting to crumble.

But as I hit sent, a glimmer of hope ignited within me. Maybe he had returned to Gotham looking to reconnect with old friends. Maybe he had never forgotten about me, despite our long silence. Either way, I couldn't ignore the hope that swelled in my chest.

I knew I had to take the chance, to face my fears and see if we could pick up where we left off.

The loud music of the club throbbed in my ears as I scanned the crowd, searching for Helena. Then, my eyes landed on Barbara, sitting at the bar, her fiery locks framing her heart-shaped face.

As I drew closer to the table, my senses were on high alert. Every sound was amplified, every movement heightened. The pounding music felt like it was pulsing through my veins, like a second heartbeat. The flashing lights were dizzying, casting erratic shadows across the room. It was like being trapped in a strobe-lit nightmare.

Each step was a struggle, as if I was walking on thin ice. It had been so long since I had hurt anyone, but the memory of my mother's screams still echoed in my mind. Though I had learned to keep my powers mostly in check around people, the night at the quarry had re-ignited the feeling that the curse inside me was a constant threat. It felt like a coiled snake, ready to strike at any moment, like trying to contain a storm inside my own body.

I knew I had to be careful, that even the slightest touch could mean too much. The bar was packed, and I had to weave my way through the crowd, avoiding elbows and shoulders. I couldn't afford to let my guard down, not even for a second. One wrong move, and everything could come crashing down.

Finally, I arrived at the table, my heart hammering in my chest. I forced a smile onto my face.

"Hey," I said, my voice slightly strained. "Mind if I join you?"

Helena smiled, gesturing to the empty seat beside her. "Of course not. We were just talking about the terrible music they're playing tonight."

I chuckled, taking a seat next to her. I couldn't help but notice how close we were. Her hair smelled like cinnamon and I could see the faintest freckles on her nose. I quickly averted my gaze, not wanting to be caught staring. "Yeah, it's not exactly my style either" I replied.

Barbara raised an eyebrow, her emerald eyes sparkling with amusement. "So, Clark, what brings you out tonight?".

I shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Just needed to blow off some steam, I guess."

Helena leaned in, her voice low. "Anything in particular you need to blow off steam about?" I was momentarily caught off guard. I couldn't exactly tell them the truth.

I hesitated for a moment, considering my response. "Just... life stuff, I guess."

Barbara grinned, taking a sip of her drink. "Ah, yes. The ever elusive 'life stuff'."

I laughed, feeling a sense of ease settle over me. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket, and I quickly pulled it out to read the message from Pete. He was near the entrance and looking for us. I stood up, "Guys, that's Pete. I'm going to grab him, be right back."

I spotted him leaning against the wall, a grin spreading across his face as he caught sight of me. "Clark!" he yelled, pulling me into a bear hug. "It's been way too long, man."

I laughed, carefully returning the hug. "I know, right? What brings you back to Gotham?"

"Met-U finally finished kicking my ass, so I figured I'd come back to my roots," he replied with a smirk.

I gestured for him to follow me, leading him back to the table where the girls were waiting. "Ladies, this is my old friend Pete. Pete, this is Helena and Barbara."

Pete nodded in greeting, taking a seat next to me. "Nice to meet you both. So, what's the topic of discussion?"

Helena smirked, "We were just talking about terrible music and 'life stuff'."

Pete laughed, his eyes lighting up with amusement. "Ah, the two universal constants. I can definitely get on board with that."

I leaned back in my seat, feeling a sense of contentment settle over me. It was good to be surrounded by friends, old and new. For the first time in a while, I felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be.

We ordered some drinks and settled in for the night. The music shifted, and I found myself nodding my head along to the beat. Helena and Barbara ordered a round of shots, giggling as they clinked glasses together. Pete and I watched as they tossed the shots back, their faces contorting at the strong taste.

I watched them, feeling a sense of longing. I wished I could join in on the fun. But as I took a sip of my drink, the bitter taste barely registering on my tongue, I knew it was futile. Alcohol had never held much sway over me, and I knew that I would never experience that sense of reckless abandon. Even if it did affect me, I knew better than allowing myself to let go of my inhibitions. Not with my powers growing stronger and more unpredictable by the day.

As the night wore on, the drinks started to take effect. Helena and Barbara were more animated, laughing and joking as the music pulsed around us. Pete and I exchanged knowing glances, happy to see them enjoying themselves. We talked for a while, catching up on old times and filling in the gaps of the months we'd spent apart. It was good to see that some things hadn't changed. Pete was still the same old Pete I remembered, and being with him again made me feel like I was back in high school.

As we chatted, the girls excused themselves and made their way to the dancefloor. I watched as they swayed to the music, their bodies moving in perfect sync with the beat. Pete nudged me, a grin spreading across his face.

"Looks like they're having a good time," he said, taking a sip of his drink.

I nodded, feeling a twinge of jealousy mixed with admiration. "Yeah, they are."

Pete laughed, clapping me on the back. "Relax, man. Let loose a little."

I shook my head, feeling a sense of unease settle in my stomach. "I can't, Pete. You know that."

He sighed, looking at me with concern in his eyes. "I know, but that doesn't mean you have to shut yourself off from everything. You can still have fun, Clark."

I nodded, knowing he was right. I tried to focus on our conversation, but my attention kept drifting back to the dancefloor. Suddenly, the scene changed before my eyes. Helena and Barbara were surrounded by a group of drunken guys who were trying to dance with them.

From my vantage point, I could see how the girls were rolling their eyes and trying to back away, but the men were becoming more insistent. I knew the girls were more than capable of defending themselves, but I could feel my muscles tensing involuntarily.

The music and laughter in the club suddenly became muffled as I focused on the scene unfolding before me. I picked up the sound of the guys' slurred words, their lewd comments, and their threatening tone.

"Aww, what's wrong, little miss tough girl? Need a real man to take care of you?" The comment came from a hulking brute with a crooked grin, directed at Helena. His eyes roamed over her figure in a way that made my skin crawl. I could feel my anger bubbling up. My heart rate quickened as one of them grabbed Barbara by the waist, and I saw her use a wrestling move to escape his hold.

But then, I heard the gasp that escaped Helena's lips as one of the men groped her. The scene unfolded like a slow-motion nightmare. My senses picked up every detail, from the way the man's hand lingered on her body to the way Helena's hair whipped around her face as she twisted out of his grasp. I could see Barbara's jaw tighten as she gritted her teeth in frustration. It was like a switch was flipped inside me. A sudden burst of anger surged through me like a tidal wave. I signaled to Pete, and we made our way over to them. I knew I had to keep my head on straight, but it was hard to think with the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

The guys looked like they were ready to pounce, but Helena and Barbara weren't backing down either. Helena's eyes narrowed as she glared at the man who had grabbed her, her stance unwavering. "Hands off, creep," she spat, her voice dripping with venom. Barbara stepped forward, her fists clenched. "You heard her. Get lost before you regret it," she warned, with a menacing tone.

For a moment, the thugs were taken aback by the sudden show of resistance. But then one of them chuckled, a cruel smirk spreading across his face. "Looks like we got ourselves a couple of feral kitties," he said, and the others laughed.

As we approached, the guys turned their attention towards us, sneering and jeering as they sized us up. My jaw clenched so tightly that my teeth felt like they might crack, the muscles in my face contorting with a seething rage.

Pete went to stand by the girls, and I stepped between them and the thugs. The guys hesitated for a moment, but their drunken bravado soon returned, and they started to close in on us. One of them took a step forward, his eyes filled with malice.

I stood my ground, my fists clenched in anticipation. I could feel the weight of the situation bearing down on me, like a heavy cloak of responsibility.

The guy in front of me leered, his breath hot and sour on my face. "What's your problem, man? We were just having a little fun."

I could see the defiance in his eyes, but I refused to back down, even though every fiber of my being screamed at me to stay in control. "Fun? Is that what you call it? Harassing two girls who clearly don't want anything to do with you?"

The guy's face twisted in fury, and I saw his fingers twitching, ready to strike. I tensed, ready to defend myself, but then Pete stepped forward.

"Listen, guys. I think it's time for you to leave. You've had too much to drink, and you're making a scene. It's time to go home and sleep it off."

One of the thugs burst into laughter. He was a burly man, with broad shoulders and a menacing scowl on his face. "Who do you think you are, telling us what to do? We're not scared of you, man."

Pete's expression hardened, and I could see the muscles in his jaw working as he spoke. "Maybe you should be. We don't want any trouble, but we're not going to let you hurt these girls. So either you can leave now, or we can make you leave."

"Make us leave? I'd like to see you try, tough guy."

That's when things escalated quickly. The man shoved Pete, and without warning, a fist came flying towards his face. I quickly stepped in between them, intercepting the punch just as it was about to connect with Pete's jaw. My hand collided with the man's knuckles with a sickening thud. I could feel the force behind the strike, and I knew it could have caused some serious damage.

It took every ounce of my self-control not to shatter the man's fingers. Anger coursed through my veins like a raging river, and I could feel my muscles tensing with each passing second. These goons had no idea what they had just unleashed.

My gaze narrowed as I locked eyes with the brute, trying to show him that he should give up while he could. But he didn't seem to care. He was too angry, too drunk, too full of himself to back down now.

He tried to pull his fist away, but I held on tight. He was no match for me. I could see the hatred in his eyes as he glared at me, a veins bulging on his forehead. I put on a show of struggling to hold him off, wanting to avoid raising any suspicions. I had the strength to send the man flying across the dancefloor like a rag doll, but I had to hold back. It was imperative. I didn't want my fist slicing through them like a hot knife through butter.

Just as I thought the situation couldn't get any worse, his friend launched himself at me. My body moved of its own accord, sidestepping the attack with practiced ease.

The man swang again at me and I dodged, feigning a stumble to make it seem like he'd caught me off guard. I retaliated with a swift strike to his gut, using just enough force to knock the wind out of him without rupturing his internal organs. He doubled over, groaning in pain, clutching his stomach. The other guys moved in, trying to grab me from behind, but I spun around, feeling their grip slip away as they stumbled off balance. The sudden movement sent them careening into each other, their bodies colliding with a dull thud.

For as long as I could remember, I had kept a tight leash on my instincts for fear of shattering bones, always wary of the damage my strength could inflict. But as I fought back, I was surprised at how natural it felt. It was as if a dormant part of me had suddenly woken up, eager to be unleashed. I could feel the raw power coursing through my veins, and it was both exhilarating and terrifying.

I should have known better than to step foot into this bar. I knew full well the risks of being there with my erratic powers. But as I watched my friends get pushed around by these brutes, something inside me snapped. The fear that had held me back for so long was replaced with a burning rage. Now anger was at the wheel, and I was just along for the ride.

Their attempts to take me down only fueled my fury, but I knew I had to be careful, to measure every movement. I knocked them to the ground with calculated force, enough to incapacitate, without causing permanent damage.

Eventually, the guys started to retreat, their bravado replaced by shame and frustration. I stood my ground, watching them as they stumbled out of the club, their tails between their legs. I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. It was a hard-won victory, but it was one that I knew I had to keep to myself. I had managed to defend my friends without ending any lives. Maybe it was the adrenaline, but I felt alive in a way that I hadn't in a long time.

As soon as they were gone, the air in the room shifted and the tension dissipated. Pete let out a sigh of relief. "Thanks, man," he said, patting me on the back. "You saved my ass back there."

I shrugged it off, trying to act casual. "No big deal," I replied, but even to my own ears, the words sounded hollow. Of course it was a huge deal. The truth was, I had just let my anger get the best of me, revealing a part of myself I had been trying to keep hidden. I had never let my guard down like that before. Except for that one time with Jake, I had never let myself get carried away by my emotions like I had tonight. I was glad I could protect my friends, but at what cost?

As soon as we stepped outside, the frosty air hit me like a slap in the face. I looked over at Helena, hoping that my little display hadn't scared her off. But she just smiled at me, her eyes sparkling in the dim light.

"Wow, Clark," she said. "I never would have guessed that you had that in you."

I shrugged, trying to play it off. "I was not going to let those jerks manhandle my friends," I said.

As we walked down the street, I couldn't shake the unease that had settled in my gut. What if Helena saw through my casual facade? I tried to push those thoughts to the back of my mind, but they lingered, like a bad taste in my mouth.

Before Helena could say anything else, Barbara piped up. "Yeah, no kidding. What the hell was that all about? she asked. I held my breath, wondering if my friends would see through my flimsy excuse.

But Pete jumped to my rescue. "Yeah, just some assholes causing trouble," he said, deflecting Barbara's attention from me.

Finally, we arrived at our destination: a rundown dive bar on the outskirts of town. Its neon sign flickered, spelling out "The Lucky Break", in garish green letters. It wasn't much to look at, with its peeling paint and sticky floors, but it had a certain charm.

As soon as we stepped inside, the warm, smoky air enveloped us, and the smell of beer, fried food hit our nostrils. The jukebox blared out classic rock tunes, and the murmur of conversation filled the air.

We made our way to a secluded booth in the back, away from the rowdy crowd, and ordered a round of drinks.

I slumped back into my seat, trying to shake off the adrenaline rush that was still coursing through my veins. I tried to relax but my mind kept drifting back to the fight. I kept replaying the scene over and over in my head, picking apart every detail, wondering what I could have done differently. Maybe I should have kept my cool, tried to talk them down. I rubbed my temples, trying to ease the tension that was building there. It was a dangerous game. I had taken a huge risk, one small mistake, and things could have gone horribly wrong.

I sighed, knowing that the memory would haunt me for a long time to come. But for now, I tried to push it to the back of my mind and enjoy the company of my friends. After all, that's what I had risked everything for.

Chapter 6

The little bell chimed as we entered the tailor's shop, a wave of luxurious scents enveloping us. The walls were lined with shelves full of fine fabrics and leather, each more exquisite than the last. I could feel my nerves ramping up as Helena dragged me inside, determined to find the perfect suit for the gala. As we stepped inside, we were greeted by an impeccably dressed gentleman, who sported a friendly smile and a mustache that curled at the ends. His name tag read 'Mr. Wilson, Master Tailor', and his measuring tape was draped over his shoulder.

"Welcome to Wilson's," he greeted us. "How may I assist you?"

Helena didn't waste a moment. "We're looking for a suit for my friend here," she said, gesturing to me. "He has an event tonight at Wayne Manor."

I stood awkwardly as the tailor measured me, feeling self-conscious in my old clothes. I tried to hide my anxiety behind a friendly smile, but inside, I was a mess. The idea of donning a fancy suit and mingling with Gotham's elite made me feel like a fraud.

Helena ran her fingers over a rack of suits, admiring the different fabrics and cuts. "I still can't believe we got kicked out of the Crow's Nest last night," she said, shaking her head. I cringed at the memory. The events of the previous night still weighed heavily on my mind, and I didn't want to revisit them. I tried to keep my tone light. "Yeah, that wasn't our finest moment," I replied, chuckling.

I breathed a small sigh of relief when her attention shifted back to the clothes, and she pulled out a black suit. "This one is perfect," she said, holding it up to my chest. It was a work of art, sleek and stylish, like something straight out of a James Bond film. "Try it on," she added, holding it up to me. I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. Mr. Wilson gave his approval, and we followed him to the fitting area.

The closer we got, the more my anxiety grew. The thought of having to change in front of Helena only added to my unease. I had always been a master at disguising my body with baggy clothes, but now, standing in front of her, I felt stripped down to my bare bones. My abnormal metabolism only made me feel like more of a freak. It was a constant reminder that I was different, an anomaly that didn't belong in this world.

I fidgeted nervously as Mr. Wilson helped me take off my jacket, acutely aware of Helena's gaze fixed on me. I felt exposed, like a specimen under a microscope. I slipped off my hoodie and, from the corner of my eye, I caught the way Helena's pupils dilated, her eyes widening almost imperceptibly. A warm flush crept up my neck, and I swallowed nervously as her eyes locked onto my arms. Her lips parted slightly, and I wondered what she was thinking. The sound of her heart picking up drummed in my ears, heightening the tension of the moment. I felt uncomfortable yet oddly flattered at the same time. A part of me wanted to crawl out of my own skin, but another wanted to bask in her attention. It was a strange and unfamiliar feeling. But I knew I had to snap out of it before things got any more awkward. With a deep breath, I hastily slipped on the suit jacket, trying to hide the sudden surge of warmth that flooded my cheeks. "Let me get you a size up," Mr. Wilson said, and I was grateful for the interruption. "I have just the thing. You can try the pants on in the fitting room."

I tried to quell my nerves as I slipped out of my old, worn jeans and into the tailor-made pants. I stood in front of the fitting room mirror, tugging at the hem of the suit jacket, feeling like a fish out of water. The suit hugged my body in ways that my oversized clothes never could. The thought of mingling with Gotham's elite in this outfit made my stomach churn.

Helena's eyes widened when I emerged from the changing room. "Wow, you look great," she said, beaming at me. "I knew this would be the perfect suit for you". I tried to ignore the way my face burned at the compliment, feeling both grateful and undeserving.

I caught a glimpse of Mr. Wilson nodding in approval, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Perfect fit," he said, admiring his handiwork. And in that moment, I couldn't help but feel a small twinge of satisfaction. It was a feeling that was both foreign and exhilarating, like I had momentarily stepped into another person's shoes.

We headed towards the register, and I felt a pang of guilt knowing that Helena was footing the bill. She was distracted chatting away with Mr. Wilson about the event and the expected guests, listing off names of the who's who in Gotham society.

As if sensing my apprehension, she turned to me with a warm smile. "Don't worry about it," she said, placing a reassuring hand on my arm. "Consider it an early birthday present."

I opened my mouth to protest, but she cut me off. "No buts," she said firmly. "I want you to have this. You deserve it."

Touched by her kindness, I felt a lump form in my throat. I didn't know how to express my gratitude without sounding like a blubbering fool, so I settled for a simple "thank you."

I pushed open the door to the packed diner, the aroma of sizzling bacon and frying eggs wafting over me. My eyes scanned the room, searching for Pete. I spotted him at the counter, expertly balancing a tray full of food in one hand while cracking jokes with the customers. He looked up and greeted me with his trademark grin, waving me over to a booth near the window.

"Clark, my man!" he exclaimed. "What can I get for you? he took a quick glance at his wristwatch, "I can be with you in 5'". I gave him my order and settled back into my seat, glad to have a few minutes to relax before the night's events. I glanced around the restaurant, taking in the hustle and bustle of the dinner rush. The clanging of dishes and the murmur of conversation blended into a comforting hum. It wasn't long before Pete slid into the booth across from me. The waitress arrived soon after with our steaming plates of food.

"So, how's life treating you now that you're back in Gotham?" I asked, popping a hot fry into my mouth.

Pete let out a small chuckle. "Well, life as a drop-out is definitely keeping me busy. I'm trying to make it big as a stand-up comedian, but for now, I'm working at the diner," he said, taking a fry himself and then gesturing frantically as he burned his tongue.

I couldn't help but laugh at his reaction. "A stand-up comedian, huh? I can definitely see that I said, helping myself to another fry, unfazed by the heat. "Gotham is a tough crowd, but I believe you have what it takes to make them laugh."

Pete's grin widened. "Thanks, man. Who knows? Maybe someday you'll see me headlining at the Gotham Comedy Club," he said, winking at me.

I raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Well, if that ever happens, I'll be there in the front row, throwing tomatoes at you," I joked, taking a sip of my drink.

Pete pretended to look hurt. "Ouch, Clark. That hurts. And here I thought we were friends," he said, holding a hand to his chest in mock disappointment.

I rolled my eyes playfully. "Oh, don't worry. I'll make sure to aim for your head, so it doesn't hurt your heart too much," I teased, taking another fry from the plate.

As we dug into our plates, the conversation inevitably turned to the events of the previous night. Pete's eyes twinkled mischievously as he mimicked the drunken patrons at the Crow's Nest. His face contorted in a comical expression as he reenacted the moment I caught the guy's wrist.

"Man, those guys were a piece of work," Pete said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I'm just glad you were there to handle them."

I let out a nervous chuckle. "Thank you for having my back back there. It was quite the night" I said. "But to be honest, it was a close call" I admitted with a sigh. "I was just one step away from losing control. I can't let that happen again."

Pete looked at me intently, silently urging me to continue.

I ran a hand through my hair, recalling the feeling of every knuckle in the thug's fist that I had somehow managed to leave intact. It had taken every fiber of my being to hold back. "I fucking punched the guy I rubbed my eyes in shame, "It was reckless and stupid, I can't believe I did that. I mean, I've always managed to keep my cool. But last night, I just lost it.

Pete's expression turned serious as he listened to me. "Do you think the shots affected you somehow?" he asked, concern evident in his voice. "We did have a lot to drink".

I shook my head. "I don't think so. They don't do anything to me, I don't even have that excuse. I think it was just...I don't know. Seeing those guys harass Helena and Barbs, and then coming at you like that. I just…snapped. And you know I can't afford that I mumbled, burying my face in my hands. "That's exactly why I'm worried about tonight's gala." I let out a deep breath and dropped my hands back on the table.

Pete nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line. "Ah, the gala. The one where you get to rub elbows with Gotham's finest he remarked in an effort to lighten up the mood.

I smirked at his words, remembering our conversation from the previous night. "Yeah, that's the one," I replied, a hint of worry creeping into my tone. "But I'll definitely be avoiding their elbows. What if things go south like at the bar? I'm not sure I can trust myself around people anymore."

Pete's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What are you talking about, Clark? You handled yourself like a pro back there. You didn't let those punks get the best of you. And you would know if you had seriously injured one of them." He gave me a reassuring look, "And don't worry about tonight. You'll be among the wealthiest people in Gotham. They'll all be on their best behavior." His eyes scanned the room. "Besides, I'm sure there will be plenty of security around."

I sighed, still feeling uneasy. "I know, but I don't want to risk fucking up again."

Pete leaned forward, his expression serious. "Look, Clark, I get it. But you can't let one incident derail your entire mindset. You're stronger than that, and you know it" he said, his voice firm and confident." And let's not forget, you'll have Helena by your side tonight" he winked at me playfully. "Speaking of which, how's that going?"

A grin tugged at the corners of my lips at the mention of Helena. "Well, we're friends," I said with a nonchalant shrug, "but I'm starting to think there might be something more there." I paused for a moment, a furrow forming on my brow as I considered the implications. "It's scary, you know? I can't afford to get too close to someone, especially not her. What if I screw things up? What if I hurt her?"

Pete leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I get it, man. It's tough when you're in a position like yours. But you can't let fear hold you back forever. Sometimes you've got to take a chance, roll the dice, and see what happens."

I sighed, my doubts gnawing at me. "Except my dice has a skull on one of the sides. It's not that simple, Pete, I'm like a loaded gun. I cannot take a chance". I've never been able to get close to a girl, and probably never will. "I just don't trust myself. What if I accidentally… break her?" The thought alone sent shivers down my spine.

Pete leaned forward, his voice low and intense. "Clark, I understand why you're worried," he said, his eyes reflecting genuine concern. "But you're not giving yourself enough credit. You may be made of steel, but that doesn't mean Helena is a mere tissue paper. She is not some fragile flower." He leaned back in his chair, a knowing grin on his face. "And if you ask me, I think she's more than capable of handling a little roughhousing." He paused, taking a sip of his drink. "If anyone can handle you, it's her. Trust yourself, man."

I felt a flicker of hope, but it was quickly extinguished by the fear of what could go wrong. Despite Pete's words of encouragement, I knew the risk of hurting Helena was still very real. The possibility was tantalizing but caution tugged at me like an anchor. I couldn't ignore the risk, no matter how much I yearned to take the leap.

Chapter 7

As I passed through the wrought-iron gates of Helena's front garden, my senses were immediately overwhelmed by the sheer opulence of the place. The sprawling estate, the fountains, the manicured lawns - all of it spoke to the wealth and sophistication of the people gathered here.

Despite my freshly tailored suit, I couldn't help feeling like I didn't belong in this world. This was a far cry from the cramped confines of my apartment in the Narrows. The thought of growing up in a world of such luxury was unimaginable to me. I felt like an impostor, a trespasser on their turf, waiting to be caught and thrown back to where I belonged.

I tried to push my doubts aside and made my way towards the entrance. The garden was bathed in a golden light, with twinkling fairy lights strung up overhead. I could see a procession of expensive cars pulling up outside, their drivers in tuxedos rushing to open the doors for the guests.

As I got closer, the sound of clinking glasses and idle chatter grew louder. The knot in my stomach tightened as I realized just how out of place I felt. But there was no turning back now.

As soon as I stepped into the manor, I was instantly swept up in a frenzy of noise and activity. The gala was in full swing, with waiters weaving through the throngs of elegantly dressed guests, offering flutes of champagne and trays of hors d'oeuvres.

My eyes darted across the sea of faces, searching for Helena's familiar features. Above me, chandeliers glittered and cast a warm, almost hypnotic glow over the crowd. Priceless artwork adorned the walls, and the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and cologne.

Suddenly, a different scent caught my attention, and I froze. The unmistakable musky and earthy fragrance hit me like a ton of bricks, and I felt my heart skip a beat. It couldn't be. Not here, not now. The color drained from my face, and my heart raced as though it was about to burst out of my chest.

It was him.

The scent was overpowering, like a thick fog that had descended upon me, making it hard to think or breathe. I scanned the room frantically, my eyes darting around the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of my stalker. He must be here. Was he one of the guests? The scent persisted, growing stronger with every passing moment.

I stood frozen in the middle of the crowded room, feeling like the air had been knocked out of me. Was he really here, in the same room as me?

"Clark! You made it!" Helena's voice broke through my thoughts, and I turned to see her smiling face. She pulled me into a hug, and I cautiously returned it, my mind still reeling.

She was wearing a stunning dress that seemed to hug every curve, and her raven hair was styled in loose waves that framed her face perfectly. For a brief moment, she was able to break through the haze of my anxiety. The scent still lingered, taunting me and overwhelming my senses, but I couldn't afford to lose focus. I forced myself to regain my composure, making a mental note to keep an eye out. I needed to find a way to keep a low profile while keeping my senses alert.

Doing my best to hide the turmoil inside me, I flashed a grin at Helena "Is it just me, or did the room suddenly get brighter?" I quipped, trying to mask my unease with humor. Helena rolled her eyes, but a soft blush crept up her cheeks and I could see the corners of her lips twitching upwards in amusement. "Oh, spare me the flattery, Clark she replied, punctuating her words with a playful punch to my arm. "But I must admit, you clean up pretty well yourself," she added with a smirk.

I raised an eyebrow, feeling a rush of warmth spread through me. "Well, I try my best," I replied, my cheeks flushing slightly. I decided to change the subject, hoping to divert her attention away from my embarrassment. "Your place is quite impressive." I added, gesturing to the opulent decorations and the well-dressed guests. "I'm just trying to keep up with all the glamour."

"Relax, Clark," she said, tilting her head to the side "Just be yourself and enjoy the evening."

I smiled gratefully. "I'll do my best. So, what's the story behind this gala?" I asked, "I mean, besides being a chance to show off your pretty dress and charm all these eligible bachelors," I added with a playful smirk.

Helena let out a soft giggle, shaking her head in mock exasperation. "This is one of the biggest charity events in the city," she replied, leading me towards the bar. "My family's foundation hosts one every year, my dad's got a soft spot for philanthropy."

I froze for a second, my mind racing with the prospect of meeting Helena's father. "Ah, I see," I said, "That's very admirable of him."

"It's a shame he's not around, I wanted to introduce you," Helena added, her voice laced with disappointment.

I let out a sigh of relief, grateful for the reprieve. "Oh, that's alright," I replied, "I'm sure there will be plenty of other opportunities for me to make a fool of myself in front of him."

As we reached the bar, Helena turned to me, a mischievous glint in her eye. "You know, Clark, I never took you for one to enjoy hobnobbing with the posh crowd."

I grinned, liking Helena's blunt honesty. "Believe me, I'm not one for the glitz and glamor. But for you, I'll make an exception."

Helena chuckled, and caught the attention of the bartender with a subtle wave of her hand. While we waited for our drinks, she seemed to look behind me and reached for a guy in a sleek black suit standing next to us, gently tugging him closer. "Let me introduce you to my brother Damian," she said, motioning towards him. "He actually goes to G.A., too."

My heart sank at the mention of Damian's name. My encounter with him on campus had been less than friendly, and I had a feeling that he didn't want me anywhere near his sister. But I couldn't let my feelings show. I put on my best poker face and extended my hand with a cordial smile.

Damian stepped forward, his hand outstretched to shake mine, and I put all my focus into gauging just the right amount of pressure for the handshake.

He had the same dark hair and sharp features as his sister, but his expression was more guarded. The intensity of his gaze was unnerving, it was like he was trying to decipher some hidden meaning in my every move. Like he was searching for something in me. The feeling of his scrutiny grated on my nerves, but I knew better than to let it show. I had to play nice.

"Nice to meet you, Clark," he said, his alto voice low and measured. "I've heard a lot about you."

I tried to keep my expression neutral, unsure of what he could have possibly heard about me. "Likewise, Damian," I replied, with a small nod of my head, hoping my tone sounded as confident as I wanted it to be. "I didn't realize you were also at the Academy."

Damian gave me a tight-lipped smile, making it clear that he remembered our previous encounter. "Yes, I'm in the Cybersecurity program," he replied, his voice laced with a hint of annoyance.

Helena shot me a sympathetic look, sensing the tension between Damian and me. "Well, now that you two have met, let's all enjoy the party, shall we?" she said, clinking her glass against ours.

"I'm game," I replied, taking a sip of my drink and savoring the effervescence that danced on my tongue. But just as I lowered my glass, a loud popping noise made me jump. The bartender opened a bottle of champagne behind us, and the cork shot out like a rocket, whizzing past my face. I instinctively moved my head to the side, narrowly avoiding the projectile, feeling the rush of air as it passed by my cheek. That's when I noticed Damian's expression change. It was subtle, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, a hint of knowing that made me uneasy. A nagging feeling crept up inside me. I tried to push it aside, telling myself that it was probably just my imagination getting the best of me.

He let out a small scoff, his eyes flickering towards a group of suited men across the room. "I've got business to attend to," he said, before turning on his heel and striding away.

And with that, he left us standing at the bar. I couldn't help but feel a sense of relief mixed with disappointment. It seemed like no matter what I did, Damian was always going to be a thorn in my side.

I turned my attention to Helena, but my mind was elsewhere. My eyes darted around the room, scanning for any sign of my stalker. His scent seemed to linger everywhere, making it impossible to pinpoint his location. As Helena and I chatted over our drinks, I tried to put on a façade of calmness. I subtly shifted my weight from foot to foot, trying not to look too obvious in my search. Helena caught my eye and gave me a quizzical look. I feigned a smile, trying to mask my concern. "Just trying to get my bearings," I said, gesturing towards the crowd. "It's pretty packed in here."

Helena nodded, her eyes scanning the room. "Yes, it's quite the turnout," she replied. I tried my best to appear engaged in the conversation, but I was distracted. I couldn't seem to relax, no matter how hard I tried.

I searched the room once more, my eyes darting from face to face, but they all blended together, like a sea of strangers. I let out a frustrated sigh, feeling defeated. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack, except I could probably find the needle.

I found myself getting more and more anxious. The atmosphere of the gala was suffocating. I had been straining my senses all night, but the air was thick with the overpowering stench of perfumes and colognes, and all the smells blended together into an nauseating cocktail that made me dizzy. I took a deep breath, hoping to calm my nerves, but it only made me more aware of the tension in my body.

A gentle hand on my arm startled me. I turned to find Helena, her face etched with concern. "Is everything alright?" she asked.

I shook my head, feeling the lie on my lips. "This just isn't my scene," I said. "I don't think I can stay here any longer."

Understanding flickered in her eyes, and she nodded without another word. "Let's go," she said, and I followed her towards the exit.

As we stepped out into the cool night air, my lungs greedily gulped in fresh oxygen, and I felt a sense of relief wash over me. I let out a long exhale, feeling the weight on my chest lift slightly.

As we said our goodbyes, Helena stepped forward and enveloped me in a warm hug. Surprised, I gently wrapped my arms around her in return, feeling a sense of comfort. I felt Helena's embrace loosen, and we pulled apart slowly, still looking at each other. There was a moment of hesitation, a faint spark of something indiscernible, but it quickly dissipated as Helena spoke.

"I'll call you tomorrow," she said softly, breaking the silence.

I nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips. "Thanks for inviting me".

With one last look at her, I turned and walked away.

As I stepped out of Helena's estate, the moon hung low in the sky, casting an ethereal glow over the empty streets. The suburban area was eerily quiet, the only sounds were the distant hum of traffic and the rustling of leaves in the wind. I made my way down the darkened sidewalk, my mind split between the fluttering feeling that Helena had stirred in me and lingering unease that had plagued me all evening.

Suddenly, my heart leaped into my throat as I sensed a presence lurking in the shadows. The hairs on my neck stood up, and I instinctively turned towards the source of the disturbance. I hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest as I weighed my options.

If I made a move, it could end up messy, and I could think of a million scenarios where I risked blowing my cover. Yet, doing nothing was not an option. I couldn't bear the thought of being followed indefinitely, never knowing who this man was.

My muscles tensed. I knew I had to make a decision - and fast. If I let him slip away again, I might never get another chance to find out his true intentions.

I came to a sudden stop, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I focused my senses, honing in on my surroundings. And there it was, the unmistakable sound of a heartbeat pacing slightly quicker than usual, and the faint whiff of the scent that had been haunting me all night.

He was close. His low breaths were barely audible, yet they felt deafening in the stillness of the night. My hands balled into tight fists, and I let out a huff of frustration under my breath.

Chapter 8

"You've been following me for weeks," I growled, my voice dropping to a dangerous level, "What the hell do you want?"

I listened intently, the world around me fading into the background. The wind whispering through the trees, the creaking of a nearby swing set, and even the soft humming of the streetlamps all merged into a symphony of sound, each note distinct and clear.

Then, I heard it – a quick intake of breath, the snapping of a twig, and the faint sound of footsteps growing faster and faster.

The man was bolting.

I swore under my breath, feeling a surge of adrenaline. He may have thought he could outrun me.

I take off after him, my feet pounding the pavement, sending a jolt of energy up my legs. I try to keep my movements as natural as possible, not wanting to give myself away to the very man who has been tailing me. I'm not about to reveal my hand, not after coming this far.

As I run, I hear the sound of his footsteps growing fainter, and my heart sinks. I can't let him escape. I put on a small burst of speed to close the distance between us. The rustling of leaves underfoot intensifies, and I know I'm getting closer. I can hear his heartbeat, pounding in his chest.

My eyes flicker over the landscape, scanning the shadows and foliage. Every detail of the darkened streets is laid out before me in crystal-clear clarity.

Finally I spot him, a blur of motion in the night.

Bingo.

As I sprint around the bend, my eyes immediately lock onto the dark silhouette of the man, moving swiftly down the deserted street. His feet skid against the pavement, causing him to stumble and collapse against the nearest wall. It's a jagged brick structure, with vines snaking up its surface. I see the man's footsteps falter, and I know I have him cornered. His back is pressed against the rough brick wall, and his chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath.

As I approach, the man's hand darts to his belt, quickly retrieving a small object. Then, I hear the whirring sound of a grappling hook being fired, followed by a rush of air as it flies through the night sky.

My eyes narrow as I realize what's happening. This man isn't just any ordinary thug. He's skilled and experienced. The hook latches onto the warehouse's rooftop and yanks the man off his feet. I charge forward, and catch up to him just before he reaches the top of the wall. I grab his ankle, pulling him down towards me.

Despite the impact, he hits the pavement with practiced ease, landing on his feet with an unexpected fluidity. He barely has time to react before my body slams into his with calculated force, pinning him against the wall, my arms pressing his chest against the rough brick.

My heart hammers against my ribcage, both from the chase and from the realization that I might finally be getting answers. The man struggles against me, but my grip is unbreakable. I make it seem like it's taking all my effort to hold him in place, pretending to pant as if I too am out of breath. He was strong, but I was stronger, and I knew I had him now.

With his arms trapped in place, he starts thrashing his legs wildly, a desperate attempt to break free from my hold. I brace myself as he suddenly bucks his hips, throwing all his weight into his lower body as he twists and turns, trying to throw me off balance. Then, he kicks out with all his might, aiming for my stomach. Instinctively, I roll with the impact, shifting my weight to the side. Just enough to avoid suspicion. I allow him to break free for a moment and he lands a few quick jabs, but in one swift motion, I grab his wrist, twisting it behind his back. He groans in pain and I pin him down once again.

He's determined, he tenses and strains against me. I press my forearm against his throat, cutting off his air supply. I stay focused, controlling my strength with care. One false move could be disastrous. His eyes bulge, and he gasps for breath. I slightly loosen my hold, mindful not to let my simmering emotions get the better of me.

As my heart rate begins to slow, I finally take in his appearance. A dark figure stands before me, his armor glinting in the faint moonlight. My eyes widen in shock as I finally recognize the man.

It's him.

The Bat guy.

The one who's all over the news.

I notice the distinct domino mask covering his eyes, and a chill runs down my spine.

He stands stoically, almost unscathed by my hold. His gaze meets mine, and I can feel the weight of his stare bearing down on me with a cold and calculating intensity. This isn't just some random stalker. I can't help but wonder what I did to warrant being tailed by him.

I was finally face to face with the man who had been my tormentor for weeks, and in an instant, memories of the constant surveillance and unrelenting anxiety that he put me through come flooding back. The initial shock quickly turns to anger. It had been a living nightmare, and now here he was. I feel my grip on him tighten.

"What the fuck do you want from me? I spit out through gritted teeth.

I feel the muscles in his arms bulge under my fingers, but I refuse to let go. He tries to squirm free again, twisting his arms in a fluid motion but he might as well have been pushing against a brick wall. I can see the frustration building in his eyes, as he realizes he's not going to escape my grasp. His movements become more frantic, his body writhing like a trapped animal. It's clear he's not used to being at anyone's mercy.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he speaks. His voice is rough and gravelly, "You're a tough one, I'll give you that," he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

He's trying to buy himself some time.

"Cut the crap," I retort, tightening my grip even further. He winces in pain. "You've been following me, and I want to know why."

"I have my reasons," he replies, his expression inscrutable.

I could tell he was taunting me, trying to get a rise out of me. He was playing games, and I was getting impatient.

"Enough with the cryptic bullshit," I snap. Batman's eyes narrow, but he remains unfazed.

It's clear he's not going to give up any answers willingly, and I know I need to take a different approach. With a determined grimace, I lean in closer to his ear, feeling the heat of his breath against my cheek.

"You have five seconds to spit it out, or I'll make you regret ever crossing me" I say, intentionally lowering my voice to a menacing tone, but the words feel foreign in my mouth.

He smirks, almost amused by my threat. "You think you can intimidate me?" He says, "I've faced much worse than you. I'm not someone you can just hold captive and demand answers from."

"I'm not trying to intimidate you," I reply evenly. "The fact remains, you're not leaving until I get answers."

He shakes his head, that infuriating smirk still plastered on his face. "Fine, if that's how you want to play it." I watch as he leans back, settling into a more comfortable position, "But if you're going to keep holding me like this, we're going to have to come to some kind of agreement, Clark."

Of course he knows my name. The frustration and anger that had been boiling inside me earlier come back with a vengeance. But I force myself to stay calm, to keep my grip on him steady.

A sudden thought occurs to me. I have a rare opportunity to peek through the mask and see who's hiding behind it.

With a subtle shift in my gaze, I activate my x-ray vision, and the mask melts away. The man's face morphs into a blur of bone and muscle, until it comes into sharp focus, revealing his features in intricate detail. His eyes are a piercing blue, like frozen pools of ice that seem to look right through me. His angular jaw is set firmly, his dark hair slicked back with a hint of gray at the temples.

It takes me a moment to place him, but then it clicks. A jolt of recognition shoots through me. I know this person.

Bruce Wayne.

The billionaire philanthropist and owner of Wayne Enterprises.

Helena's father.

I hold the gasp that threatens to escape my lips, trying to maintain my tough exterior. I wonder if she knows about her father's extracurricular activities. Would she have kept this from me? A pang of betrayal tugs at my heart.

"I think we both know that you're not exactly in a position to make demands, Bruce." I give his bicep a tight squeeze to emphasize my point. A twinge of guilt courses through me for threatening him, now knowing who he is.

I notice a hint of surprise behind his domino mask, and I can't help but smirk in satisfaction.

"You peeked," he says, a sly grin on his face. He looks pointedly at my hands holding him. "You're not just some ordinary man, are you?"

All of the air leaves my lungs as I realize what he's implying. My thoughts swirl in a maelstrom of panic. "What are you talking about?" I manage to force out, hoping to conceal the fear that threatens to overwhelm me.

"You know, Clark, it's interesting what those convenience store cameras can pick up." He says, "I have to admit, I was impressed. Not everyone can take a bullet to the chest and walk away unscathed."

His words hit me like a freight train. He saw the footage. He knows everything. How could I have been so careless? My heart pounds so loudly in my chest that I'm sure he can hear it.

Think fast. "You've got some nerve." I manage to say, trying to maintain an air of composure. 'You don't know the first thing about me."

"But I know enough." he counters smoothly. "You have to understand that I have a job to do, and part of that job is keeping a close eye on people like you."

I feel the blood rushing to my face, and my hold on him loosens slightly. There is no doubt he knows. Is he going to expose me to the world? The thought sends shivers down my spine. Fear grips me like a vice, making it hard to breathe.

"Like me?" I repeat incredulously. "What the hell does that even mean? I add, hoping to bait him into revealing how much he knows. But deep down, I'm a mess of dread and anxiety.

The Bat remains quiet for a moment, as if considering his words carefully. "It means that you have certain...capacities that most people don't, and that makes you a threat," he finally responds.

"A threat?" My frustration boils over at his arrogance. "You've been spying on me, violating my privacy," I spit out, "And you have the nerve to call me a threat?"

But as I held his unflinching gaze, my anger deflated like a punctured balloon. As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. I was an aberration, a freak of nature. I knew it deep down in my bones… No matter how hard I tried, I'd never be normal.

I swallowed hard.

I couldn't blame him for seeing me as a danger. Because the truth was, I was scared too. Scared of what I might do if I lost control. Scared of hurting someone, of causing destruction on a massive scale.

I released my grip on him slowly, my fingers trembling as they left his arms. I took a step back, giving him space, but my eyes never left his.

"Look," I said, my voice almost breaking, "I never asked for this. What am I supposed to do?" I murmured, almost to myself. The words came out more like a plea than a question.

The Bat's expression softened ever so slightly. Finally, he spoke. "I'll make you a deal," he said, his voice low and measured. "You don't have to do anything alone, I can help you. Teach you control."

I hesitated for a moment, still unsure if I could trust him. But then, I thought about all the times I had been alone, struggling to come to terms with who I was. Maybe, just maybe, I didn't have to be alone anymore.

"Fine," I said through gritted teeth, "But you could have just talked to me. You didn't have to stalk me like some kind of creep."

The Bat nodded once, a small grin on his face, and then turned to leave. "Good," he said over his shoulder. "We begin tomorrow."

Chapter 9

I made my way through the gritty underbelly of the city, a stark contrast to the opulence I had witnessed at Wayne Manor earlier that night.

The dimly lit streets seemed to hold their breath, illuminated only by the occasional flicker of a dull streetlamp. As I ventured deeper through the shadows, the faint glow of neon signs cast a kaleidoscope of colors on the walls. The distant echoes of drunken laughter and rowdy voices filled the night, blending with the wailing sirens in the distance.

Silence engulfed me like a suffocating embrace as I turned the key in the creaky door. The only sound that dared to break the stillness was my mother's gentle snoring. I stepped inside, taking in the sorry state of the living room. Empty beer cans and cigarette packs were scattered across the coffee table, and the stale smell of alcohol lingered in the air.

The events of the gala night played out in my mind like a vivid movie reel. Bruce Wayne, the epitome of Gotham's high society, had been lurking in the shadows all along, donning the mantle of the Bat.

The absurdity of the situation hit me, as I sank onto the worn couch.

Gotham's caped Crusader and the mysterious figure that haunted my nights were one and the same. Batman was Bruce Wayne, who was Helena's father. The fragmented pieces of the puzzle began to align, connecting the dots of our intertwined lives.

Leaning back against the couch, I closed my eyes and let the weight of the revelation wash over me. The world I had known had shifted on its axis, leaving me grappling with a newfound uncertainty.

Lost in my thoughts, my gaze absentmindedly wandered across the cluttered coffee table. Among the discarded remnants of indulgence, Jake's outdated issue of the Gotham's Gazette lay sprawled, its pages crinkled from hasty perusal.

The newspaper held a mosaic of news. 'Mayor Declares War on Crime, Promises Safer Streets,' boasted a bold proclamation from the city's leader. Another article detailed the grand reopening of the Gotham Opera House after a decade of restoration efforts. As I skimmed through the headlines, one caught my attention. 'City's Vigilantes Join Forces: Dynamic Duo Strikes Fear into Local Gangs.'

Curiosity piqued, I couldn't resist delving further into the article. The inked words before me provided a glimpse into the concealed world of Gotham's elusive heroes, who usually preferred to operate in the shadows, away from the prying eyes of the media.

The article unveiled the teamwork of two enigmatic figures. Robin and Huntress, their code names whispered in hushed tones throughout the city, now immortalized within the printed lines. They were regarded as loyal proteges of Gotham's revered protector.

The realization struck me like a thunderbolt.

Could it be? I began connecting the dots, recalling the convenience store incident where gunshots pierced the air and Helena burst through the doors without a second thought. That fork, thrown at Tyler's leg with uncanny precision, finding its mark not unlike a certain bat-shaped weapon.

Damian. His guarded demeanor, the suspicion that seemed to shadow our interactions, now made sense.

Everything fell into place. They weren't just Batman's sidekicks, they were his flesh and blood.

An icy shiver traced its way down my spine - what if Helena too knew my monstrous nature? Had I been a pawn in their game all along?

The thought twisted my insides, coiling around my heart like a venomous serpent. I couldn't bear the thought of losing her.

The sound of footsteps approached, and my muscles instinctively tensed. I knew those footsteps. A knot of apprehension formed in my stomach.

It was Jake, returning from another one of his binges. The jingle of keys signaled his unsteady attempt to unlock the door, followed by the heavy thud of his boots as he stumbled into the living room.

"Clark," he slurred, the stench of alcohol clinging to his breath like a noxious cloud. "Where have you been?" His bleary eyes widened as they took in my suited appearance, a glint of mockery dancing across his face. "What in God's name are you wearing?"

"I've been out," I shot back, my voice brimming with defiance. I rose from the couch and began a deliberate retreat towards my room, trying to distance myself from his toxic presence.

A flicker of surprise crossed Jake's bloodshot eyes at my tone, momentarily breaking through his drunken haze. He took a step closer, his unsteady movements betraying his intoxication. "You think you're all high and mighty now, huh? Going to fancy places. But let me tell you something, Clark, you're nothing but a pathetic freak."

"Pathetic? I scoffed, a subtle smirk forming on my lips. "That's rich coming from someone who drowns his insecurities in a bottle every night."

Jake's face twisted into a mask of pure rage, the veins bulging on his temples. "You little shit," he growled, raising his fist.

He was ready to strike, but he froze in mid-air, his gaze locked onto my impassive face. A flicker of doubt crossed his eyes, a momentary hesitation that betrayed the crack in his drunken bravado. He knew better than to shatter his own knuckles against me.

With a wicked grin, Jake slipped his hand into his pocket, a gesture that transported me back in time, back to a vivid memory that mirrored this very scene.

Jake had just returned home from a long day at the construction site, covered in dust and sweat. He had fumbled in his pocket, producing a small metal box, a glimmer of anticipation in his eyes.

"Martha, look what I found he exclaimed, opening the lid to reveal a small, green stone. It was a small thing, really, no bigger than a pebble. "The guys said I should probably keep it in lead because of the radiation and stuff."

As soon as he pulled out the stone, a strange sensation coursed through my skin, setting off an uncomfortable tingle that spread like wildfire. The rock pulsed in his hand, casting an eerie green light on his face. A surge of nausea washed over me, intensified by the pulsating glow emitted by the rock.

I stumbled backward, my eyes darting around the room for something to steady myself with.

My hand clasped onto the sturdy wooden handrail, the worn wood creaking in protest under the unexpected pressure.

Mom rushed over, her voice shaking with concern "What's happening, Clark?!"

"Hey, watch it!" Jake barked simultaneously, more worried about the strain on the handrail.

I released my grip, my fingers trembling slightly. I tried to answer, but my throat was closing up. My limbs felt heavy and uncoordinated, like I was trying to move through molasses. It was as though a thousand needles were piercing me all at once.

"What's wrong with you, boy?" Jake sneered, noticing my discomfort, "Looks like your boy has a weak stomach, Martha," he said with a smug grin.

Finally, my body gave out and I collapsed onto the ground. The cool tiles against my face brought a momentary relief, but each breath felt harder to take. Everything started slipping away, the world growing dim as I struggled to stay conscious.

"Clark!" Mom cried out, kneeling down beside me and placing a hand on my forehead. Her gaze shifted to Jake, "Jake, what is that thing? Where did you get it?"

Jake shrugged nonchalantly. "Found it at a vacant lot I was working on. Figured it might be worth something. Didn't know it was gonna turn the kid green, though."

Mom's eyes widened, a subtle tremor of shock rippling across her face. Her lips parted slightly in a gasp of recognition.

But pain and anger clouded my thoughts. Jake had always been a jerk, but I never imagined he could be so callous about something that was hurting me so much.

"Get it… away from me," I managed to choke out. I glared at him, but my vision was starting to blur.

Jake just laughed, holding the rock triumphantly in his calloused hand. "Not so tough now, are ya, Clark? he jeered.

"Get it away from him, Jake!" Mom ordered, her voice cold and sharp. "Now."

Jake rolled his eyes but begrudgingly complied, tossing the stone into the lead box.

The flashback shattered abruptly, like shards of glass as Jake lunged toward me, clutching the box tightly in his hand.

In that split second, time seemed to stretch, giving me a fleeting chance to react. With a surge of adrenaline, I dashed towards my room, slamming the door behind me with a resounding thud.

Leaning against the door, I closed my eyes, trying to steady my racing heart.

Not today, I vowed silently.

"Fucking freak!" the venomous roar tore through the air, reverberating in the stillness of my room.

Frustration welled up inside me, a simmering anger at the constant fear that seemed to follow me like a shadow. No matter how strong I was, it seemed like the world was determined to keep me in this state of constant vigilance.

The sheer unfairness of it all shook me to my core, and I trembled with frustration, my hands clenching into fists in a desperate attempt to contain the tempest raging within me.

Visions of Jake's relentless torment invaded my mind, like a swarm of demons seeking to ignite the flames of my anger. The dark tendrils that had long stirred inside me coiled tightly around my heart, threatening to pull me into their clutches.

They whispered sinister promises, tempting me with their seductive power. Intrusive thoughts infiltrated my mind, each one more gruesome than the last. They taunted me with a hundred different ways to make Jake pay for every ounce of suffering he had inflicted upon us.

I saw his bones crumbling under the crushing force of my fingers, heard the satisfying crash of glass and splintering of wood as I hurled him through the window, erasing him from our lives forever. The pull of liberation, the tantalizing satisfaction of seeing justice served, tugged at my deepest desires.

But then, in the midst of my darkest musings, my mother's face materialized.

Her expression, contorted by a mixture of fear and disgust, pierced through the veil of my anger. The raw terror in her eyes, the very eyes that had always looked upon me with love and hope, bore into my soul with utter revulsion.

I recoiled from the abyss of my own violent thoughts, repulsed by the monster I could become if I surrendered to this darkness inside me. I couldn't bear the thought of transforming into a mindless beast, one that would inspire only fear in the hearts of those I loved. With a muffled scream of frustration, I fought to regain control over my turbulent emotions, determined to rise above the consuming anger that threatened to devour me whole.

I slowly pushed myself away from the door, my body feeling heavy and drained.

Each step toward my bed required a monumental effort, as if wading through an ocean of despair. Collapsing onto the mattress, I buried my face in the pillow, tears welling up in my eyes, unbidden and unstoppable.

The sobs escaped my throat, muffled by the fabric, but the agony echoed through the room. Tears streamed down my face, staining the fabric beneath me. Not just tears of sadness, but of frustration, anger, and a profound sense of helplessness.

I cried myself to sleep, my body convulsing with each heart-wrenching sob, my dreams consumed by a tempest of pain and regret. Exhaustion and tears intertwined, creating a bittersweet lullaby that carried me into the embrace of oblivion.

Chapter 10

As the morning sunlight filtered through my bedroom window, I slowly emerged from my restless slumber. With a groan, I sat up on the edge of the bed, rubbing my temples in an attempt to clear my foggy mind.

I glanced down at my wrinkled suit, a visual reminder of the whirlwind weekend that had just upended my life. It felt surreal to think that after everything that had happened, I had to resume my normal routine, starting with class today.

A wave of apprehension settled heavily on my chest. Today I was going to face Helena for the first time since we hugged each other goodbye at the gala.

In that moment, she couldn't have possibly fathomed that, mere moments later, I would find myself pinning her father against a wall.

The question echoed in my mind like an incessant refrain: Had Bruce already told her the truth? How much did she actually know?

In the wake of recent revelations, I had no clue where I stood in her world now.

Damian, sure acted like he knew, so it was only logical to assume that Helena might be privy to my secret as well. The uncertainty gnawed at me, making me more anxious about our impending encounter.

Adding to my already mounting stress, today marked yet another pivotal moment in my life. One where the carefully crafted facade I had maintained for so long would be peeled back, exposing my darkest secret before the watchful eyes of the Bat.

For as long as I could remember, I had viewed my unnatural skills as an uncontrollable burden. Every day was a careful dance, a delicate balancing act to conceal my true nature from the world around me.

The thought of having my powers laid bare before a man whom I couldn't fully trust, sent a tremor of discomfort through my core.

What the hell was I thinking?

And yet, I had never had anyone to guide me in taming my unruly abilities. The prospect of Batman extending his hand to help me navigate the treacherous path of control, was a faint spark of hope amidst the doubt and uncertainty.

With a weary sigh, I pushed myself off the bed and began to ready myself for the day.

As I made my way to Gotham Academy, each step felt heavier than the last. There was this nagging sense in the pit of my stomach that everything had changed between Helena and me. Our friendship, once filled with lighthearted banter and shared laughter, now bore the weight of secrets and hidden identities.

I entered the Criminal Psychology classroom, its mahogany doors beckoning me into a world where the darkest corners of the human psyche were dissected.

Vintage photographs, meticulously framed, lined the walls, depicting the sinister faces of Gotham's infamous villains. Yellowed newspaper clippings chronicled their chilling exploits. At the front of the room stood a towering chalkboard, its vast expanse filled with theories and deductions.

Professor Donovan stood tall, emanating an aura reminiscent of a seasoned detective from the gritty pages of a noir novel. His commanding presence was accentuated by a well-groomed salt-and-pepper beard and a pair of half-moon glasses perched on his nose. The lines on his face told stories of sleepless nights spent delving into the depths of the disturbed minds that plagued the city.

As the lecture began, his voice reverberated through the lecture hall, painting vivid portraits of deviant behavior. He delved into the twisted motivations that drove criminals to commit unspeakable acts.

Lost in my own thoughts, I struggled to focus on the lecture, my mind wandering to Helena. I discreetly scanned the classroom, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. But she was nowhere to be found, her absence from her usual spot adding to my growing anxiety.

However, as Professor Donovan began his account of the recent wave of crimes gripping Gotham City, his words cut through the haze of my concerns, capturing my attention once again.

He described a series of gruesome acts, each more disturbing than the last, that had sent shockwaves throughout the city.

The perpetrator reveled in chaos and inflicted unimaginable suffering upon their victims. The mention of disfigured bodies, left in disarray, evoked memories of a deranged mind that delighted in causing pain and instilling fear.

The meticulous nature of the crimes, with carefully placed clues and a twisted sense of artistry, hinted at a mastermind orchestrating a macabre symphony.

Every chilling detail he described felt like a knife twisting in my heart. I shuddered at the thought of the sheer terror those innocent victims must have endured at the hands of such a sadistic nutcase.

A surge of righteous anger coursed through my veins, fueling an irresistible urge to confront that psychopath face-to-face. Oh, I'd love to see him try that with me. He'd be in for a brutal awakening. A pang of guilt gnawed at my heart, knowing that I probably would have been able to protect those poor souls from their tragic fate.

As the lecture concluded, I joined the stream of students exiting the classroom, a swarm of unanswered questions buzzing in my head.

Nervous anticipation prickled at the back of my mind as I navigated the maze-like corridors of the academy, my eyes darting in search of Helena's familiar face.

It was only when I reached the grand marble staircase that I spotted her, standing at the bottom, surrounded by a group of friends.

Ignoring the disapproving glances of some passersby, I approached with a slight smile. My heart quickened its pace as I drew closer.

Feigning nonchalance I greeted the group. "Didn't expect to find you here" I remarked. "You missed one hell of a lecture. Donovan was in top form today."

Helena chuckled, mischief dancing in her eyes as she met my gaze. "Oh, I'm sure his theories were riveting as always. But sometimes, you just need a little breather, you know?" She teased, flashing a grin. "Don't worry, though. I'll count on your meticulous notes to catch up on what I missed."

With a subtle nod, Helena excused herself from the group, and our footsteps fell in sync as we veered towards the exit.

"So," I began tentatively, unable to resist the curiosity any longer, "the gala seems like a lifetime ago. I'm sorry I had to leave early."

"No need to apologize. I figured you had your reasons." Her casual response both intrigued and unsettled me. I studied her intently, searching for any flicker of recognition or hidden truths, but her heartbeat remained steady, and her sapphire eyes betrayed no secrets. She seemed blissfully unaware of my monstrous alter ego.

"Anything interesting happened after I left? I probed further, half-expecting her to suddenly point at me, her eyes gleaming with an all-knowing revelation.

"Oh, you won't believe it," she began, and I held my breath, bracing for the worst. "Just when things were winding down, guess who waltzed in? Lex Luthor himself, all the way from Metropolis. And let me tell you, he was in quite a state."

A quiet sigh of relief escaped my lips, the weight lifting off my shoulders. She didn't seem to have any suspicions at all. Maintaining my composure, I raised an eyebrow in response. "Luthor, huh?" I've seen his name pop up in the news a few times. Seems like he's got a reputation for his shady dealings and questionable ethics."

"Yes, he's one of those big-shot types who acts like he's running the whole country instead of just a business empire." Helena paused, trying to contain her laughter, "You should have seen the expressions on the guests' faces. I'm talking about a stumbling, slurring mess. It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion, but with an expensive three-piece suit."

Curiosity piqued, I pressed further. "What was he doing at a charity event in Gotham?"

"He took the mic like he owned the place and announced a massive donation from Lexcorp," Helena replied. "One of the guests I spoke to mentioned that Luthor has been eyeing the Wayne Foundation's stake in an advanced research facility called S.T.A.R. Labs. He was making a play to secure the Gotham branch."

"S.T.A.R. Labs?" That rings a bell. "Interesting move. What's his endgame?" I asked.

"Well, from what I gathered, it seems he is eager to get his hands on their top-of-the-line tech. With his track record, who knows what kind of experiments he'll conduct once he's in control."

I let out a low whistle, Gotham had enough troubles without Luthor adding his own brand of chaos to the mix. "Great, just what this city needs," I muttered. "Another power player with questionable motives."

Helena grinned, her gaze shifting as her phone buzzed with a new message. She glanced at it briefly and then turned to me, a hint of regret in her eyes. "Sorry, Clark, but Alfred's here to pick me up, and you know how punctual he is. Catch up with you later, alright?"

I smiled and waved her off. "No worries, Helena. Take care, and we'll definitely catch up again soon."

Embarrassment prickled beneath my skin as I stood before the timeworn threshold of my house. The once-vibrant coat of paint had weathered over time, revealing a patchwork of faded hues. The patched-up roof sagged under the weight of both rain and time.

The contrast between the worn facade of my home and the world I was about to enter couldn't have been more pronounced.

As the evening sky painted a tapestry of fading colors, a sleek black car glided to a stop in front of me. Its polished exterior shimmered under the fading light, creating a striking contrast against the rugged backdrop of the Narrows.

The driver's door swung open, and Helena's butler emerged. Clad in a perfectly tailored suit that accentuated his lean frame, he exuded an air of timeless sophistication. His impeccably styled hair framed a face adorned with a neatly trimmed mustache, adding a touch of old-world charm. His sharp brown eyes briefly surveyed the surroundings, and I wondered what judgments he might be silently passing.

"Good evening, sir," he greeted me, his refined British accent dancing upon his words. "I am Alfred, at your service. Master Bruce is expecting you,"

As I approached the car, Alfred opened the back door with a practiced gesture "Please, step inside."

Before I could climb in, he reached into his pocket and produced a folded fabric blindfold.

"Forgive me, sir. Security protocol," Alfred explained. "We must safeguard the secrecy of our training location."

With a nod, I accepted the blindfold from Alfred's outstretched hand. "Of course," I replied, concealing my amusement behind a facade of compliance.

Little did he know, my unique vision rendered the piece of fabric utterly useless. I was convinced the Bat had deduced this when I unveiled his true identity. Why would he insist on maintaining this formality? Did he actually know the extent of my abilities? Or perhaps he wanted to keep Alfred in the dark? I fervently hoped the latter was true. After all, the fewer people who knew about my freakish set of skills, the better.

I raised the blindfold to my eyes, allowing the fabric to obscure my vision. With practiced precision, Alfred secured it, ensuring that no sliver of light could penetrate its folds. Darkness enveloped me, and I suppressed a smile. Behind the fabric, I saw everything with perfect clarity, as if the world were laid bare before me.

"Rest assured, sir," Alfred said. "You are in capable hands. I shall guide you safely."

With the blindfold securely in place, I climbed into the backseat of the car, settling into the plush upholstery.

Alfred took his place in the driver's seat and the engine hummed to life. Its purr filled the air as we embarked on our clandestine excursion.

Navigating the labyrinthine streets of the city, Alfred's gaze occasionally shifted towards me, a blend of caution and intrigue in his seemingly impassive eyes. Meanwhile, I maintained a calm facade, my gaze fixed on the world beyond the blindfold.

Memories resurfaced of those moments when he would appear at the parking lot of Gotham Academy, his eyes fixed on me with a penetrating intensity. Back then, I had attributed it to his role as Helena's guardian, but now I couldn't help but wonder if there was more to his scrutiny. I wouldn't be surprised if Bruce had divulged my secrets to his trusted confidant.

As we reached the heavy iron gates of Helena's estate, they swung open with a creak, granting us entrance to the familiar surroundings of the sprawling mansion.

Of course, Bruce had a training room in the house.

The anticipation hung in the air, sending a surge of electric restlessness through my veins. Finally, the car glided to a stop, its engine purring into silence. With Alfred's assistance, I emerged from the vehicle, and the cool air brushed against my face, carrying with it the subtle scent of freshly trimmed grass.

Under the steady guidance of Alfred, we embarked on a silent walk through the opulent corridors. Each step carried me deeper into the heart of the estate, and my imagination ran wild with anticipation of what the session would entail.

The sound of distant laughter and muffled conversations reached my ears, reminding me of the life and activity within these walls. I wondered if Helena's infectious laughter was among the voices, unaware of my arrival. Temptation lured me to seek her out, but I refrained from prying. I had no desire to let my abnormal aptitudes transform me into a voyeur on steroids.

The ambiance shifted subtly as we descended into the depths of the mansion, down a grand staircase that seemed to lead to another world. The air grew crisper, a subtle chill embracing my skin. The sounds of machinery and the soft hum of technology tickled my senses, harmonizing with the rhythmic echoes of our footsteps against the ancient stone walls.

As we approached a heavy steel door, Alfred reached out and pressed his palm against a small panel embedded in the wall. A soft beep followed, and a series of scanning lights passed over his hand. With a subtle hiss, the door swung open.

As we entered, a flurry of wings filled the air as a swarm of bats hastily dispersed. A smile crept onto my face as a realization struck me. Ah, I see, I chuckled inwardly, appreciating the irony. "So this must be his 'Batcave' then I jokingly whispered under my breath.

"We have arrived," Alfred announced as he gently removed the blindfold. Before us sprawled a cavernous expanse, filled with an array of state-of-the-art equipment. The air held a faint metallic tang, mingled with a subtle hint of moisture. Towering stalactites and stalagmites stretched from the ceiling to the floor, giving the impression of a subterranean cathedral. The walls were rugged, carved directly from the bedrock, with veins of minerals glinting in the dim light. Suspended above were high-tech surveillance monitors, their screens pulsating with real-time feeds. Around the perimeter of the cave, an arsenal of specialized equipment and vehicles stood ready for action, their sleek contours accentuated by subtle highlights of armor plating.

Bathed in the soft radiance of the computer's screens, Batman's piercing eyes met ours as we crossed the threshold.

"Welcome," he greeted us, his trademark gravelly voice resonating through the cavernous space.

Chapter 11

As I stood before the Dark Knight, the weight of responsibility settled on my shoulders, heavy with the burden I never asked for. Damn, I was tired of tiptoeing through life, terrified of the cataclysmic consequences that awaited a single misplaced touch. But amidst the shadows of doubt, I saw a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. This training offered a chance to reclaim a semblance of normalcy. It held the key to freedom from the suffocating fear that plagued my every step.

Batman's steely gaze met mine, a silent understanding passing between us. It was as if he could see the depths of my inner turmoil. With a subtle nod, he motioned for me to settle into a leather armchair near the main monitor, its mesmerizing array of screens humming softly in the background.

"Clark," Batman's deep voice broke through the silence, his stoic expression softened by a hint of gratitude. "I appreciate your willingness to come here. Our objective is clear— to guide you in harnessing your powers responsibly, ensuring they become a force for good rather than an instrument of chaos."

I nodded in acknowledgment, though a trace of skepticism lingered in the corners of my mind. It was strange to have someone else fling my own insecurities back in my face.

"To learn control, you must first comprehend the full scope of your powers. Understand their breadth and boundaries." Batman raised a hand and motioned towards the vast expanse of the cave.

Responding to his unspoken invitation, I swiftly rose from the comfort of the chair, and fell into step beside him. His purposeful stride led the way through the winding maze of corridors in his hidden sanctuary.

"Allow yourself to be immersed in the training, honing your skills until they flow effortlessly, becoming an extension of your very being." Batman explained as we passed a display of meticulously organized grenades. From spherical orbs to cylindrical canisters, each bore cryptic markings, hinting at their distinct properties.

"It's about finding that sweet spot, the balance between control and instinct." Pausing at a bank of computer consoles, Batman turned towards me. "Now, as you are well aware, I possess certain... insights into the extent of your abilities." Under the cowl, his piercing gaze seemed to dissect my very essence.

"Starting with that little incident, which made it abundantly clear that bullets pose no threat to you." He emphasized, a wry smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

Regret pierced through me like a blade, my lips parting involuntarily as I relived the stupidity of my actions.

As if noticing my distress, Batman offered a reassuring smile. "Rest easy," he said, "I've taken care of erasing any trace of the footage."

A sheepish grin spread across my face. "Thanks," I muttered in relief.

"And during our last encounter…" Batman's voice trailed off, "I have to hand it to you, not just anyone can keep me rooted in place with their bare hands." His lips curled into a faint smile.

A cringe flickered across my face, replaying the awkward scene in my mind. I unconsciously rubbed the back of my neck, unsure of how to respond.

But without missing a beat, Batman went on. "To create the ideal training routine, we need to explore the full spectrum of what you can do." He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. "What caliber are we dealing with here? Are we talking heavy dumbbells or small cars? Have you tested your limits?"

I stood before him, mouth agape, unable to conceal my embarrassment. Truth be told, I had given little consideration to the true magnitude of my powers. The memories of unintentional havoc flooded my mind, fragments of incidents where objects shattered and broke under the sheer force of my existence.

The fiery chaos at the quarry… The blistering heat that had seared the earth, the deafening explosions that sent rocks hurtling through the air. It all roared back to life with a vividness that made me shudder. The image of my mother, her face twisted in pain as she clutched her ribs, flashed before my eyes like an ever-present specter.

The prospect of exploring the boundaries of my power remained a foreign concept, despite Pete's persistent suggestions. It would mean unfastening the chains that kept the slumbering monster at bay, something I wanted to avoid at all costs.

Instead, I spent most of my days desperately trying to conceal and contain what made me different. Restraint was my constant companion, dictating my every move. So lifting cars hadn't exactly been part of my daily routine.

Yet, deep within the recesses of my being, I could feel it. A primal energy clawed against its confinement. It pulsed within me, eager to be unleashed, like a caged beast yearning for the sweet taste of freedom.

"Honestly, I can't say for certain." I finally managed to reply, my voice strained. "But there've been moments where it felt like I could move mountains if I wanted to." My cheeks flushed with a deep shade of crimson at finally vocalizing the unspoken truth.

A faint smile curved Batman's lips, a subtle nod of acknowledgment that he understood my uncertainty. "Don't worry, Clark. This is why we are here." With a flick of his gloved hand, he motioned for me to follow.

"Now, any other skills in your arsenal I should I be aware of?" Batman inquired casually.

"Arsenal, huh?" I muttered, a hint of bitterness creeping into my tone. The word echoed in my mind, making me feel like a walking weapon of mass destruction.

I hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. Exposing my true nature felt like baring my soul to a stranger. I couldn't lay all my cards on the table just yet. However, I knew that withholding information would only hinder our progress.

"There might be some… things I can do," I cautiously confessed, tracing patterns in the dust with my foot, my gaze fixed on the ground. "I understand the importance of this training," I continued, choosing my words carefully. "But it's a lot to share, and I want to be sure…" I raised my eyes to meet Batman's unwavering gaze, "sure that I can trust you with this part of me."

His stern expression softened ever so slightly, a hint of understanding glinting under his domino mask. "We will take it step by step," he reassured me. "Trust is the foundation of our partnership, Clark. We'll proceed at your pace."

I squared my shoulders. "Deal," I replied, relieved that he didn't press further.

As we walked through the hidden depths of the training facility, Batman led me to a vast chamber that seemed like something out of a sci-fi movie. Strange machines surrounded us, their purpose shrouded in mystery.

In the center of the room, a line of sleek pods stood like sentinels, their polished surfaces exuding a futuristic allure. Soft LED lights lined their edges, casting a subtle glow that danced along the contours.

Batman approached one of the pods and triggered its activation sequence. The metallic doors slid open with a hiss, unveiling an impeccably crafted armored suit.

"You'll be needing this," he said, handing me the black gear. "No need for the gloves or the mask just yet."

I accepted the suit, my fingers tracing the coarse fabric.

"This suit is the result of years of research," Batman explained, his voice filled with pride. "I've personally developed it using a unique blend of advanced materials. It's incredibly durable and provides unmatched resistance to damage."

I moved to a secluded corner of the chamber to change. As I fastened the buckles and adjusted the straps, a spark of excitement momentarily overtook my apprehension. With each secure click, I felt a subtle shift in my mindset. For a brief moment, doubts and uncertainties took a backseat, replaced by a twinge of confidence. A feeling that rarely surfaced when my powers were involved.

Once fully clad in the tactical outfit, I stepped out from the shadows. The rugged material against my body infused me with a sense of badassery that I couldn't deny. With a nod of approval, the Bat motioned me to follow him through the vast chamber, our steps resonating against the concrete floor.

We ventured past an array of enigmatic machines, each one more intricate than the last. Finally, we came to a halt in front of a towering contraption, standing at the center of the room like an imposing monolith.

The machine resembled a colossal hydraulic press, its heavy-duty steel frame gleaming under the bright lights of the chamber. Massive pistons and thick hoses snaked around its base.

I turned to Batman, my apprehension palpable. "What is this thing?" I asked, my gaze locked onto the mysterious structure.

Batman crossed his arms, a hint of a smile curling upon his lips. "Well, this here is no ordinary device," he began, "It allows you to measure an individual's strength in a way that surpasses anything you'll find in your local gym. It's made of osmium, the densest material known to man, designed specifically for individuals with aptitudes beyond what's humanly possible."

I nodded, my gaze gradually shifting upward to trace the monumental silhouette of the mechanical beast. Nervousness fluttered in the pit of my stomach, mingled with a tinge of excitement. The thought of my training being connected to that machine sent a shiver down my spine.

Batman guided me to the center of the metal press, pointing out two marks at the top of its smooth surface, where my hands were to be placed. "Stand here, Clark," he instructed, his voice steady and reassuring.

I hesitantly stepped forward, and took my place at the designated spot, my pulse quickening with every movement. The hydraulics above me hummed with a low, mechanical growl. As I positioned myself, the metallic surface felt cool and solid beneath my palms.

Surrounded by the immense structure, I couldn't help but feel like a lab rat thrust into an elaborate experiment, its every move observed and controlled.

Meanwhile, Batman moved to a nearby monitor, his gloved fingers dancing across the controls. The screen burst to life, displaying a series of intricate readings and data.

"I'll be monitoring the machine from here," he explained, his eyes focused on the screen. "We've implemented voice-activated safety measures. If it becomes too much, just say 'stop,' and the machine will halt immediately. Don't worry, it will never close fully. Safety first," he said with a reassuring wink.

"Now, Clark," Batman added. "When you feel prepared, let me know. We'll start conservatively, given our lack of a benchmark. Are you ready?"

"Ready," I affirmed, my voice steady despite the nervous flutter in my chest.

The machine groaned in response to Batman's final adjustments. A low rumble reverberated through the chamber, signaling the imminent trial. I took a deep breath, mustering my resolve.

"Starting with the equivalent of 50 kilograms," Batman announced as the press whirred to life.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the weight started increasing, exerting its force. My eyes fixated on the screen before me, where the numbers steadily climbed, inching closer to the designated weight.

"How does it feel, Clark?" Batman's question broke through the mechanical symphony, his eyes fixed on me with unwavering focus.

A smirk tugged at the corners of my lips. "Wait, has it even started?" I teased, raising an eyebrow playfully. In that moment, the weight seemed inconsequential, barely registering against my palms.

A faint smile danced upon Batman's face, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Just you wait," he replied. "We're just getting started. Remember, just say the safety word if you need to tap out."

With a nod, I returned my gaze to the screen where the numbers continued their ascent. The anticipation within me grew like an electric charge. As the weight reached 300 kilograms, my astonishment grew. The strain, if there was any, felt negligible.

"We're entering a category that extends beyond the capabilities of ordinary humans," Batman stated matter-of-factly.

I couldn't say I was entirely surprised. My strength had always felt above average. I recalled the countless times my touch turned everyday objects into crushed remnants, much to Jake's dismay and anger.

The numbers acted as a cold, numerical indictment, exposing the truth I had long tried to suppress. I was a freak lurking beneath a thin veneer of humanity.

As the numbers reached one ton, a small gasp escaped my lips. The realization hit me like a sudden blow to the gut, confirming the suspicions I had harbored for so long. Seeing them quantified in numbers only reaffirmed my fears.

"That's a small car," Batman casually noted.

"B-Batman," I called out, my voice laced with disbelief. "Is this right? Are those numbers accurate?"

"They're accurate, Clark," he confirmed.

"I... I never expected this," I stammered. "I can't explain it, there's no strain, yet the weight keeps increasing. It's... it's like I'm barely even holding it up." I muttered, the words barely audible.

"This is why strength without control is a dangerous thing," Batman cautioned impassively.

His words hit a chord as I was painfully reminded why he had been keeping a close eye on me in the first place.

The numbers continued to climb, each digit rising higher and higher, pushing the boundaries of what I thought was possible.

Doubts insidiously wormed their way into my thoughts, and my focus began to waver. I averted my eyes from the screen, unable to bear the truth staring back at me any longer. Could I truly control this power? Or would it control me? The weight of the world suddenly seemed heavier than ever before. No wonder every day of my existence was a struggle if this is what I was dealing with. How could I ever dare to dream of living a normal life?

"Clark, focus. Remember why we're here," Batman's voice broke through the stifling silence, a lifeline that snapped me back to reality. My internal struggles must have been written all across my face.

"I... I..." I stammered, my words catching in my throat. I struggled to find the right words to express the maelstrom of emotions swirling within me.

The numbers on the screen continued their relentless ascent, the increasing weight becoming more daunting with each passing second. But I couldn't bring myself to watch. I kept my head low, my gaze fixed upon the cold, unyielding ground beneath me.

I had silently wished for a chance to finally explore my own boundaries, clinging to the hope that it would grant me a sliver of control over this unbearable curse, but now I found myself questioning whether I wanted to uncover those limits at all. A wave of uncertainty crashed over me, threatening to wash away any semblance of confidence I had mustered.

As my eyes darted to the side, I caught a glimpse of Batman's gloved hand pushing a lever on his control panel. The subtle movement triggered a tangible shift.

The weight, which had steadily climbed until now, seemed to respond to the alteration. I felt the subtle change ripple through my body, causing a tingle to run up my arms. With my stance locked in, my muscles reacted instinctively, and I adjusted my hold on the cool surface of the press.

No longer a mere background sensation, the weight started demanding my attention. A surge of exhilaration coursed through me. This sensation was unlike anything I had experienced before, momentarily eclipsing the gripping anxiety that had coiled within me. I relished the sensation of actively pushing against the weight, feeling my body respond to it. It felt strangely cathartic, as if I were finally setting free a force I had long repressed.

A rush of emotions welled up within me, a mix of relief and an unexpected wave of joy. Though I hadn't reached the breaking point, this newfound sensation confirmed that even I had limits. The weight pressing against me became a symbol of my humanity, evidence that I, too, had to bow to the laws of nature.

Amidst the whirlwind of emotions, Batman's voice pierced through the haze, laced with a hint of amusement. "Looks like you're starting to feel it, huh? I've finally seen you move."

I lifted my gaze, ready to respond. But, as my eyes fell upon the screen, I let out an audible gasp before I could even form the words. My hold wavered ever so slightly as I stared at the monitor, eyes wide in shock. The numbers displayed there were beyond comprehension.

1614 t

1615 t

1616 t

1617 t

…

What the… I blinked, trying to process the sheer magnitude of it all. It couldn't be real, it was a glitch in the fabric of reality.

"Yes… I can feel it now," I managed to reply, glancing up at my palms to tear my gaze away from the overwhelming numbers. I steadied my arms, which had slightly faltered under the weight's increasing force, and resolutely raised them back up. The machine emitted a groan of protest, its metallic sound resonating through the chamber.

Batman's voice rang out, slicing through the mechanical chorus. "Don't push it back up," he warned, urgency lacing his words. "The machine is calibrated to lower the weight. Defying its mechanics could lead to irreparable damage."

My body stiffened, freezing in place. Breaking a multi-million-dollar piece of equipment was the last thing I wanted, especially one belonging to Batman.

"Sorry," I mumbled, my voice barely audible, my cheeks betraying a subtle flush of embarrassment.

A soft alarm began to chime, accompanying a flickering red light on the control panel and my heart sank.

Well, shit. I had broken it.

Batman glanced at the panel, his brow furrowing slightly. "Looks like we're approaching the press's maximum capacity," he remarked, a faint trace of concern betraying his stoic facade.

A sudden blaring sound reverberated through the chamber, and the weight above me ceased its descent. The machine came to an abrupt halt, leaving me suspended in a moment of uncertainty. Slowly, cautiously, I lowered one arm after the other, the weight's absence a tangible void in the air.

Batman's fingers danced across the control panel, his movements purposeful, before he made his way towards me.

I'm afraid we won't be able to get an exact measurement of your capacity," he said calmly. "But hey, we can always give it another shot with a shipping-grade press down the line. For now, this test gives us a good idea of what we're working with, so we can adapt your training accordingly."

I wasn't exactly thrilled about the thought of going through this ordeal again anytime soon, but I managed a quick nod of acceptance.

Undeterred by my lack of conversational effort, Batman continued, his hand gesturing towards the illuminated monitor. "As you can see, you did great. To put it into perspective, the previous record on this device was less than a third of what you withstood. She reached close to 430 tons. And you..." He paused for a moment, as if searching for the right words. "You reached a humble 1896 tons, and yet, it seemed you had more to give."

I glanced back at the screen, the unforgiving numbers mocking my senses. Yet, something in Batman's words pierced through. Another soul had pushed the limits of this very machine. Whoever that woman was, I knew I was not alone. Questions flooded my mind, who was she? And how many others like us were out there in the world, wrestling with their own demons? A spark of hope ignited in me, realizing that there were others, carrying burdens similar to mine.

For a fleeting moment, the isolation that clung to me seemed less daunting. The weight I carried was shared, silently connecting me to a select few who understood the depths of my struggle.

But as quickly as hope bloomed, it was overshadowed by Batman's sobering words. The bitter truth sank deep into my heart. Even among other superpowered beings, I stood in a league of my own, a singular anomaly.

A freak among freaks.

Chapter 12

As I enter the dimly-lit kitchen, the mouthwatering scent of freshly made pancakes fills my nostrils, coaxing an eager growl from my stomach. Feeble rays of sunlight struggle to pierce through the grimy window, casting a muted glow on the worn wooden table. Mom is already seated, captivated by the morning edition of the Gazette.

"Morning, Mom," I greet her with a soft smile, taking a seat across from her.

"Good morning, honey," she replies. I breathe a silent sigh of relief as my gaze falls on the vacant seat beside her. Jake has already left for the construction site, granting us the promise of a peaceful morning.

Mom's eyes briefly meet mine, a glimmer of excitement dancing within them before returning to the article. Her tired features seem to brighten as she gestures towards the newspaper.

"Have you seen this?" she asks, her eyes glued to the page.

"What's it about?" I inquire, rising from my chair. I walk over to stand behind her, catching sight of the title of the article.

Scarlet Streak Rescues Victims from Building Inferno.

The accompanying picture, though not the highest resolution, depicts the blurry form of a masked figure, captured mid-run.

Mom's hands clasp the newspaper with an almost reverent grip. "It's about this new hero, Clark," she starts, her eyes gleaming with fascination. "They say he's been rescuing people in Central City, moving faster than the eye can see."

I quickly scan the article. One witness describes being trapped in a burning high-rise until the red-clad man appeared, whisking them to safety in the blink of an eye.

Another one, I muse silently.

Vigilantes are not an uncommon sight, but superpowered ones add a whole new twist.

As I read, a gleeful expression lights up Mom's face. "Clark, isn't it amazing? Just like you!to the article" she exclaims.

Her gaze meets mine, and a flicker of recognition dances across her features, her hand instinctively flying to her mouth. "It's not you, is it?"

"Of course not, Mom," I reply, a touch of reassurance in my voice. "You know how careful I have to be."

Like the mysterious woman, this guy shares the exact same ability as me. It's a small comfort to know that I'm not the only one out there. Although, I highly doubt he's ever crushed his own mother's ribcage. That messed-up category is reserved solely for me.

A twinge of envy stirs within me toward this Flash character, as the article labels him. He's out there saving lives and basking in the adoration of the public, while my existence is marred by broken bones and constant vigilance.

But my attention is quickly diverted to another headline: Gotham Clown Strikes Again in Brutal Murder Spree.

The city's streets had once again become a playground for the notorious killer, despite the efforts of law enforcement to capture him. Another victim had been discovered on the bleak thoroughfares of Monaghan Avenue.

Just a couple of blocks away.

A wave of panic crashes over me. "Mom, where's your phone?" I blurt out, urgency tinging my words. A startled expression etches itself onto her face, and she swiftly lifts the newspaper, revealing her device.

"I need to show you something important," I explain, my tone grave. I guide her through the steps on her phone, navigating to our conversation thread. "See that little plus button? Tap on it, and you'll find the 'Location' option. Press it again, and I'll receive your exact coordinates."

She follows my instructions, peering over her reading glasses as she tries to decipher the intricate icons and buttons. Her index finger hesitantly taps on the glass surface, tracing the path I've laid out.

A slight crease forms on Mom's forehead. "Clark, why are you showing me this?" she asks, her eyes searching mine.

A somber expression settles on my face as I explain. "There's a maniac on the loose in Gotham. He's operating in our district."

Her breath catches, and I witness the color draining from her face.

"I need you to promise me that if you notice anything even remotely suspicious, you'll immediately share your location with me. Just a single tap, and I'll know where you are."

She nods, comprehension mingled with a touch of fear in her eyes. "Alright, honey," she says, her heartbeat quickening ever so slightly. "I promise."

I release a soft exhale, feeling the tension in my chest gradually ease. With this precaution in place, she'll have a lifeline to reach out to me in times of trouble. I squeeze her hand gently, quickly withdrawing it before I do any more damage.

"Thank you, Mom."

The bell resonates, its chime marking the conclusion of our White-Collar Crime class. Helena and I step out into the sun-drenched campus, consumed by a conversation about the chilling case study that had dominated our lecture.

Morgan Edge, a powerful corporate figure, orchestrated a sophisticated fraud scheme so brazen that it left a trail of devastation and shattered dreams in its wake.

Families' savings, painstakingly built over years of hard work, evaporated into thin air. Homes, once filled with laughter and cherished memories, now bore the silent scars of foreclosure notices. Innocent lives, entangled in Edge's web of deception, were torn apart by the insatiable greed of a single man.

"Can you believe the audacity of this guy?" Helena seethes, her deep blue eyes ignited with righteous fury. "I mean, seriously, they think they can hide behind their fancy suits and silk ties, pulling strings and treating people's lives like some twisted game."

I nod in agreement, my own frustration bubbling. Morgan Edge's smug face lingers in my mind, a wolf in sheep's clothing exploiting a broken system. "It's sickening," I lament. "Hopefully, once we get this damn degree, we'll have the power to actually do something about it."

We make our way to a secluded spot under a towering oak tree, its lush branches providing a welcome respite from the summer campus lawn unfolds before us like a vibrant tapestry of green dotted with a myriad of colorful flowers.

The golden sunbeams filter through the canopy above, enveloping my skin in a gentle warmth. I savor the reinvigorating sensation that dances across my arms and face.

As I lean against the sturdy trunk, a contented sigh escapes my lips. The weight of the day's lectures seems to dissipate.

In that suspended tranquility, Helena's voice cuts through the stillness. "Hey, Clark," she says, undoing the hoodie around her waist and placing it on the soft grass. "Anne from my sparring class is throwing a party tonight. I thought it would be fun if you came along," she suggests, settling down next to me in one fluid motion.

I hesitate for a moment. The world of Helena's wealthy friends, with their polished exteriors and extravagant lifestyles, feels like an entirely different universe compared to my own. And there's also the impending commitment of my next session with her dear father later in the evening.

"Thanks for the invite, Helena," I respond, offering her an grateful smile. "I'd love to join, but I've already made some plans for tonight."

A flicker of disappointment dances across her eyes, swiftly masked by a grin. Leaning closer, she tilts her head enticingly. "Come on, Clark," she cajoles, her voice a gentle coaxing. "Let's shake things up. I want to experience something different with you, for a change."

Her words tug at the edges of my resistance. Yet, duty beckons. I can't exactly leave the Bat hanging.

"I'll keep it in mind," I assure her. "I'll try to swing by later if I can."

A radiant smile spreads across Helena's face as she shifts her position, her gaze sweeping across the sun-kissed surroundings. "You know, I can't remember the last time I sat under the sun like this. I'm starting to look as pale as a bidet," she muses.

I study her, her porcelain complexion contrasting against the vibrant backdrop of the grass beneath us. "Well, it seems we'll have to rectify that," I reply, injecting a playful note into my words.

Then, as if it were the most natural thing, she lowers herself onto my lap, her head nestling gently against my chest.

A surge of warmth courses through me, igniting a fire within my heart. I hesitate, my breath catching in my throat.

Time seems to slow as I sit there, absorbing the delicate weight of Helena's presence against me. I dare not move, afraid that the moment will shatter like fragile glass.

I close my eyes for a moment, embracing this unexpected closeness, the subtle rise and fall of her breath, and the soothing rhythm of her heartbeat.

Suddenly, my phone buzzes, breaking the spell of serenity. Helena chuckles, "Hmm, a vibrating massage seat..." Her soft laughter fills the air, and I can't help but smile as I retrieve the device halfway from my pocket, glancing down at the screen. It's a text from Pete.

Before I can fully retrieve the phone, Helena swiftly snatches it from my pocket, a gleam of excitement dancing in her eyes. "Hey," I protest, attempting to reclaim the device, but she effortlessly evades my reach, fueled by a playful energy.

I freeze, caught between the desire to respond to her teasing and the nagging voice of caution in my mind. Stupid risks are not part of my repertoire, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. My ever-present paranoia rears its head, conjuring worst-case scenarios. The last thing I want is for a lighthearted moment to take a dangerous turn.

Sporting a flirtatious grin, Helena raises my phone aloft, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "Are you going to catch it back?" she taunts, daring me. Her intense gaze locks with mine, momentarily overshadowing the cautious voice that usually guides my actions. I shift my weight carefully, adjusting my position against the trunk to create more space for maneuvering.

In that instant, Helena's laughter dances in the air as she props herself up on her hands, still holding my phone just beyond my reach. "Come and get it," she invites, her head cocked in a sassy challenge.

It stirs something deep inside me. I summon every ounce of meticulous precision and cautiously reach out for the phone, each muscle in my body working in harmony to execute the subtlest of motions.

Laughter erupts between us as we playfully wrestle for control of the phone, each of my actions deliberately choreographed. Our bodies intertwine in a momentary tangle of limbs and banter.

In a swift and calculated movement, I lunge forward, landing on top of her with a triumphant smirk. Our eyes lock in a playful duel.

"Alright, I yield," she concedes with a touch of playful defeat. "You win this round."

Her gaze lingers on my eyes before gradually drifting down to my lips, a subtle smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

The world around us fades into insignificance, leaving only the undeniable magnetism pulling us closer. The air crackles with anticipation, as if an invisible current charges the atmosphere. I become acutely aware of the rapid rhythm of her heart, its pulsating beats reverberating in my ears, synchronizing with my own.

A heady mix of nervousness and longing pulses through my being. Shifting my weight, I prop myself up on my elbow. My hand hovers for a moment, uncertain, before I trace the delicate curve of her jawline with featherlight fingertips.

The warmth of her skin against my palm sends an electric surge through me, scattering doubts and fears like dust in the wind. A rising heat spreads from my fingertips, tracing a path of desire that travels through my core. That fire burns brighter as I slowly close the distance between us.

Our lips finally meet, and it is as if the universe itself holds its breath in reverence. Soft and tentative at first, our kiss soon deepens, fueled by the fire that has been smoldering between us. Time loses its meaning as our bodies melt into each other, and the world around us dissolves into a hazy backdrop, leaving only the intoxicating taste of bliss on our lips.

My mind remains hyper-aware, every nerve attuned to the delicate exchange between us. Each caress of her cheek, every brush of my lips against hers becomes a dance of restraint, a careful balance between passion and caution. I can feel the warmth of her breath mingling with mine, the soft pressure of our mouths exploring the contours and nuances of this newfound intimacy.

Helena's fingers entangle themselves in my hair, gripping firmly and pulling me closer to her. A rush of craving floods through me, igniting a flame that threatens to overwhelm my senses. Its fiery grip tempts me to surrender to the all-consuming passion.

Yet amidst this whirlwind of emotions, a resounding whisper of caution reverberates through my mind, a solemn plea to guard her delicate nature against the slip of my focus. Reality jolts me back to the present, piercing through the haze of desire.

With a conflicted ache in my heart, I reluctantly pull away, gently extricating myself from her grasp.

As we break apart, a breathless smile graces Helena's lips. The charged tension between us holds us captive, a magnetic force beckoning us for more.

With a twinkle in her eye, she whispers, "Well, look at you, Mr. Kent, taking charge of the moment. Can't believe you've been holding this out on me."

My mind somersaults in a dizzying dance as I make my way back home. Did that just happen?

I never even allowed myself to entertain the notion, let alone plunge headfirst into the madness. The risks of getting close to someone, with my lethal touch, loom like specters in the shadows. I am acutely aware of the dangers. But damn, it felt inexplicably right, as if the universe itself gave it a nod of approval.

Surprisingly enough, I managed to keep my cool, not letting my emotions hijack the show. My conscience stayed sharp and aware of every move I made.

And it worked.

A flicker of hope, tiny yet tenacious, begins to ignite within me. Maybe, just maybe, if I remain actively cautious, there might be a sliver of a chance for us.

But let's not deceive ourselves. It's a balancing act on steroids, akin to walking on eggshells where the eggs are forged from dynamite. I cannot afford to let my guard down, not even for a second. I have to keep my focus at all times.

For all my calculated moves, walking the tightrope of proximity with her carries an inherent risk. But I'm not one to back down from a challenge. I'll do whatever it takes to protect her, even if it means shielding her from my own damn self. I've witnessed the consequences of naivety, the havoc that a fleeting lapse in control can wreak.

It's like a delicate waltz on the edge, where the wrong misstep could send us hurtling into a bottomless abyss. Each move, each decision, carries weight, and I'm acutely aware of the stakes at hand.

Lost in my own world, I'm jolted back to reality by the insistent buzz in my pocket. My phone demands attention, reminding me I had neglected to check Pete's message. I retrieve it, unlocking the screen to unveil a flurry of notifications. Among them, the first message cuts straight to the chase.

"Yo."

No beating around the bush here.

"SAY SOMETHING."

Pete's impatience practically radiates from the screen. Curiosity piqued, I scroll through the notifications, finally landing on Pete's initial message that sparked all the commotion.

"I got the gig! Next Thursday at the Laughing Gargoyle." His words ooze with infectious excitement, and I can't help but share in the jubilation.

Without wasting a beat, I fire up a voice note.

"Hey, Pete! Congrats, man! That's incredible news. I'm stoked for you! By the way, there's this party going down tonight in one of those posh Brentwood Heights mansions. What do you say we meet there so you can fill me in on all the juicy details? I'll send you the address. Oh, and hold onto your seat, 'cause I've got some news of my own…"

Chapter 13

As Alfred picked me up once again, the well-rehearsed routine of the blindfolded journey to the 'Batcave' commenced. I couldn't help but question why they insisted on maintaining this charade. But I played along, allowing Alfred the satisfaction of guiding me through the dimly lit passageways.

Maybe this whole blindfold act was their way of testing my poker face, a subtle challenge to see if I would willingly spill my secrets. Or perhaps they got a kick out of the theatrics. Either way, if Batman had any inkling that it indeed existed, he sure kept it well hidden. Sure, there might come a day when I'd have to come clean about my x-ray vision. But for now, I saw the strategic advantage of keeping that trump card tucked safely in my pocket. That is until I could fully trust them.

Finally, we reached our destination, and Alfred handed me my training suit with his customary grace. "Dress in the suit, young sir. Master Bruce shall join you shortly," he intoned in his distinct refined accent. With a nod, he made his discreet exit, disappearing through the imposing steel door.

It struck me how much trust they put in me. Here I was, surrounded by enough weaponry to arm a small army. Your average citizen from the Narrows would be sorely tempted to swipe a grenade or two for some extra cash on the black market.

Slipping into the tactical gear, I settled into the supple leather chair positioned near the main monitor. Swiveling idly, I took in the awe-inspiring sight of the underground cave. The walls rose high, merging seamlessly with the pitch-black ceiling above. The only source of illumination emanated from the imposing monitor that dwarfed our modest one-bedroom apartment. It was like being in a high-tech man cave, minus the cozy recliner and popcorn machine.

Yesterday's training was a whirlwind of adrenaline and near-disasters. I had only just begun my journey into this world, and already I came close to turning the cave into a heap of broken machinery. This time, I vowed to keep my powers in check. No need to be the one responsible for turning the 'Batcomputer' into a high-tech paperweight. Couldn't have Bruce Wayne regretting the day he let this wild creature into his glorified man cave.

Waiting for the Dark Knight was a nerve-wracking experience. Jitterbugs danced in my stomach. My senses were on high alert, tuned to the faintest creak and rustle around me. I couldn't help but wonder what today's session held in store for me. And then, without warning, the Bat materialized before me. The shock of his stealth almost sent me tumbling from the chair. He had managed to sneak up on me like a shadow in broad daylight. Houdini had got nothing on this guy.

Batman extended a gloved hand. "Welcome, Clark," he declared, his tone low and commanding. A moment of silence hung in the air, filled with anticipation and the weight of his words. Finally, he spoke, his voice a deep rumble that reverberated through the cave.

"Now that we have a better understanding of your strength range, it's crucial to harness that power and direct it with precision." His piercing gaze bore into my soul, unyielding and intense. "Control is paramount," he asserted.

Feeling a twinge of embarrassment, I nodded in response, my words stumbling out. "Uh, yes," I stammered, my unease palpable. "That… that's my main issue. My powers... they tend to go haywire when my emotions get the best of me."

As I glanced up, I could have sworn I saw a flicker of understanding behind Batman's cowl. It was as if he knew the struggle all too well, a shared experience hidden beneath his stoic exterior.

"Unchecked emotions can be a dangerous weapon," Batman growled, "With your level of power, it's crucial to reign them in, to be the one in control. We'll work on finding that delicate balance."

I nodded, unsure of what else to say. These sessions felt like a peculiar blend of therapy and lectures. Being compared to a dangerous weapon wasn't exactly the ego boost I needed either. I wanted to believe there was more to me than just raw power waiting to go awry.

With a subtle inclination of his head, Batman beckoned me to follow him to the training area, his cape billowing behind him. We moved through the cavernous depths of the cave, the sound of our footsteps mingling with the faint hum of machinery.

We arrived at a spacious chamber filled with an array of training equipment and monitors. At the center stood a long table, meticulously arranged with delicate crystal glasses. Each glass seemed to shimmer under the bright illumination, casting prismatic reflections across the room.

The sight sent a shiver down my spine. I had lost count of the number of 'glass' glasses that I had inadvertently shattered at the dinner table. Countless shards had found their way into my hand, courtesy of Jake's incessant torment.

"For today's exercise, we'll be conducting what I like to call an Resilience Test," Batman stated, breaking through the haze of my thoughts.

"The purpose is to observe how different stimuli impact your control over your strength, as demonstrated by the resilience of these crystal glasses," he explained, gesturing towards the setup.

He started pacing towards a nearby monitor, his cape swaying with each purposeful step. "Once we identify your triggers, we can train and practice until you manage to suppress their hold over your mind and body."

Returning from the console, Batman strode purposefully toward me, his presence looming larger than life. In his gauntleted hand, he held a sleek, high-tech gadget, its surface gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

"To get a handle on how external factors influence your control," he explained, "I'll need to equip you with this cardiac sensor."

"Uh, sure. No problem." With slightly trembling hands, I unfastened the zipper at the neck of my suit. The chill air of the cave brushed against my exposed skin. My heart rate ticked up a notch, Batman's proximity amplifying my already mounting stress.

I held my breath as Batman carefully placed the device on my chest, its cool touch sending a jolt of awareness through me. It was an odd sensation, akin having a tiny octopus suction-cupped to my pecs. The Bat observed the reading on his device, nodding to himself in quiet acknowledgment.

"There we go," he said calmly. "This will help us keep tabs on your heart rate during the experiment."

"Got it," I replied, refastening the zipper and straps around my neck.

"Keep in mind, this is a simulated session," he stated firmly. "The questions and statements I'll be presenting are solely for the sake of the exercise."

He paused for a moment, allowing his words to sink in before continuing. "So, no need to take anything personally," he added, a glimmer of dry humor slipping into his voice.

I nodded, appreciating his clarity and the reminder that this was a controlled environment. After all, it wouldn't be the first time Batman had resorted to unconventional methods to bring out the best in people.

Trying to steady my nerves, I inhaled deeply, drawing in the cavern's distinct scent—a fusion of metal, damp stone, and faint traces of ozone.

Batman handed me one of the crystal glasses, its fragility apparent in his gloved hand. With utmost care, I wrapped my fingers around the slender stem, my focus narrowed on not turning it into a pile of shards.

"In order to identify your triggers, I need to ask you some questions," he explained, his gaze fixed on the monitor. "This might touch on personal matters. Are you prepared for that?"

Doubts started to gnaw at me. Was I truly prepared to bare the raw depths of my personal life? Revealing my darkest scars and fears to a caped stranger demanded an audacious leap of faith. But I had no other choice. The discomfort of vulnerability was a small price to pay. It paled in comparison to the potential danger and chaos my untamed powers could unleash. A resolute nod sealed the pact I made with myself. I squared my shoulders and braced myself for the impending inquisition.

Batman retreated to the monitoring station. The all-too-familiar sensation of being a lab rat crept back. A specimen trapped in a psychological experiment.

"Who holds the greatest sway over your world?" Batman's question punctured the silence.

Helena's image took center stage in my mind—the curve of her smile, the glint of mischief in her eyes, and the electrifying chemistry between us. A rush of warmth flooded my cheeks. The monitor diligently recorded the subtle dance of my vital signs, betraying the undeniable impact she had on me.

My mind raced, desperately trying to conjure an appropriate answer. I couldn't exactly reveal my budding infatuation for Batman's daughter. That would undoubtedly be a one-way ticket to Awkwardville.

With a quick mental pivot, I scrambled for a diversion, a more palatable response to keep my true feelings under wraps.

"I would have to say my mother," I replied, "she's the steady force in my life. No matter how much havoc my powers wreak, she's always there. I don't know where I'd be without her."

On the monitor, my vitals steadied—heart rate stable, no noticeable fluctuations. Batman nodded, silently taking note of my response.

"Hmm," Batman mused, eyes darting across the data. "Can you think of anyone else?"

Jake's obnoxious face barged into my thoughts. Instantly, my heart tightened in my chest. The echoes of his snide remarks and power plays reverberated through my mind, resurrecting the anxiety I'd rather bury in a deep, dark pit. Even the damn monitor seemed to chime in with a mocking beep, like some electronic jester.

Taking a moment to compose myself, I fought the urge to crush the delicate crystal in my hand. I shifted my gaze, avoiding direct eye contact with Batman.

"There is someone else," I admitted, my eyes focused on my feet.

Batman's gaze remained unyielding, urging me to continue.

"It's my stepdad, Jake," I reluctantly confessed, the weight of his name heavy on my tongue.

A barely perceptible furrow etched itself on Batman's forehead, hinting at a trace of familiarity. Did he stumble upon my stepdad during his nocturnal prowls?

"Tell me, what does he put you through?" he prodded, interrupting my thoughts.

I swallowed hard, summoning the courage to revisit the memories I had tried so hard to bury.

"He knows just how to dig under my skin," I explained, bitterness seeping into my words. "He's a master at finding my weak spots and exploiting them."

"I see," Batman responded, his voice retaining its calm composure. "And how does it feel, living with him?"

A torrent of emotions surged within me, threatening to drown me in a sea of pain and resentment. The monitor flashed erratic spikes in my heart rate. I took a deep breath, steadying myself.

"Living with Jake?" I replied, with a bitter smile, "It's like walking through a minefield… I'm constantly on edge, tiptoeing around, fearing that one wrong move will trigger his volcanic rage."

The memories flooded my mind, each one a vivid scar, reminding me how Jake's words sliced through my soul like a thousand paper cuts.

"He knows exactly which buttons to push," I continued, the words pouring out like a confession, "like he's got a damn manual on how to tear me apart piece by piece."

As I spilled my guts, Batman's gaze remained locked on the monitor, analyzing every subtle fluctuation of my heart rate. The cavernous silence enveloped us once again.

"Ever just lost it?" he finally probed, his eyes drilling into mine.

My heart constricted, as if gripped by an invisible vice, its rhythm quickening like a frantic drumbeat. I felt a subtle tension seep into my fingers, and a faint crack resonated, catching my attention. I glanced down at the crystal glass in my hand, its surface marred by a nearly imperceptible fracture, snaking its way through the glass. I forced my grip to relax.

"You've seen what I can do," I replied, recalling yesterday's exercise. "I can't exactly afford to act on my impulses."

Reacting carried the risk of crossing a dangerous line. Most of the time, Jake would also have his hand hovering over that damned metal box, ready to put me out of commission.

There had been that one time. That single moment when I completely lost my shit and grabbed Jake by the... I couldn't help but wince at the close call I had narrowly escaped. But other than that, I had managed to keep myself in check, at least in recent years.

Batman's masked face betrayed no emotion as he took note of the subtle shift in my vital signs.

"And tell me, Clark," he said, his voice unnervingly calm. "In those darkest moments with Jake, when you feel trapped and helpless... what does he mean to you? What do you yearn to do?"

A surge of anger surged within me, fueled by years of pent-up frustration.

"He means squat to me," I sneered, my voice dripping with disdain. Jake was nothing but a speck on the windshield of my life, a worthless parasite sucking the very essence of joy from my existence. If the universe gave me a chance, I'd serve him a heaping plate of payback for every single tear shed, every scar etched on my soul.

The glass in my hand quivered, unable to withstand the pressure, finally exploding into a dazzling shower of fragments.

I stared dumbfounded at my empty hand, the remnants of the glass glinting in the light. My body had once again betrayed me. I had failed the test.

"You've endured more than most can fathom, and yet you've held onto your humanity," Batman acknowledged. "We can work with that."

Humanity. The word hung in the air. Was he suggesting that I teetered on the precipice of becoming a full-blown monster? I didn't need a leather-clad crimefighter to remind me of that. But as our eyes met, I caught a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he saw a flicker of redemption within me. A spark that could be salvaged from the wreckage of my past.

With his trademark composure, Batman finally broke the silence. "Clark, I'd like you to take another glass." Ah, yes, another round in this twisted therapy session. I complied, delicately picking up the fresh piece of glassware.

"It's all about finding your anchor," Batman explained, his voice steady and resolute. "Focus on a physical sensation that grounds you in the present moment. It could be the texture of the glass, the coolness against your skin, or the weight of it in your hand."

As the exercise progressed, Batman shared his arsenal of tactics and strategies. He guided me through the treacherous minefield of memories and triggers, honing my ability to resist their grip. He taught me to redirect my thoughts, to detach myself from the emotional onslaught. His intense gaze remained locked on mine, his words calculated to provoke and test.

"Has your mother ever been a target of Jake's torment?" he asked, his voice laced with deliberate provocation. My heart clenched at the mere mention of my mother, the thought of her suffering igniting a primal flame within me. But this time, I took a steadying breath, immersing myself in Batman's guidance. As I exhaled, I visualized the anger dissipating, the tightness in my muscles loosening. It was a conscious act of self-control, a reminder that I held the power to choose how I responded to the triggers.

"Oh, he's tried," I responded, my voice steady despite the underlying anger. "But that son of a bitch won't lay a finger on her. I'll always protect her from that toxic waste, no matter what it takes."

A subtle smirk played across Batman's brooding face, a sign that my progress was not unnoticed. He continued to push, unleashing a barrage of triggering statements, each one designed to poke the fiery beast within.

Glass after glass, with Batman's unwavering guidance, I found myself navigating the swirling maelstrom of emotions more adeptly. It became easier to let the anger slide off me. There were moments when the fire within roared, when the triggers struck a raw nerve that reverberated through my very core. But I refused to let them break me.

Together, we danced with the devil, sidestepping the emotional traps and resisting the clutches of rage. In the end, I stood there, surrounded by shattered remnants of what once held absolute power over me.

A sense of empowerment washed over me like a victorious wave. I locked eyes with Batman, our unspoken bond filled with gratitude and a silent agreement. There was still work to be done, but damn, we had come a long way.

Thank you

Chapter 14

Pete and I pulled up to the grand mansion in Brentwood Heights, the imposing structure looming before us like a monument to excess. We stepped out onto the pristine driveway, the faint sound of laughter and music filling the air.

Pete's eyes widened as he took in the spectacle before us and he let out a low whistle. "Well, Clark, looks like we crash-landed in the land of the fancy-pants. Hope you brought your silver spoon with you," he quipped.

I chuckled, shaking my head at his antics. "Don't worry, Pete. I've got my finest plastic cutlery ready. We'll fit right in."

I carefully shut the door of Pete's faithful Honda, its worn frame protesting in a chorus of metallic creaks.

As we approached the ostentatious entrance, I couldn't help but be awestruck by the sheer grandeur of Anne's mansion. It stood like a testament to wealth, reaching for the heavens. The front lawn, transformed into a stage for revelry, stretched out before us, a microcosm of the extravagant world we are about to enter.

People lounged on the majestic staircase, sipping their drinks with an air of effortless sophistication. Cocktails shimmered in the soft glow of ambient lighting, their colorful concoctions capturing the essence of the night.

We weaved through the lively crowd, each step drawing us deeper into the heart of the party.

As we stepped into the bustling house, the sea of party guests swallowed us whole. The air was alive with chatter and the clinking of glasses, making it challenging to spot anyone amidst the lively chaos. I craned my neck, scanning the crowd in search of Helena's familiar face, but it was like searching for a needle in a tipsy haystack.

I glanced at Pete, who mirrored my puzzled expression. "I'll shoot her a text," I muttered with a sigh. Retrieving my phone from my pocket, I tapped out a quick message.

"Where are you? Just arrived."

While we stood in suspense, my gaze wandered across the eclectic mix of revelers. Drunken dancers twirled in syncopated rhythms. A group of guests was attempting to engage in a deep philosophical conversation, only to dissolve into laughter and incomprehensible ramblings.

Just as I started to wonder if my text had gotten lost in the party vortex, my phone buzzed with Helena's reply.

"the magnifisent umbrla by the poo outsdie."

I couldn't help but chuckle. "Seems like our lady friend has stumbled upon a magnificent umbrella by the poolside," I remarked to Pete.

We maneuvered through the boisterous crowd, sidestepping enthusiastic dancers and dodging flailing arms. As we approached the outskirts of the party, my eyes landed on Helena, locked in a comical duel with a garden gnome. Her carefree antics drew laughter from the onlookers.

Amidst the mirthful chaos, Helena caught sight of us and stumbled our way, an impish smile playing on her lips.

"Clark! Pete! You made it!" she exclaimed, her words slightly slurred but filled with genuine excitement.

Her eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint, contrasting against her dark locks that tumbled in gentle waves.

I greeted her with a careful hug, my heart fluttering as memories of our last encounter resurfaced. Images of our lips meeting flashed in my head.

Pete, ever the quick-witted companion, broke the ice with a grin. "Ah, Helena, the life of the party, as always. I must say, your moves with the gnome were quite impressive. You've truly mastered the art of unconventional dance partners."

Helena responded with an exaggerated curtsy, almost losing her balance. "Oh, you ain't seen nothin' yet," she slurred, her unsteady swaying only adding to her infectious giggles.

In the midst of the vibrant atmosphere, Helena's inebriated state became increasingly apparent. She turned the nonsensical into an art form, painting abstract strokes of laughter and confusion.

Leaning on me for support, she swayed to the rhythm of the music. Her arm draped over my shoulder, the warmth of her touch seeping through the fabric of my shirt. Delicate yet unsteady, her fingers traced playful patterns on my arm, leaving a trail of tingling sensations.

"You see, Clark," Helena whispered with a hushed but melodious tone, leaning closer as if divulging a secret of the universe, "Life is like a cosmic roller coaster, and we're strapped in for the wildest ride of them all." Her words floated through the air, a blend of tipsiness and intoxicated wisdom, punctuated by fits of giggles.

Pete's expressive face mirrored a mix of amusement and concern, his arched eyebrow speaking volumes. Meeting his gaze, I shrugged subtly, torn between surrendering to the carefree joy of the moment and the nagging worry that tugged at the corners of my mind.

"Hold my drink, boys, the porcelain gods are calling," Helena declared with a wobbly wave. "I'll be back in a jiffy, and I expect a full report on anything I missed!"

As she vanished into the crowd, Pete leaned closer to me with a grin. "Well, well, Clark, looks like Helena's taken a detour into the land of open bars tonight. She's more spirited than a barrel of monkeys," he quipped.

I chuckled, shaking my head in amusement. "You're not wrong. She wasn't quite like this when we went out to the Crow's Eye. It's like she's a different person."

Pete's tone shifted, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "So, spill the beans, my friend. What's the big news you mentioned earlier?"

A warmth spread through me, a blush creeping onto my cheeks. With a knowing glimmer in my eyes, I replied, "Believe it or not, Pete, it finally happened. The moment was right, and... well, we kissed…"

Pete's face lit up with a smile, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Oh, my man, Clark!" he exclaimed, bursting into a flurry of animated gestures. "That's what I'm talking about, way to go, my friend!" He leaned back dramatically, clapping his hands, causing a few heads to turn.

Caught up in the contagious energy of Pete's jubilation, laughter bubbled up within me. "It was...unexpected. But in the best possible way."

Pete continued his playful banter, wrapping his arm around my neck, drawing me closer. I rolled with the movement, allowing myself to be pulled into his hold. "Well, look at you! First kiss and no casualties. She's still in one piece," he said. "Can't say the same for her sanity, though."

A shiver ran down my spine at the mere thought of accidentally hurting her. "Let's not even go there," I replied, attempting to brush off the notion with a light-hearted tone.

Glancing around, my eyes landed on a nearby table piled with refreshments. Seizing the moment, I swiftly plucked a pair of chilled bottles from the ice-filled bucket, the condensation offering a refreshing coolness against the warmth of the summer night. Returning to Pete's side, I held one up and shot him a knowing look.

"Well, Pete," I said with a grin, "looks like it's time to raise a glass."

Pete's face beamed, his excitement shining through. "You got that right! First gig, first kiss, and now here we are, living it up like rockstars."

"Cheers to firsts," I replied, raising my bottle. With a satisfying clink of our beer bottles, we toasted.

As I glanced around, a faint worry began to creep into my thoughts. Helena had been absent for quite some time now, and her earlier tipsy antics left me slightly concerned.

"Relax, Clark," Pete reassured me, catching my anxious glances toward the glass door through which she had vanished. "But hey, nature's calling for me too. Let's make a quick bathroom pit stop and check on her while we're at it."

I followed Pete to the bathroom, but as luck would have it, it was occupied by someone having a rather unpleasant time. A poor soul was hunched over the toilet, her friends holding her hair as she emptied her insides. The putrid stench mixed with the concerned whispers, creating a disconcerting chaos. Pete and I exchanged a brief glance, silently agreeing to continue our search elsewhere.

Finally stumbling upon an unoccupied bathroom, a knot of worry tightened in my chest. Where could Helena have wandered off to? I hoped she hadn't passed out somewhere. While Pete tended to his needs, I leaned against the wall, fishing out my phone. I tapped on the screen, faster than anyone should be able to: "Hey, everything alright? We're looking for you."

Scanning the room, my gaze swept over the bustling crowd, searching for any sign of her. I resisted the urge to peek behind closed doors, to intrude into others' conversations like some sort of paranoid stalker. I didn't want to pry, but the temptation to x-ray the whole house grew stronger with each passing moment.

But then, amidst the sea of faces, my eyes fell on Tyler's rowdy clique. They were perched on a sofa, their laughter ringing out like a pack of wild hyenas. My jaw clenched. The mere sight of them churned up memories of their relentless taunts and jabs. Blood boiled beneath my skin, but I shook off the irritation, tearing my gaze away from Tyler's cronies.

Despite my attempts to resist prying, curiosity got the best of me. I focused my hearing, hoping to catch even the faintest trace of Helena's voice.

My ears were assaulted by a chorus of discordant sounds, initially blending into a chaotic symphony. There was the distant blare of a boat's horn from Gotham's harbor, the screech of tires as a car raced by, and even the wailing of a baby in the distance.

Tuning out the surrounding noise, I honed in on the room around me. Heartbeats pulsed like drumbeats, the rhythm of life echoing in the background. The sharp pop of a beer can being opened punctuated the air, harmonizing with the tinkling of ice cubes swirling in a glass.

Then fragments started to float into my ears, like puzzle pieces slowly assembling a picture of the party. "...mplaining about the new Lexus her dad..." drifted from one corner. "...ur eyebrows are on fleek!", another voice trailed off. "..t was savage," I focused, attempting to decipher the mosaic of voices.

And then, a distinct remark sliced through the clamor, freezing me in my tracks. "...would roofie her and show her who's boss," the unsettling words came from Jordan, Tyler's faithful lackey. A bone-chilling jolt of terror coursed through me, instantly turning my blood to ice.

He couldn't be talking about Helena.

Wild possibilities raced through my mind, fueled by Tyler's conspicuous absence and Helena's strange behavior. Dark scenarios flashed through my imagination, each one more ominous than the last. Laughter erupted from Tyler's cronies, intensifying my fear.

I needed to find her.

My eyes scoured the pulsating crowd, peeling away layers of bodies and walls. Desperation gripped my core, and my senses went into overdrive, absorbing every sound, every whisper, every heartbeat.

Amidst the cacophony of the party, a faint whimper cut through the noise, sending a chilling shiver down my spine. I froze, disbelief squeezing my heart like a vise. This couldn't be happening.

Time seemed to stretch, elongating each second into an eternity as I zeroed in on the source of that helpless whimper. My pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out the surrounding commotion.

"No… don't..." The words slurred and slow, reached my ears. Helena's voice, weak and hazy, laced with fear, latched onto my soul. My heart clenched in my chest, pure unadulterated dread rushing through my veins.

She was upstairs.

Every particle of my being implored me to burst into a sprint, to charge in like a wild storm, but I fought against the tempest of my instincts. It was too risky in this crowd. Too many fragile bodies. Too many prying eyes. It took every ounce of willpower to keep my pace steady. Resisting the urge became an excruciating test of self-control.

With each step, Helena's voice grew louder, intermingled with the sounds of her defiance. Seconds stretched into agonizing hours, as if time conspired to hinder my progress.

I bounded up the stairs, my footsteps dancing on the edge of human limits, leaping four at a time. Every sound of struggle that reached my ears pierced my heart like a dagger.

"Fuck off me… you..." Helena's words, strained and defiant despite her weakened state, resounded like a clarion call.

Finally, I reached the top of the stairs, guided by the trail of sounds. My mind raced, painting vivid pictures of the scene that awaited me. I pictured Helena, her body tense, fighting against her assailant. Every muscle in my body coiled with explosive energy at the thought, ready to unleash the full force of my fury upon whoever has dared to harm her. Nothing would stand in my way, not now, not ever.

In one swift motion, I swung open the door, the lock giving way with a loud crack. The upper hinges surrendered to the force, but I paid them no mind. The crumpled handle slipped from my grasp, clattering to the floor as I took in the horrifying scene before me.

It was a grotesque nightmare brought to life, worse than anything I could have imagined. Its horrors seeped into my soul, inflaming an incendiary rage that defied containment.

There, on the carpet, lay Helena, her eyes filled with fear and confusion. Tyler loomed over her, a predatory smile on his face. His pants were pulled down, revealing his twisted intentions.

The sight ignited a blazing fire within me, an untamed fury that consumed reason, leaving only a swirling tempest of unbridled wrath. The beast inside growled and snarled, its rage breaking free from the restraints of control, thrashing against the boundaries of sanity.

My jaw clenched, teeth grinding together in a futile attempt to suppress the surge of emotions. I fought to contain the seething energy coursing through me, its potential for devastating release pulsating behind my smoldering gaze.

The world around me dissolved into a blur, cloaked in a haze of crimson. The pressure continued to build, threatening to fracture the dam of restraint I had constructed.

The struggle to hold back the scorching intensity behind my eyes intensified, as if the very flames of my anger could consume everything in their path. I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping my head with vice-like force, as if physical pressure could quell the volcanic eruption brewing inside me. Yet, the searing heat persisted, pulsating beneath my skin, demanding release.

My hands curled into fists, tension radiating through my knuckles as I waged a silent war against my primal instincts. I resisted the overwhelming urge to obliterate Tyler from existence right then and there. To tear him apart, piece by agonizing piece, until nothing remained but a hollow shell of the monster he truly was.

My eyes snapped open, burning with an intensity that could sear through steel. They locked onto Tyler. The sinister grin on his face faltered, replaced by a mask of sheer panic as our eyes met.

In that split second, his gaze darted between Helena and me, the realization of being caught red-handed casting a dark cloud over his once confident demeanor. I could practically hear the gears turning in his head, desperately searching for an escape plan. He was cornered, his power stripped away.

With a startled jolt, Tyler scrambled to pull himself off Helena.

His hands fumbled, hastily hoisting up his pants, his movements clumsy and desperate. But before he could even take a full breath, I closed the distance between us.

I grabbed him by the collar, my fingers digging into the fabric. The only way to prevent myself from crushing him like a can of soda. I threw him across the room, his body colliding against the unforgiving bed frame.

A sickening crack reverberated through the room, the impact sending waves of satisfaction rippling through me. He deserved every ounce of pain, and more.

I knew that if I let loose, this guy would be nothing but a mangled mess of flesh and bones, his existence shattered beyond recognition. It was an enticing thought, letting my rage run wild and painting the walls with his regrets. But I knew, deep down, that succumbing to that dark impulse would only plunge me into the depths of my own worst nightmares.

He crumpled to the ground, wincing in agony. A part of me craved to inflict a punishment that would penetrate the depths of his depravity, leaving an indelible scar upon his conscience. The taste of retribution lingered on the edges of my thoughts.

He was lucky, this was me showing mercy. If I let my instincts take over, he would be a smear on the wall.

He propped himself up, wincing in pain, and I dashed towards him, lifting him up. His eyes darted around the room, searching for an exit strategy while his feet dangled helplessly in the air.

"You fucking piece of shit," I growled, the words clawing their way through clenched teeth. "I should fucking kill you." I could feel the power coursing through my veins, pulsating with a volatile energy that threatened to rupture at any given moment.

"Clark, please... I-I never meant to hurt her," he croaked out. His voice trailed off, the flicker of hope in his eyes dimming as he realized the gravity of his situation. He clung to flimsy justifications, grasping at straws of misunderstood intentions, in a futile attempt to salvage his crumbling world. But his words dissolved into nothingness, falling flat against the weight of his deeds.

I tightened my grip on his collar, my fingers trembling with restrained power. "Save your breath, Tyler," I scoffed, a derisive edge creeping into my words. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't punch your head in," I spat, venom dripping from my words like acid.

The color drained from Tyler's face, leaving behind a ghostly pallor as my words sank in. A spark of doubt danced in his gaze when he realized that I was not bluffing. The remnants of arrogance in his eyes dissipated, giving way to raw and unfiltered panic.

"No way... You... You can't be serious. How..." he stammered, his voice cracking. His eyes widened, desperately searching my face for any sign of weakness, a hint of hesitation, but finding none.

His blood-stained lips quivered on the edge of a futile attempt to smooth-talk his way out of this mess, as if a silver-tongued plea could absolve him of his sins.

"Clark... is that... you?" Helena's slurred words cut through the fog of my anger, her hazy mind struggling to make sense of the chaotic scene. The weight of her recognition struck me like lightning, momentarily eclipsing my rage. In that instant, a surge of protectiveness flooded my veins. I needed to regain control—for her sake.

Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to refocus. I summoned every ounce of self-control, channeling it to douse the flames of anger like a smoldering fire subsiding into embers.

Releasing my grip on Tyler, I let gravity claim him, and he plummeted to the ground with a pathetic thud.

I turned my back on him, shielding Helena's eyes from the sight of his battered form. I couldn't bear the thought of her witnessing the brutality that had unfolded. She didn't need more confusion in her already scrambled brain.

Footsteps approached, breaking through my thoughts. Pete's hand appeared on the mangled door, forcefully pushing it aside. His eyes widened in surprise, registering the state of the entrance. "What the hell... happened?" he blurted out, a mix of disbelief and concern coloring his voice.

Pete's eyes grew wider still as he took in the scene before him. Helena sprawled on the floor, her delicate form bruised and weakened, and Tyler, a disheveled mess nursing a busted lip. The tension in the room crackled, an invisible web of suppressed emotions ready to unravel at any moment.

I spared a quick glance at the wreckage of the door. But my focus swiftly returned to Helena, lying motionless on the floor, her breathing shallow and labored. Urgency coursed through me.

"I have to get her to the hospital," I asserted, "She's been drugged." Dropping to my knees I scooped Helena into my arms, carefully cradling her fragile form. My gaze shifted to Tyler, with a cold glare. "This scumbag…" I trailed off, my voice dripping with revulsion, "...almost had his way with her."

Pete nodded solemnly, his mouth agape, struggling to find words that could adequately capture the gravity of the situation. His eyes darted between Helena, Tyler, and me, silently acknowledging the weight of it all. Without a word, he stepped aside, granting me passage to carry Helena out of the room.

As soon as I stepped outside, adrenaline flooded my veins, propelling me forward. I navigated the labyrinthine corridors of the mansion, my heart pounding in my chest. The instinct to rush Helena to Gotham General Hospital flitted through my mind. But a nagging voice of reason interjected. The cold, sterile walls, the prying eyes of doctors armed with their prodding instruments—years of concealing my abnormal physiology had instilled in me a deep aversion to medical settings.

The hassle and scrutiny of a hospital visit would only add to Helena's distress. She probably wanted to avoid the ordeal of enduring hours of examinations, the invasive tests, the endless waiting. I needed a better plan, one that would address her immediate needs while minimizing unwanted attention and interference.

And then it hit me. In the secret sanctuary hidden beneath Helena's house, among the arsenal of bat-shaped weaponry, I recalled glimpsing a well-stocked medical arsenal. If there was anyone who could provide the necessary aid without prying too deeply, it was Alfred, who tended to the Dark Knight himself.

Decision made, I cast a quick glance around, ensuring no prying eyes were watching. I launched myself into a burst of speed, directing my course towards Wayne Manor.

Chapter 15

Passing the grand gates of Wayne Manor, I found myself standing before the quaint, charming house that served as Alfred's residence. A warm glow spilled from the windows, casting a comforting light on the surrounding darkness. Someone was home. I quickly scanned the house, confirming that Alfred was inside and, thankfully, alone.

Securing Helena's delicate form in one arm, I approached the window of Alfred's room. I gave it a polite but purposeful knock, my heart drumming with anticipation. Muffled sounds of movement resonated from inside. Moments later, the door swung open. Alfred's eyes widened as he took in the sight before him.

"What on earth have you done?" he exclaimed in that posh accent of his, adding a touch of class to his obvious concern.

I held Helena closer, meeting Alfred's gaze. "Hey, I didn't do anything. She's been drugged," I replied, well aware that Alfred had his doubts about me. Figures his suspicious mind would leap to the wrong conclusion.

Alfred's gaze shifted between me and the unconscious Helena, a mix of worry and understanding flickering in his eyes. He gestured for me to enter, a hesitant sign of trust. With cautious steps, I crossed the threshold into his humble abode, a sense of familiarity and safety enveloping me.

As Alfred closed the door behind us, his full attention turned to Helena, still cradled protectively in my arms. His years of caring for Bruce Wayne shone through as he assessed her condition.

"Do you want me to carry her to the cave?" I offered, "I noticed you've got quite the setup there."

Alfred paused for a moment, considering the options. "Let's bring her to the medical facility at the back," he finally suggested, "We have all the tools we need right here."

I nodded in agreement. We made our way to a small, but well-equipped medical room tucked away in Alfred's house—a hidden enclave filled with the scent of antiseptic and the soft hum of life-saving machinery. Carefully, I laid Helena on the medical bed, entrusting her to Alfred's capable hands.

He swiftly sprang into action, launching into a series of tests to evaluate her condition. His skilled hands moved with precision and gentleness, administering oxygen and monitoring her vital signs. Stepping back, I gave him the space he needed, my eyes fixated on Helena's motionless figure.

"Clark, do you know what substance she was drugged with?" Alfred's voice resonated with a calm determination as he checked her pulse.

I took a deep breath, racking my brain for any clue. "Can't say for sure about the exact substance," I admitted, a tinge of frustration coloring my words. "But whatever it was, it packed a punch. She was completely out of it."

"How did this happen?" he inquired, his tone devoid of warmth.

I took a moment to gather my thoughts, searching for the right response. "Tyler, a guy from Gotham A., thought he could take advantage of her," I explained, a protective fire smoldering within me. "I arrived just in the nick of time. He had spiked her drink. I couldn't let him get away with it."

Alfred paused for a moment. "Did you…?"

I understood the unspoken question in Alfred's eyes. Did I get my hands dirty? Did I give Tyler the justice he deserved?

"I did what I had to do to keep Helena safe," I replied, my tone firm yet measured. He's still intact, if that's what's worrying you. But trust me, he won't be causing more trouble anytime soon."

Returning to the dump I called home, weariness clung to me like stubborn cobwebs. Jake sat alone in the living room, nursing a beer bottle and wearing his misery like a shroud. The stench of defeat permeated the room, as if it had seeped into the very fabric of the place.

Ignoring his pitiful state, I made my way to the kitchen, my mind consumed with thoughts of Helena—her vitals had stabilized, and she was in good hands with Alfred.

As I assembled a humble sandwich, the clatter of utensils echoed through the dimly lit room. Taking a bite, I typed out a quick message: "Call me when you wake up."

Mid-chew, I heard Jake's lumbering steps on the worn-out floorboards. His bloodshot eyes locked onto my precious sandwich. "Fix me one of those, would ya?" he slurred, pointing his greasy finger toward my creation.

I sighed inwardly, knowing that denying him would only ignite the powder keg of his anger. I gathered the ingredients, slapping them together with practiced indifference, swiftly assembling a replica. I slid the plate within his grubby reach like a peace offering, hoping it would buy me a moment's reprieve.

Eager to escape the toxic atmosphere, I gobbled down my half-eaten meal. I couldn't flee fast enough, my movements fluid and efficient. I washed my dish in a blur, impatience radiating from my every pore.

"Quit flitting 'round like some damn sideshow freak," Jake grumbled, his words slurring together in a drunken haze. My eyes flickered with annoyance, but I refused to let him get under my skin.

Undeterred by my lack of response, he pressed on. "You really think you're something, don't ya?" he sneered with a bitter edge. "Worthless… huck, burden," he hiccuped.

God, he just didn't know when to quit. It was clear he got a sick thrill out of pushing someone who could likely bench press a tank. He was an adrenaline junkie, addicted to the rush, and I was his dangerous fix. But I knew his game, his desperate need to feel superior. And I had no intention of playing along.

"Lucky for me, I don't need your seal of approval." I shot back, with a nonchalant shrug.

His frustration mounted, realizing that his attempts to rile me up were falling flat. But he couldn't resist taking another jab.

"Nothin' but a waste of money. Ain't nobody gonna give two shits when you're gone," he muttered under his breath.

A chuckle escaped my lips, the irony not lost on me. "Well, Jake, the feeling is mutual. And as for the money, my generous scholarship does a fine job of keeping this place from falling apart."

His face flushed with anger, his fists clenching as he struggled to contain his frustration. He wanted a fight, a clash that would affirm his twisted existence. But I had no interest in dancing to his tune, in granting him the satisfaction he craved.

"Enjoy your sandwich," I tossed over my shoulder as I briskly made my way to the sanctuary of my room, leaving him seething in the kitchen.

I jolted awake, my body spasming as pain surged through every fiber of my being. The room was pitch-black, and it took a moment for my groggy mind to register where I was. Standing before me was Jake, his burly figure bathed in an eerie green glow emanating from his hand. That explained why I felt like all my strength had been sucked out from my very soul.

When Jake's fingers brushed against my skin, the touch of the stone sent waves of agony pulsating through my veins. I winced as he forcefully yanked me out of bed, my weak muscles protesting against the sudden movement.

In a daze, I fought against his hold, my wriggles a futile attempt to free myself from his grip. Sweat glistened on his forehead as he dragged my heavy frame across the room, the floor's coldness biting into my skin.

We stumbled down the stairs, my body crashing against each step like a ragdoll. When we hit the ground floor, Jake wasted no time. He secured that cursed stone to my back, wrapping it with layer upon layer of gray tape.

The damn thing felt like a boulder pressing against my flesh, intensifying the already excruciating ache that radiated through my being. Not content with that, my wrists and ankles received the same cruel treatment.

Satisfied with his handiwork, Jake wiped the sweat from his brow and took a moment to catch his breath. With a final grunt, he shoved me into the back of his beat-up construction van. The air inside was rank, a blend of dust and decay that made me want to gag. I was trapped, confined within the metal prison of his vehicle, as it roared to life and barreled into the night.

The rickety van rattled along the uneven road, each bone-jarring bump jolting me with a fresh wave of agony. I gritted my teeth, my body contorting in pain. Where the bloody hell was this lunatic taking me? Was he planning to dump me in the murky depths of Gotham Harbor, like some kind of twisted mobster?

A flicker of defiance burned within me, urging me to fight back, to break free from this nightmare. I pushed with all my might, muscles straining against the restraints that bound me, but my strength had all but abandoned me. I was as helpless as a newborn. I squinted my eyes, trying to summon the scorching intensity of my gaze, aiming it at the tape that bound my wrists. Yet not even the faintest flicker of flame graced my eyes. Those damn beams, always showing up uninvited, proved to be as helpful as a wet matchstick for once that I actually needed them.

The searing ache in my back grew more unbearable by the minute, threatening to reduce my consciousness to ashes. In the hazy realm between waking and unconsciousness, I heard Jake's voice, dripping with scorn and mockery. Something about not knowing living with a freak would one day pay off handsomely.

And with that thought lingering in the air, darkness enveloped.

I drifted in and out of consciousness, my body being moved and shifted yet again. The world spun in a dizzying blur. Sounds came and went, distant echoes teasing my senses. But amidst the haze, I discerned a voice, familiar yet distant, the very same that had resonated through the phone during Jake's cryptic conversation.

I strained to make sense of the fragments that reached my ears. Another voice joined the symphony, unmistakably Jake's. "Keep that damn stone within arm's reach of the boy, as if your life depends on it... because it just might,"

Through the slits of my heavy eyelids, I caught a glimpse of Jake's figure, his grubby paws clinging possessively to something, something that gleamed under the dim light. A box? No a briefcase... And there it was—the unmistakable look of greed, etched across his face.

As the voices faded in the background, darkness descended once more, swallowing me whole.

I drifted between realms, my mind caught in the relentless dance between awareness and oblivion. The world around me seemed distant and detached, like a fleeting dream.

As I regained a sliver of awareness, a harsh, cold sensation greeted my senses. I lay upon a hard metal surface, paralyzed and trapped within my own body.

The weight of my eyelids seemed insurmountable, but I managed to crack them open, only to be greeted by an overwhelming brightness that seared into my retinas. Blinking away the pain, I sought refuge in the comforting shroud of darkness.

Agonizing pain radiated through every pore. Something metallic dug into my wrists, mercilessly pinning me to the surface that served as my prison. Echoing in the distance, two distinct voices filled the room, their tones carrying a sense of clinical detachment.

"Our priority is the refinement of the inhibitor collar, ensuring a secure attachment to the subject. Once it's ready, we'll summon Gary to handle the installation. We cannot afford any oversights," one voice asserted, its urgency palpable.

"Well, well, Stirling. Looks like we've got ourselves a new project to spice up our workweek," The other voice chimed in, "You might want to take a gander through this microscope. Our little stone friend here seems to defy all the rules of the periodic table. It's as alien as it gets."

As consciousness slipped away from me once more, I was left with the lingering fragments of their conversation, the mere breadcrumbs of understanding in a sea of confusion. Moments later, I stirred back to a hazy awareness, my eyelids too heavy to lift.

Sensations flooded my body. The sting of a needle pierced my skin. My mouth was pried open, and something sharp scraped against the tender flesh of my inner cheek. They probed and swabbed, collecting samples, the intrusion spreading discomfort throughout my weakened form.

"Langley, something isn't quite right with the results. This being, it's not like us. The anomalies in his physiology suggest a non-human origin." one of the scientists voiced, genuine astonishment coloring his words.

"Non-human? That's putting it mildly. Just take a look at that rock. This could win us a Nobel Prize in Physiology, Steve."

"The informant wasn't kidding when he mentioned the lad's unnatural faculties," the other scientist mused, the weight of perplexity evident in their voice. "But these tests... we're dealing with something truly extraordinary. It's as if he's not even from this earth."

A tremor of realization quivered in the other scientist's voice. "Hold on a minute. Remember that crash twenty years ago? The vessel in Section 5.3? The size matches up, doesn't it? It was large enough to accommodate an infant. And this subject, he appears to be in his early twenties. Could it be... could he be connected to that incident? Could this specimen actually be the alien?" The room fell into a stunned silence, the weight of the revelation hanging heavy in the air.

Non-human. Alien. The words reverberated through the fog of my thoughts, but my weary mind struggled to grasp their meaning. Bits and pieces of fragmented understanding floated in the void, eluding my grasp. My hazy thoughts stumbled, like a worn-out engine desperately trying to turn over.

"Unbelievable," one of them finally breathed, their voice a mix of incredulity and excitement. "If this turns out to be true, we're standing on the brink of a scientific breakthrough unlike anything the world has ever seen. The implications... they're mind-boggling."

The world around me blurred as the truth crashed into my consciousness like a relentless tidal wave. Did I hear that right? Could it be true? Was I the alien they spoke of? The questions swirled in a tumultuous storm, each one a lightning bolt of confusion. How? Why? The sheer weight of it all pressed down on me, threatening to suffocate any semblance of understanding. The gears of my mind turned slowly, grinding against the backdrop of uncertainty.

I reached out for clarity, desperately grasping at the fragments of knowledge within my reach. But the pieces of the puzzle slipped through my fingers, playing hide-and-seek with my sanity.

Fear clutched at my heart, squeezing it tight with icy fingers. The prospect of being an outsider, a stranger in a world that had always felt foreign, sent shivers down my spine. I had spent a lifetime grappling with my differences, struggling to fit into a mold that never quite suited me. But to be an actual alien, a monster masquerading as a human... It was like a cosmic joke, a punchline that left me breathless.

Time stretched, each moment an eternity as I grappled with the overwhelming deluge of information. My once-sharp mind now trudged through the thick mud of confusion. And just like that, unconsciousness swooped in, claiming me in its clutches once again.

As awareness returned, a tight and uncomfortable sensation gripped my neck, as if something constricting was digging into my skin. Blinking through the haze, my surroundings gradually came into focus—an austere laboratory room filled with an array of scientific equipment and tools, some stained with crimson. The air carried the sterile scent of disinfectant.

My body throbbed with pain, protesting against its sharp restraints. Two figures materialized before me, their features sharpening as my vision cleared. The first scientist, clad in a pristine white lab coat, exuded an air of tranquility. His silver hair, neatly combed, framed a kind face.

Beside him stood another man. His rumpled lab coat and unkempt hair hinted at a practical nature. My eyes flicked between them, trying to make sense of the situation.

The gray-haired man turned to his companion and spoke in a measured tone, "Let's dial down the intensity of the collar to 70%. We wouldn't want to overwhelm the lad."

The other man responded with a smirk, adjusting his glasses, "Ah, yes, because we don't want to ruin our prized specimen now, do we?"

Approaching me, the calmer man offered a gentle smile. "There, there, welcome back, kid. Don't fret, we're not here to harm you," he said in a reassuring voice.

I strained against the restraints, my muscles burning with exertion as I desperately tried to free my arms from the cold metallic bed. "Shhh, it's okay. It's okay." His soothing voice pierced through the panic, "We just have a few questions for you. I'm Dr. Stirling, and this is Dr. Samuel Langley."

Fear gripped my heart, but I had to gather myself. "What... what are you doing to me?" I grumbled, the words scraping past my parched throat.

"Your guardian made some rather intriguing claims, lad. He mentioned that you possess some remarkable abilities. Care to enlighten us?" Dr. Langley inquired.

My heart raced, panic threatening to consume me. They knew. Jake, that treacherous weasel, had betrayed me, revealing my secret to these vultures in white coats. But no way in hell was I going to let them see my fear. I had to play it cool, keep my cards hidden. The more I revealed, the more they'd see the anomaly I was. And that meant more tests, more probing, and possibly a lifetime behind locked doors.

"What... do you mean abilities?" I managed to croak, my voice weak and hoarse. "I don't understand."

Dr. Stirling's eyebrows shot up, his air of confidence faltering for a split second. Good. Doubt was creeping in, and I'd ride that wave for all it was worth. He glanced at his partner, as if seeking reassurance, before turning back to me.

He reached for his notepad, a flicker of impatience in his movements. "Look, kid, you can cut the act," he snapped, flipping through the pages. "The scans don't lie."

"Dadadada, 6 foot 3," he mumbled, his eyes scanning the lines on the notepad, "Absence of any moles or birthmarks… No, that's not it... Ah, here!" His finger halted, pointing precisely on the page. "Enhanced cellular and bone density," he stated, his voice carrying the weight of irrefutable evidence. "Specialized ducts extending from the core to the ocular region." Dr. Stirling paused. "Furthermore, the results of the tissue tests indicate near-instantaneous wound closure, suggesting rapid cellular regeneration. These findings align perfectly with the informant's claims."

My mind spun with a mix of shock and anger. All this time, I knew I was different, but to hear it from these prying scientists? It hit me like a sledgehammer to the gut. I recalled the whispers I had overheard earlier, or was it yesterday? Damn this stone, it was playing tricks on my sense of time. They seemed to have laced it into a cursed necklace as well. I needed to shift the conversation, extract as much information as possible.

I locked my gaze onto Stirling, my voice dripping with defiance. "You mentioned the 'A' word. Alien. What crash were you talking about? 'Cause last time I checked, I'm as human as the next guy,"

"I understand your confusion, but we have compelling evidence that suggests otherwise," he explained, his tone measured. "The crash I referred to happened two decades ago, and it involved an unidentified vessel, small in size. Our research indicates that you might be connected to that incident."

I leaned back, my mind racing to comprehend the implications. "Connected? How?"

Dr. Langley stepped forward, adjusting his glasses as he joined the conversation. "According to our investigation, the vessel contained an infant at the time of the crash. Considering your approximate age, it's plausible that you could be that child," he explained.

My head spun with the weight of their words.

"But how… how can you be so sure?" I stammered.

"Our analysis of the meteor rock, which seems to exert a profound influence on you, reveals isotopic signatures and unique energy patterns that are consistent with extraterrestrial origins," he explained, his eyes focused on his notepad. "Moreover, the composition of your DNA displays peculiar markers hitherto unseen in the human genome. It strongly suggests an otherworldly connection."

The magnitude of their findings spun my mind, leaving me dizzy as the scattered fragments of my existence began to align, hinting at answers I had sought for a lifetime.

Dr. Langley plucked an apple from his nearby desk, his action taking me by surprise. "Now, if you want us to proceed, crush this," he issued the rather peculiar command.

I arched an eyebrow, the request catching me off guard. "Crush an apple? Is that some kind of test?"

Dr. Stirling nodded, his eyes shining with anticipation. "Indeed, it is. You see, the informant mentioned your exceptional faculties, and we need to assess and document their extent to conclude our study."

Hell no, I wasn't about to expose myself to these science nutjobs. Playing dumb was my best strategy. "Well, firstly, my hands are restrained to this damn table, so crushing anything is a bit of a challenge. And secondly, even if the green stone grants me unique powers as you claim, how in the world am I supposed to unleash them while wearing this confining collar? It just doesn't add up."

Dr. Stirling responded, "We can reduce the collar's energy output by half. Our goal is to gather accurate data without subjecting you to unnecessary discomfort." The red-stained tools on the stainless steel table seemed to tell a different story.

Dr. Langley pressed a button on his remote, and the metallic restraint on my right wrist released with a resounding clank. A glimmer of hope sparked within me. Then, with another button, he dimmed the inhibitor's energy, easing the strain on my body.

As soon as a flicker of strength trickled back, I reached out, determined to tear that accursed collar off and reduce it to a million irreparable pieces. The taste of freedom was within my reach.

Yet, the moment my fingertip made the slightest contact with the collar, an intense green radiance erupted from it, searing through my nerves like a lightning bolt. It was as if a thousand volts of electricity surged through my veins, threatening to consume me whole. I convulsed, my body contorting in agony, and an involuntary cry of anguish escaped my lips as I recoiled. The world faded into darkness as I succumbed to the overwhelming pain.

Chapter 16

I teetered on the edge of consciousness, trapped in a whirlpool of pain and darkness. Through the murky haze, Dr. Langley's voice cut through the dimness. "Got the file on our subject from Investigations. Time to dig into the gritty details. Huh, no address? Legal's slipping."

The soft rustling of paper reached my ears as they delved into the file.

"Must've been one of the informant's requests," Dr. Stirling chimed in. "Hang on, I found something interesting. Take a look at this cutout article. 'A mysterious death—man scorched alive in a freak accident.' Poor chap."

The words drifted and swirled in my mind like elusive ghosts, dancing just out of my reach. Slowly, the realization of their meaning began to dawn on me.

Dr. Langley's voice merged with my tumultuous thoughts. "Wait... the informant mentioned his nascent pyrotechnic vision, and if that holds true, then..."

Their voices grew distant, fading in and out like fleeting whispers.

"Could it be... Could it be the kid's old man?"

Dread coiled around my heart, tightening like a vice. I was thrust into a heightened state of awareness, suffocating under the unbearable weight of sheer horror. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat reverberating like a thunderous drum.

"That's ghastly... If that's the case, then..."

The weight of their speculations descended upon me, squeezing the air from my lungs, leaving me gasping for breath that seemed impossible to take. I strained against the invisible restraints, desperately willing my eyes to open, yet they remained stubbornly shut.

"We need to confirm... Can't ignore the potential…"

I couldn't bear to listen any longer, their words hammered against the fragile walls of my shattered mind, cracking the remnants of my sanity. Every thought, every memory, every shred of my being screamed in protest at the realization of what I had done. Regret seeped into every fiber of my being, drenching me in an overwhelming sense of shame.

The world whirled around me, a dizzying vortex of shattered pieces falling into place with a sickening click. Images of my mother's face flashed before my closed eyes, a haunting mix of love and fear on her features. How could she bear to face me, to look into my eyes after what I had done. I was a walking nightmare, a monster, plain and simple. She should have rid herself of me when she had the chance. But instead, she endured, paying the price with a lifetime of pain.

The weight of my actions bore down, crushing me beneath its unrelenting force. No words could capture the depths of my despair. It threatened to reduce me to dust, leaving me hollow, beyond repair. Anger bubbled up within me, and I cursed the wretched powers coursing through my veins, condemning me to my own personal hell.

Hovering on the precipice of oblivion, the tendrils of that unyielding dread tightened their grip, ensnaring me in a web of my own making. There was no turning back, no escape from the consequences of my actions. I surrendered to the abyss, my silent screams trapped within my paralyzed body. I embraced the darkness, for deep down, I knew that I deserved nothing less.

As I gradually regained consciousness, a sense of emptiness and numbness washed over me, leaving an aching void where my heart should have been.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," Dr. Langley's voice sliced through the fog of my thoughts, jolting me from my groggy state. "You've certainly given us quite a scare. And a word of caution, if you get handsy with that collar, the security mechanism will zap you with double the dose. It will put you out like a light. With a casual gesture, he placed a can of soda into my shackled hand. "Here, take this."

Thirst parched my throat, and my tongue instinctively sought moisture on my chapped lips. Annoyance pricked at me. How was I supposed to drink when my hand was bound to this infernal table? Dr. Langley's little tests were really starting to get on my last nerve.

"Crush it," he ordered.

A surge of irritation flared within me. Really? Wasn't it enough that I was trapped here like a guinea pig in their messed-up experiments? Now I was expected to perform circus tricks on command.

"I just want to go home," I declared flatly.

"Sorry, but you'll have to put in a bit more effort if you want your freedom," the doctor responded, his voice unwavering. "The alternative isn't exactly a picnic, I assure you."

Anger simmered beneath my skin. If playing along with their ridiculous tests was the ticket out of this prison, then fine. I'd play their game. Mustering a show of effort, I pressed my hand against the can, feigning an attempt to crush it.

"See?" I muttered, my voice laced with a hint of bitterness. "Just your average Joe here. Miracles are off the menu, sorry to disappoint."

Dr. Langley's expression darkened. He let out a frustrated sigh, the lines on his forehead deepening. "Oh, kid, if only you had been a tad more cooperative..." His words hung in the air, casting a shadow of foreboding over the sterile laboratory.

With a flick of a switch, he cranked up the collar's power, sending a searing wave of pain coursing through my body. I clenched my teeth, fighting against the agony that surged through my muscles.

Through the glass door, he motioned for a stout man to enter the room. The assistant's eyes darted nervously, as if unsure of his place in this twisted experiment. "Gary, lend me a hand with the table," Langley called out urgently. The assistant nodded, his movements brisk and efficient as he adjusted the metal platform that held me captive.

With a metallic click, the wheels unlocked, and Gary maneuvered the bed through the labyrinthine corridors of the facility, Dr. Langley close on his heels. Along the way, glass-walled rooms revealed glimpses of scientists clad in their white lab coats, engrossed in their own arcane experiments.

I strained to use my X-ray vision, desperate for a glimpse of the outside world, a sign of escape from this claustrophobic nightmare. But the damn necklace thwarted my efforts, rendering my powers useless.

As we made our way through the corridors, my attention was momentarily diverted by the name tag dangling from the aid guy's shirt. "S.T.A.R. LABS, GARY BROOKFIELD."

Star Labs? Hazy fragments of memories stirred in my mind. Helena. She had mentioned that place before. A surge of apprehension washed over me, tightening the knot in my gut.

The endless corridors eventually led us to a chamber that resembled a fortified arena, its walls towering above me. The steel surfaces exuded an oppressive aura, its one-sided mirrors hinting at an audience beyond.

With mechanical precision, the scientist and his lackey positioned my metal bed at the center of the room. They adjusted it, angling it slightly, as if setting the stage for some twisted show.

Dr. Langley pushed his glasses up his nose, exchanging a knowing glance with his assistant before turning his attention to me. There was a flicker of pity in his gaze, quickly swallowed by an impenetrable darkness. "Good luck, kid," he muttered, "Oh, and I wouldn't advise attempting any grand escapes unless you fancy a taste of that knockout punch." With that final word of caution, they left me there, their parting words lingering in the air like an ominous warning.

As the heavy door closed shut, an eerie stillness settled upon the chamber, interrupted only by the soft hum of the ventilation system.

I groaned, my head still throbbing from the collar's assault. The pain began to recede, granting me a fleeting respite to collect my scattered senses. The restraints on the metal bed swung open with a loud clank, and I clumsily tumbled to the floor, trying to break my fall with weakened limbs.

Struggling to find my balance, I felt a glimmer of strength returning to my weary body. At least I was no longer bound to that wretched bed.

With unsteady steps, I surveyed the circular arena, my eyes darting from one possible exit to another. The doc's words echoed in my mind, warning me against the foolish notion of escape, but I couldn't ignore this slender thread of opportunity.

A plan began to form in my brain. If I could muster up some last ounces of strength, perhaps I could crash through that steel door and the fortress-like walls beyond. It would be a race against time, a reckless dash for freedom before they could intervene.

But just as I started mapping out my escape, that cursed door hissed open. And there, filling the threshold, stood a mountain of a man clad in a collar of his own. He was a behemoth, easily towering over 6.5 feet tall, with muscles bulging like they were ready to burst through his skin. One look at him, and it felt like he could snap me in half without breaking a sweat. And I didn't break easily.

His presence was overwhelming, each step he took resonating with an unnerving power that seemed to shake the very ground beneath me. The sight of him alone was enough to send a shiver down my spine.

His face was obscured by an intricate mask, its patterns twisting and writhing like something straight out of a fever dream. Only his piercing eyes were visible, boring into my soul like I was on trial for all my sins. Tubes and valves snaked across the surface of the mask, connecting to some mysterious device at the back of his head.

Trust me when I say that there are few things in this world that have the power to make me flinch. Well, except maybe my own monstrous self. But in my weakened state, fear managed to slither its way into the depths of my heart. Funny how things can flip around. Here I was on the other side of the equation.

"Hah! So, you are the big menace they warned me about?" The man's laughter boomed through the chamber. "Pathetic," he jeered, sizing me up with a dismissive glance.

I clenched my teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. Taking crap from people had become second nature to me, courtesy of Jake's special brand of parenting.

He closed in on me, his colossal figure casting a long shadow across the cold, metal floor. The smug grin on his face only fueled the fire burning within me. "Well, let's see what you're made of," he growled, lunging at me without warning.

His massive hand clamps onto my shoulder, and with a swift, powerful motion, he flings me across the room like a discarded toy. I soar through the air, the world spinning around me in a dizzying blur. I hit the wall with a resounding thud, the impact rattling my bones.

The wall fared no better, denting and cracking under the tremendous force. Wires and luminary equipment sputter and spark, casting a mesmerizing shower of shimmering light. The pain registers, a dull ache that I quickly suppress. I had felt worse. Hell, I had caused worse. But now, I had to play the waiting game, hold back, and protect my secret from the hidden audience behind the mirrors.

Struggling to regain my footing, I push myself up from the debris-covered floor. The man closes the distance between us with a menacing stride. His eyes narrow, a twisted grin on his face. "Look at you, tough guy," he sneers, "You shouldn't even be able to stand after a hit like that."

Unfazed by my silence, he aims a thunderous punch at my head. But I have quick reflexes. I move my head in the nick of time, the force of his blow colliding with the stone wall. The impact sent cracks racing through the wall, like a spider's masterpiece. He recoils, shaking his hand in pain. Anger contorts his face, his roars of frustration filling the air. "You little worm!" he snarls, "I'll make you regret this!"

With a subtle burst of speed, I evade his lunging grasp, causing him to crash against the chamber wall. Dust and debris rain down upon him as he staggers, disoriented and enraged.

"Seems like you've hit a wall," I quip, a hint of dark humor lacing my words. "Perhaps you should pick on someone your own size."

With a primal roar, he follows up with a devastating kick that sends me sprawling several meters away. My body rolls along the cold floor, every muscle screaming in protest. Every fiber of my being yearns to fight back. But I have to play the "weak card," So, I bite back my rage and stay on the floor, motionless.

"Are you just gonna keep yapping, or are you actually gonna try to fight?" he taunts, his voice filled with sadistic delight.

He strides over to me, his towering figure casting a shadow that engulfs my battered form. His grip tightens around my neck like a vise, effortlessly lifting me from the floor. Then, with a swift, forceful push, his hands slam against my chest. The impact reverberates through my body, threatening to shatter the fragile facade of weakness I maintain. Yet, I indulge him, staggering backward as if his punch had knocked the wind out of me. I had to give it to him; the dude had one mean punch, but I wasn't about to let him know that.

In relentless succession, he unleashes a barrage of punches, each strike hammering into me with bone-shaking force. The collar's diminished intensity shields me from the worst of the pain. Each blow vibrates through my body, but I hold firm. Bone meets flesh with a sickening sound, echoing through the chamber.

"Such a menace, yet you crumble like a weakling," he jeers, "Is this the best you've got, pretty boy?"

The man's grin widens, relishing in the perceived victory. He thinks he has broken me. But inside, a different fire burns hotter than ever. Anger simmers beneath my calm facade, but the teachings of the Bat keep me in check. I couldn't let the beast inside take control.

"You're nothing," he spits, his voice dripping with disdain. "Just a weakling with powers you can't control." Oh, he really wanted to hit me where it hurt. Did he go through my file too? I'd be shocked if he even knew how to read. He's just a puppet, parroting lines written by someone pulling the strings behind the scenes.

With a ferocious tackle, he brings me crashing to the ground. His fists rain down upon me, each blow crashing like thunder. Instinctively, I raise my forearms to shield my face from the relentless onslaught.

"I heard what you did to your daddy," he snarls, his voice slicing through the chaos. "Such a shame." The corner of his mouth curls into a cruel smirk.

His words land like a lit match on the tinder of my anger, igniting a fire deep within me. Heat surges behind my eyes, an intense heat that could melt steel. All I want in that moment is to reduce this faceless behemoth to a pile of smoldering ashes.

"You fucking piece of trash," I hiss, my voice laced with barely contained rage.

Reacting on pure instinct, I block his next blow with my hand, as if it were a mere annoyance. Our forces collide, my open palm meeting his knuckles with a satisfying crunch. I tighten my grip, feeling the bones in his fingers crack like dry twigs. Surprise flashes across his face, and for a brief moment doubt flickers in his eyes.

Pinned beneath his hulking weight, I forcefully flick him aside, his massive form thrown off balance and crashing to the ground. As I rise, his rage propels him to his feet, clenching his fists and heaving with rage.

"Now, here is some advice. Back the fuck off," I growl, my words laced with a dangerous edge. "Unless of course you're itching to be pounded into a bloody, unrecognizable pulp."

Through the deceptive mirror, I catch the spark of anger in my eyes, a crimson fire burning bright with warning.

"Like hell!" he roars, charging towards me once again. But this time, I had enough of playing nice. I don't care about the consequences. I don't feel a thing.

With an explosive surge of energy, I launch myself at him, my fist a blur as it connects with his unguarded body. The impact sends him hurtling backward, crashing into the metallic remnants of my prison table. Holy shit, that was satisfying. I've held back for far too long.

"You'll pay for that," he growls, rising from the wreckage, wiping a trickle of blood from his split lip. "I'm gonna make you suffer."

"You're welcome to try," I meet his threat with an icy stare, my voice void of emotion.

The man lunges at me once more, but this time, I seize him with an iron grip, using his own momentum against him. With a resounding crash, I slam him forcefully to the ground, the metal floor groaning under the strain. He struggles, a growl of frustration escaping his lips, but I maintain my firm hold, my fingers digging into his flesh. Sparks crackle from the device strapped to his back.

"Oh, we've got ourselves a serious case of Daddy issues, huh?" he taunts from the crater where his head rests.

With a swift and brutal motion, I snap my fist forward, connecting with his face. The brute's mask twists and contorts under the impact, revealing glimpses of the man beneath the facade. His attempts to fight back are futile as I pin his arms down, blocking his movements. And just to make my point crystal clear, I deliver a decisive headbutt, shattering the mask further, exposing his true face marked with shock and pain. Blood splatters across the room, and a cry of pain escapes his lips.

I push him back, driving him towards the wall that bears the marks of our previous confrontation. "Who's the weakling now," I growl, my voice a low rumble. His roars of rage filled the chamber.

He struggles against my grip, but I hold him firmly in place. He chuckles, a twisted grin spreading across his face. "You think you can stop me? We are more alike than you think."

"That's where you're dead wrong," I grab the hulking man by his shirt and hurl him across the chamber with all my strength. The force propels him like a projectile, his massive form vanishing through the opposite wall with a deafening impact.

Behind the one-sided mirror, the scientists' voices buzz with fascination and scientific curiosity.

"Remarkable," Dr Langley breathes. "The subject's strength defies all known parameters. It's as if he draws power from the very essence of anger."

"Yes, his power levels are off the charts," Dr Stirling interjects. "We need to gather more data."

My gaze shifts towards the mirrored wall, a thin veil that separates me from the orchestrators of this madness.

My vision penetrates the glass, peering right into the familiar gaze of the gray-haired doctor. Beside him stands Dr. Langley, their expressions a blend of surprise and trepidation. But amidst the known faces, I spot a third figure.

"We must make him ready for deployment," the man in the military uniform declares, his voice echoing with familiarity. In that moment, recognition courses through me, connecting the fragmented pieces of this twisted puzzle. He is the mastermind behind my abduction, the puppeteer pulling the strings of my torment.

Anger surges through my veins as I meet his cold gaze. With my cover already blown, there's nothing left to lose. Time slows to a crawl as my muscles tense. I propel myself forward with explosive speed, crashing through the fragile glass barrier that separates us, a kaleidoscope of fragmented reflections cascading around me.

I seize the man by the collar, my grip tightening as I press him against the wall behind. I slow down just enough to prevent his skull from cracking against the unforgiving surface. His widened eyes betray a mix of surprise and alarm.

"It was you all along," I hiss through gritted teeth, my anger seething beneath a controlled facade. "Your voice..." The words catch in my throat as a sudden surge of pain ripples through my body, a vivid flash of green illuminating the room.

"Aaagh," A guttural scream escapes my lips. Tendrils of searing pain shoot from my neck, cascading down my spine like molten fire. I collapse to my knees, my face contorted in a grimace of agony.

A glacial smirk stretches across the man's face, his eyes narrowing. "So much fire within you," he taunts. "But don't fret, we'll find a way to tame your flames, to mold you into a docile, obedient lamb."

The weight of his words crashes upon me. The pain intensifies, reaching an unbearable crescendo as my consciousness begins to falter. My gaze meets Dr. Stirling's eyes, and I see a flash of genuine concern before my world succumbs to the unforgiving darkness of oblivion.