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," he joked.

I chuckled, shaking my head. "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.

We approached the ostentatious entrance. 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 effortless sophistication. Cocktails shimmered in the soft glow of ambient lighting, their colorful concoctions capturing the essence of the night.

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.

"Hey, where are you? Just got here."

As we waited for her response, I took in the eclectic mix of partygoers around us. Drunken dancers swayed in rhythmic disarray. 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."

A grin tugged at my lips. "Seems like our lady friend is by the poolside," I remarked to Pete.

We weaved through the crowd, dodging dancers and sidestepping flailing limbs until we reached the edge of the party.

"Any sign of her?" Pete hollered over the deafening music.

I focused my gaze, looking past the surface, into the depths of the crowd. The world transformed into a surreal kaleidoscope. People morphed into living X-ray visions, their bones and skeletons exposed in neon hues. Then, like a camera finding its focus, they snapped back to their full, flesh-and-blood forms.

"Found her," I said, nodding in her direction. She stood near the pool, illuminated by the soft glow of string lights, swaying like a tipsy nymph.

Pete squinted, clearly not seeing her through the throngs of people. I flashed him a smug grin and motioned for him to follow.

Helena caught sight of us and stumbled our way, a devilish smile on her lips.

"Hey, guuuys!" You made it!" Her words had a hint of a tipsy slur. Her glassy eyes sparkled mischievously, contrasting against her dark locks that tumbled in gentle waves.

I greeted her with a careful hug, and she planted a kiss that missed my lips by a hair's breadth. My heart leaped, memories of our last encounter resurfacing. I could almost taste the hint of vanilla from her lip balm.

Pete broke the ice with a grin. "Ah, Helena, life of the party, as always. Gotta say, your dance moves are top-tier, to say the least."

Helena responded with an exaggerated curtsy, almost losing her balance. "Oh, you ain't seen nothin' yet," she slurred, the sequins of her dress twinkling under the party lights.

We continued to chat, our laughter blending with the music. Helena leaned on me, swaying to the rhythm. Her arm draped over my shoulder, her warmth seeping through my shirt. Delicate yet unsteady, her fingers traced playful patterns on my arm, raising goosebumps in their wake.

Pete, ever the observant friend, elbowed me with a knowing smile. "Looks like things are heating up for you two," he teased, a wink in his eye.

As the night wore on, Helena's drunken antics grew more evident. With a tipsy giggle, she boldly straddled my lap, her movements far from graceful in her inebriated state. Her words were a muddled mess as she tried to articulate some profound thought, but it came out as an amusing and indecipherable jumble. I subtly shifted her position, my touch gentle on her waist.

Pete shot me a look, his face a mix of amusement and concern. Meeting his gaze, I shrugged subtly, torn between giving in to the carefree joy of the moment and the nagging worry that tugged at the corners of my mind.

"Hold my drink, boys, I need a quick break," Helena declared with a wobbly wave. "I'll be back in a flash!"

As she vanished into the crowd, Pete leaned closer, quirking an eyebrow. "Wow, Clark, I think Helena just upgraded from tipsy to full-on Drunkzilla."

I nodded in agreement. "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 his contagious energy, laughter bubbled up within me. "It was...unexpected. But in the best possible way."

"Well look at you!" Pete wrapped his arm around my neck, drawing me closer. I rolled with the movement, allowing myself to be pulled into his hold. "First kiss and no casualties. She's still in one piece," he added with a chuckle. "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.

Glancing around, my eyes landed on a nearby table piled with refreshments. 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."

"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.

Dark scenarios flashed through my mind, fueled by Tyler's conspicuous absence and Helena's strange behavior. 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.

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 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.

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, sketching out what awaited me on the other side. I pictured Helena, her body tense, fighting against her assailant. The thought alone wound up every muscle in my body. 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 soaked in the horror show in front of me.

It was a grotesque nightmare brought to life, worse than anything I could have imagined. The scene was enough to set my insides ablaze with a red-hot anger that went beyond anything I'd felt before.

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.

My insides seemed to combust. My core felt like it was doused in gasoline and set on fire, logic and reason dumped unceremoniously out the window. Helena was in trouble, and that's all my brain needed to lose its collective shit. Every instinct I had to protect, to defend, was amplified tenfold, my chest burning with the need to shield Helena from this threat.

My jaw clenched so tight I thought my teeth might start shattering under the pressure. I fought to contain the seething energy coursing through me. The potential for devastating release pulsed behind my smoldering gaze.

The world around me took on a crimson hue as the pressure built to a crescendo.

I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping my head with vice-like force. As if physical pressure could halt the impending eruption. Yet, the scorching heat beneath my eyelids intensified, demanding release. I couldn't allow it. Letting go wouldn't just incinerate Tyler—but Helena, the house, and everything beyond these walls.

My hands curled into fists, tension radiating through my knuckles as I waged a silent war against my primal instincts. It would be all too easy to let that power loose, to obliterate Tyler from existence right then and there. But I choked down the urge 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 an "I'm in deep crap" expression 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 a way out. But 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.

In a swift move, I spun him around and grabbed his 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. Music to my ears. He deserved every ounce of pain, and more. If I had my way, this guy would be nothing but a mangled mess of flesh and bones, his existence shattered beyond recognition.

It was tempting, 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.

Tyler crumpled to the floor, wincing in agony. A part of me wanted to carve life lessons into his conscience with my own nails. This was his lucky day. If I let my instincts take over, he would be a smear on the wall.

He managed to haul himself into a semi-upright position, grimacing in pain. I dashed towards him, lifting him off the ground. 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."

"Clark, plea— " Tyler's voice squeaked.

"Save it." I scoffed, "Your sob story won't make a damn difference." I jammed my arm back and gave him a little shove against the wall, making sure he felt every inch of it. His pained expression was practically poetic.

"I-I never meant to hurt her," he choked out. I tightened my grip on his collar, my fingers trembling with restrained power, his legs still swinging inches from the floor.

"Yeah, right. That's why you spiked her drink and were about to—" Heat flared behind my eyes, the pressure building up once more. I shut them for a moment, pushing back the rising fire. Panic had effectively wiped the smirk off his face, replacing it with sheer terror.

"Y-your eyes…" His voice quivered, color draining from his face. He finally realized I wasn't bluffing.

"Give me one good reason not to punch your head in," I spat, looking back toward him. To emphasize my point, I smashed my fist against the wall inches from his head, rocks and plaster crumbling to the ground.

"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 bloodied lips twitched, as if he was about to offer up a last-ditch plea. As if words could undo what he'd done.

"Clark... is that... you?" Helena's slurred words cut through the fog of my anger. Her hazy mind struggled 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.