Marcus found the dojo three days later.
Dragon's Gate Martial Arts sat wedged between a pawn shop and a Chinese restaurant in Gotham's Chinatown district. The sign was faded, the windows barred, but through the glass Marcus could see a dozen people practicing forms in synchronized movements.
This is strategic copying. Safe skill acquisition. Not crime fighting.
He pushed through the door. The interior smelled like sweat, old wood, and incense. Traditional weapons lined one wall—staffs, swords, spears. Training mats covered the floor. A small shrine sat in the corner.
"Can I help you?"
An older Asian man approached, maybe seventy, moving with a grace that suggested decades of training. Completely blind—his eyes clouded over—but navigating the space with perfect awareness. Wearing a simple black uniform.
"I'm interested in training. Self-defense." Marcus gestured, then realized the man couldn't see it. "I'm a college student and Gotham's... well, Gotham."
"You've been in a fight recently." Not a question. The man tilted his head, listening. "Your breathing is controlled but your shoulders carry tension. You learned something fast and hard."
The combat awareness I copied is showing. Making me move differently.
"Yeah. Got into a situation a few weeks ago. Decided I should learn to defend myself properly."
The man studied him—or seemed to, despite the blindness. "I am I-Ching. I teach practical martial arts. Multiple disciplines integrated for real combat application. Not sport. Not performance. Survival."
"That's what I'm looking for."
"Most people say that. Few actually mean it." I-Ching gestured to the training floor. "Watch. Then decide if you're serious."
Marcus sat on a bench against the wall while the class continued. A dozen students ranging from teenagers to middle-aged adults. Some practicing striking combinations, others working grappling techniques, a few doing weapons forms. Multiple styles blended together.
He watched carefully, his copied combat awareness analyzing their movements. Most were intermediate level. Competent but not exceptional. But I-Ching—he moved differently when demonstrating. Despite his blindness, every motion was economical, powerful, precisely controlled. Decades of mastery visible in every step.
If I copy from him, I'll get real expertise. Not just basics.
The class ended forty-five minutes later. Students bowed, dispersed. Some left, others stayed to practice on their own.
I-Ching approached Marcus's bench, navigating perfectly despite not being able to see. "Well?"
"I'm serious. When can I start?"
"Now." He gestured to the training floor. "Show me what you know."
Marcus stepped onto the mats, feeling suddenly self-conscious. His enhanced physical abilities made him faster and stronger than normal, but he had no formal training. Just the fragmented combat knowledge he'd copied from a security guard and random observations.
"Basic stance," I-Ching instructed.
Marcus tried to position himself properly. Feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, weight distributed evenly.
"Your balance is exceptional. Natural or trained elsewhere?"
"I do a lot of running. Staying in shape." Not technically a lie.
"Throw a punch. Full extension."
Marcus punched. His enhanced speed made it faster than intended.
I-Ching's head tilted slightly, tracking the sound. "Again. Slower this time."
He complied, trying to dial back the enhancement.
"Interesting. You have strength and speed but no technique. Raw potential without refinement." I-Ching moved closer, reaching out to adjust Marcus's arm position. "Have you taken any martial arts before?"
"No. Completely new to this."
"And yet you move like someone who's been in fights. Instinctive responses. Self-taught adaptations." He adjusted Marcus's stance with gentle corrections. "You survived your situation. That's why you're here. You realized you could fight back but didn't know how to do it properly."
He's reading me like a book. Without even seeing.
"Something like that."
"Good. Fear is honest motivation." I-Ching stepped back. "Classes are Tuesday and Thursday evenings, Saturday mornings. One hundred dollars per month. First class is free. You attend regularly, train seriously, or you don't come back. Clear?"
"Clear."
"Then we start with basics. Proper stance, proper breathing, proper movement. Everything else builds from foundation."
For the next hour, I-Ching put Marcus through fundamental drills. Stance work. Weight shifting. Basic strikes and blocks done slowly, precisely, focusing on form over speed.
It was harder than fighting the muggers had been. That was pure adrenaline and enhanced reflexes. This required concentration, body control, repetition until movements became natural.
Marcus's enhanced stamina meant he didn't tire as quickly as he should have. I-Ching noticed.
"You have unusual endurance for a beginner. I can hear it in your breathing patterns."
"I run a lot," Marcus repeated. "Cardio helps."
"Hmm." He didn't sound convinced but didn't push. "That's enough for today. Your body knows more than your mind. We'll teach your mind to catch up."
"Thank you, Master I-Ching."
"Just I-Ching. I'm not anyone's master. Just an old man who learned a few things." But there was a slight smile. "Come back Thursday. We'll see if you're still interested after the soreness sets in."
Marcus bowed—awkwardly, but he tried—and left the dojo.
No click. He hadn't copied anything from I-Ching yet.
Random chance. I'll keep coming back. Eventually I'll copy his expertise.
The next day, Marcus volunteered at Gotham General Hospital.
Sarah had set it up through a campus program—pre-med students could volunteer for patient services, basically helping with non-medical tasks. Marcus wasn't pre-med, but Sarah had pulled some strings.
"Just don't copy anything terrible," she'd warned. "Hospitals have sick people. You might copy medical conditions."
"I'll be careful."
His assignment was simple: help transport patients, deliver items, assist nurses with basic tasks. Nothing medical, just support work.
The pediatric ward needed help, so that's where they sent him.
Marcus spent four hours pushing wheelchairs, delivering toys, entertaining kids who were bored and scared. It was simultaneously heartbreaking and hopeful—children dealing with illness but still finding reasons to smile.
He copied three abilities during his shift:
Click - from a pediatric nurse. Patience with difficult situations. The ability to stay calm and kind even when stressed or frustrated.
Click - from a janitor. Efficiency of movement. The man cleaned an entire hallway in the time Marcus would have taken to do two rooms, every motion optimized through years of repetition.
Click - from a physical therapist visiting a young patient. Body mechanics assessment. The ability to look at how someone moved and identify problems, compensations, areas of weakness.
All useful. None negative. Strategic copying working exactly as planned.
Marcus logged everything in Sarah's app during his lunch break.
DATE: April 20
TOTAL ABILITIES: 76
NEW COPIES:
Patience under stress (pediatric nurse) - emotional regulation
Movement efficiency (hospital janitor) - physical optimization
Body mechanics assessment (physical therapist) - diagnostic skill
SITUATIONS: Hospital volunteering - pediatric ward
NOTES: All copies useful and safe. No negative traits. Physical therapist ability synergizes well with combat training from dojo. Can now identify weaknesses in opponents' movement patterns.
The next week settled into a routine.
Classes during the day. Marcus maintained his grades despite the distractions—his copied knowledge from various professors made coursework easier. The CAD expertise from Sarah helped with his design projects. The advanced mechanics from classmates made problem sets simpler.
Martial arts training Tuesday and Thursday evenings, Saturday mornings. I-Ching was a demanding teacher. He broke down every technique to its components, made Marcus repeat movements until they were perfect, corrected his form through touch and sound alone.
"You're progressing quickly," he noted after the second week. "Too quickly for a complete beginner. I can hear it in how you move."
"I'm motivated."
"Or talented. Or something else." I-Ching adjusted Marcus's stance with gentle pressure. "But I won't pry. You train hard, you show respect, that's enough."
Marcus still hadn't copied from him. The random chance hadn't triggered yet.
Hospital volunteering twice a week. Marcus encountered doctors, nurses, specialists, patients. He copied abilities steadily:
Medical terminology (from an ER doctor)
Triage assessment (from an EMT bringing in a patient)
IV insertion technique (from a nurse - theoretical knowledge only, he wasn't qualified to actually do it)
Diagnostic intuition (from a surgeon)
Bedside manner (from a hospice worker)
Each ability added to his growing collection. Each one catalogued in Sarah's app.
He also started frequenting a boxing gym near campus. Shabby place with old equipment and a coach who'd fought professionally thirty years ago.
"You want to learn to punch?" Coach Rivera asked, eyeing Marcus. "Or you want to learn to fight?"
"Fight."
"Good answer."
Coach Rivera taught practical boxing. No fancy techniques. Just fundamental punches, footwork, defense, conditioning. How to take a hit and keep moving.
Marcus copied abilities from the gym:
Boxing fundamentals (Coach Rivera - finally triggered after three sessions)
Footwork patterns (from an amateur boxer)
Pain tolerance during training (from a heavyweight who kept sparring despite a black eye)
Recovery breathing (from a cardio coach)
His growing collection of combat-related abilities started synergizing. The martial arts from I-Ching combined with boxing from Coach Rivera. His body mechanics assessment helped him identify his own form errors. His athletic muscle memory accelerated learning. His enhanced physical capabilities provided the raw power and speed.
Two weeks became three. Three became four.
Marcus's ability count climbed:
Week 4: 89 abilities
Week 5: 104 abilities
Week 6: 121 abilities
Most were minor. Random skills from people he encountered in daily life. But he was deliberately accumulating useful ones through strategic positioning.
Combat skills. Medical knowledge. Technical expertise. Languages. Physical conditioning.
Sarah tracked everything in increasingly complex spreadsheets.
"You're building a genuinely dangerous skill set," she noted one evening, reviewing his logs. "Combat training from multiple disciplines, medical knowledge, enhanced physical capabilities, tactical awareness. You're becoming actually capable."
"That was the plan."
"I know. But it's one thing to plan it, another to see it happening." She looked at him seriously. "Just remember—more ability doesn't make you invincible. It makes you more capable of getting into situations where being capable might not be enough."
"I'm being careful."
"Are you?"
Marcus thought about it. He'd stuck to the plan. Low-risk situations only. No more solo hero moments. Strategic skill acquisition.
But he felt the pull. Walking through Gotham, his enhanced hearing picked up crimes happening. Muggings. Assaults. Domestic disputes. Every night, dozens of situations where he could intervene.
And he walked past them all.
Following the plan. Being smart. Building up his abilities before taking on anything serious.
"I'm following the plan," Marcus said finally. "Building skills. Staying safe. Finishing school."
Sarah didn't look convinced. "Jackson thinks you'll break eventually. That you'll hear someone in trouble and you won't be able to walk away."
"What do you think?"
"I think you're trying really hard to be patient. And I appreciate that." She closed her laptop. "But I also think Jackson's probably right. The question is whether you'll be ready when it happens."
"Getting there. Over a hundred abilities now. Combat training three times a week. Medical knowledge building up."
"And also way more likely to survive doing something stupid." Sarah smiled slightly. "Which I guess is the best I can hope for."
Week seven brought a test Marcus didn't expect.
He was leaving the dojo after Saturday training, sweaty and sore from two hours of sparring, when his enhanced hearing picked it up.
Gunshots. Three blocks away. Then screaming.
Marcus froze on the sidewalk.
The plan. Stick to the plan. Call Bullock.
He pulled out his phone, dialed the number Bullock had given him.
"Reid. What's wrong?"
"Gunshots. Three blocks from Dragon's Gate dojo in Chinatown. Multiple shots, people screaming."
A pause. "You calling it in or telling me you're about to do something stupid?"
"Calling it in. Not intervening."
"Good. Stay away from it. Cops are already responding. I'm seeing it on the dispatch." Bullock's tone shifted slightly. "You actually called instead of charging in. That's progress."
"Yeah. Progress."
Bullock hung up. Marcus stood there, listening to sirens approaching, people still screaming three blocks away.
Every ability he'd copied told him he could help. His combat training, his enhanced speed, his tactical awareness. He was fast enough to get there, strong enough to make a difference.
Marcus turned and walked the other direction. Back to his apartment. Away from the situation.
Each step felt wrong.
He logged the incident in Sarah's app:
DATE: May 7
ABILITIES GAINED: 0
SITUATION: Heard gunshots and screaming. Three blocks away. Multiple shots fired.
ACTION TAKEN: Called Bullock. Did not intervene. Walked away.
NOTES: Need more training. More abilities. More preparation. Stuck to the plan.
Marcus sent the log to Sarah. She texted back five minutes later:
Sarah:Proud of you.
Sarah:Also come over tomorrow. We need to talk about accelerating your timeline. If walking away is this hard, we need to get you ready faster.
Marcus stared at the texts, then at his window overlooking Gotham.
Seven weeks since resurrection. One hundred twenty-one abilities. Actual combat training. Medical knowledge. Strategic preparation.
And tonight he'd walked away.
Outside his window, Gotham's eternal night continued.
Sirens wailing. Crimes happening.
And Marcus Reid, slowly, deliberately, strategically becoming something more capable.
Until he didn't have to walk away anymore.
Soon.