"Revenant."
The word hung in the air.
They knew. They knew his identity. In civilian clothes. No mask. Just Marcus Reid walking his friend home.
And they knew exactly who he was.
Sarah's hand gripped his arm. "Marcus—"
"Get behind me."
"But—"
"Now!"
The massive man gestured. No words. Just a single motion.
The assassins moved.
Marcus pushed Sarah back. The first assassin closed the distance impossibly fast. Blade out, angled for non-lethal strike. Marcus sidestepped, used the attacker's momentum to redirect him into the wall. The assassin hit hard, rolled with it, already recovering.
They're trained. Really trained.
Second assassin came from the left. Net weapon—weighted, reinforced edges. Marcus ducked under the cast, stepped inside the assassin's guard. Elbow strike to the ribs. The man grunted but didn't fall, countering with a knee strike that Marcus barely blocked.
Third assassin flanked right. Short sword, moving with precision that spoke of decades of practice. High slash forcing Marcus to dodge left—directly into fourth assassin's path.
They're coordinating. Herding me away from Sarah.
Marcus used his enhanced speed to create space, but they adapted immediately. Fifth assassin threw something—small canister. Marcus kicked it away before it landed. Gas burst mid-air. Not near enough to affect him but the distraction cost him.
The net caught his left arm. Marcus tore at it with his right but the material was reinforced—designed for enhanced strength. First assassin recovered, came in low. Marcus kicked him back, used the motion to rip free of the net.
Six opponents. Professional coordination. Need to end this fast.
From the corner of his eye, Marcus saw Sarah. Not running. She'd grabbed a piece of rebar from a nearby construction site—some kind of renovation work. Was moving toward the nearest assassin, the metal bar raised like a weapon.
"Sarah, no—"
The sixth assassin moved toward her.
Marcus launched himself forward. His enhanced speed covered the distance in a heartbeat. He intercepted the assassin three feet from Sarah, tackling him into the brick wall. The man's head cracked against stone. He went down.
Sarah swung the rebar at another assassin approaching from the side. The man blocked it casually with his forearm—armored under his clothing—and swept her legs. She went down hard, rolled, tried to get back up.
The massive bald man finally moved.
Ubu.
Marcus didn't see the strike coming. Enhanced awareness, months of training, 280 abilities—none of it mattered.
Ubu's fist caught him in the solar plexus. The impact drove the air from Marcus's lungs, lifted him off his feet. He crashed into a parked car, denting the door.
He's enhanced too. Or just that strong.
Marcus rolled off the car as Ubu's next strike dented the metal where his head had been. Got his feet under him. Blocked a knee strike. Countered with a combination—jab, cross, hook. Ted Grant's boxing. I-Ching's flow state. Perfect form.
Ubu took all three hits without flinching.
Then he smiled.
His next strike was faster. Precise. Caught Marcus in the ribs despite his attempt to block. Something cracked. Enhanced durability kept the ribs from breaking completely but the pain was blinding.
Marcus stumbled back. The other assassins had recovered, forming a perimeter. Not engaging. Just watching their leader work.
Sarah was back on her feet, rebar still in hand. She swung at the nearest assassin. He caught the bar, twisted it from her grip with practiced ease, tossed it aside.
He's testing me. Evaluating.
"Impressive," Ubu said. First words he'd spoken. Voice like grinding stone. "Your combat integration is remarkable for four months training."
He moved again. Marcus dodged the first strike, blocked the second, but the third caught him across the jaw. His vision blurred.
Can't beat him. Can't beat all of them. Need to—
Sarah screamed—not fear, fury. She'd grabbed her discarded rebar again, was going for another assassin.
The third assassin moved faster than she could react. Caught her wrist, twisted the rebar away again. His other hand struck her across the temple with the pommel of his blade. Professional. Non-lethal. Precise.
She collapsed.
"NO!"
Marcus surged forward. Didn't care about tactics. Didn't care about the odds. Just needed to reach Sarah.
Ubu caught him mid-charge. One hand on Marcus's throat, the other gripping his arm. The strength was impossible. Enhanced or not, Marcus couldn't break free.
Two assassins moved in from behind. Marcus tried to fight them off but Ubu's grip held him in place. He felt the darts hit his neck. One. Two. Three.
Specialized sedative. Fast-acting. His enhanced metabolism fought it but there were too many. Too much.
His vision blurred. Ubu released him and he dropped to his knees.
Sarah lay motionless on the ground. Ten feet away. The rebar beside her. Might as well have been miles.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
"Sleep," Ubu said.
The last thing Marcus saw was Sarah's unconscious form.
Then darkness took him.
Unknown Time Later
Consciousness returned in fragments.
Movement. Engine rumble. Van or truck. Sitting upright but can't move properly.
Marcus tried to open his eyes. Everything was foggy. Blurred. The sedative still in his system, fighting his enhanced metabolism.
He was in the back of a vehicle. Hands zip-tied behind him. Ankles bound. Professional restraints.
Four assassins sat around him. Silent. One monitored a tablet. Another cleaned a blade. The other two simply watched him.
No one spoke.
Marcus tried to focus. To clear his head. But the drug was strong. Designed for enhanced metabolisms. Every time his system started to fight it off, he felt another pinprick. Maintenance doses. Keeping him controllable.
Where—
His mouth wouldn't form words. Tongue too thick. Mind too foggy.
The van hit a bump. Marcus's head lolled. One assassin steadied him without speaking. Not rough. Not gentle. Just efficient.
Sarah. Is Sarah okay? Did she—
He couldn't finish the thought. The drugs pulled him back under.
Unknown Time Later
Movement stopped.
Doors opening. Hands gripping his arms. Lifting him. His legs didn't work properly. They carried him.
Cold air. Then warmth. Stone under his feet—no, being dragged. His boots scraping against stone.
Torchlight flickered against carved walls. The architecture was ancient—arched doorways, intricate stonework that spoke of another era. The air smelled different. Incense. Something floral Marcus couldn't identify. Cedar maybe. Sandalwood.
They placed him in a chair. Marcus's head hung forward. Couldn't lift it. Too heavy.
The room around him was vast. High ceiling disappearing into shadow above the torchlight. Tapestries on the walls—rich fabrics with patterns Marcus's drugged mind couldn't focus on. Symbols. Characters in languages he didn't recognize. The stone beneath him was polished smooth, worn by centuries of footsteps.
Footsteps approached now. Measured. Confident.
A hand lifted his chin. Gentle but firm.
Marcus forced his eyes to focus.
A man stood before him. Maybe fifty. Dark hair with gray at temples. Immaculate suit that seemed oddly formal for the ancient surroundings. Eyes that held too much knowledge. Too much time.
The man smiled. Not cruel. Almost warm.
"Welcome, Marcus Reid."
The voice was cultured. Precise. Accented but impossible to place.
He didn't say anything else. Just studied Marcus with those ancient eyes. Waiting. Patient.
Marcus tried to speak. Only managed a sound.
The man's smile widened slightly. He glanced at someone Marcus couldn't see. A figure moved in the shadows—one of the assassins. Approached with a small case.
"Not yet," the man said quietly. "Let him see clearly first."
The assassin retreated.
The man circled slowly, hands clasped behind his back. The torchlight cast his shadow across the stone floor. Long. Distorted.
Marcus's vision was clearing slightly. He managed to focus on the man's face. The room around him. Tried to understand where he was.
Somewhere old. Somewhere far from Gotham.
The man stopped in front of Marcus again. Still smiling. Still patient.
"Rest now," he said finally.
He gestured. The assassin from the shadows approached with the case. Opened it. Syringe inside.
Marcus tried to fight. Tried to pull away. But his body wouldn't respond.
The needle slid into his arm. Cool liquid spreading through his veins.
His eyes started to close despite his efforts.
The man's face was the last thing he saw. That patient smile. Those ancient eyes.
Then darkness pulled him under again.
Complete.
Total.
Nothing.