Marcus woke to cold.
Not the kind of cold you get from Gotham's autumn nights. This was different. Deep. Ancient. The kind that seeped into bones from stone that had been there for centuries.
He tried to move. Couldn't.
His hands were bound behind him—zip ties, professional grade. Ankles secured to a heavy wooden chair. The sedative was still in his system, making everything foggy, but his enhanced metabolism was fighting it off faster than they'd probably expected.
Where—
The room came into focus slowly. Stone walls. High ceiling disappearing into shadow. A single torch burning in a wall sconce—actual fire, not electric. The architecture was old, really old, with carved archways and symbols Marcus didn't recognize.
Not Gotham. Not even America.
The air smelled different. Incense. Cedar. Something floral he couldn't identify. Dry heat instead of Gotham's perpetual dampness.
How long was I out? Hours? Days?
His last clear memory: Sarah unconscious on the ground. The massive bald man's grip. The darts hitting his neck. Darkness.
Sarah. Please let her be okay.
The sound of footsteps echoed through the chamber. Measured. Confident. Multiple people approaching.
Marcus forced himself to focus. Assess. His cop training—even filtered through months of abilities—kicked in automatically.
Stone chamber. Single entrance visible. No windows. Underground or windowless structure. Temperature suggests desert climate. Restraints are professional but not excessive—they're not afraid of me escaping immediately. Either very confident or very prepared.
The footsteps grew closer.
Three figures entered the torchlight.
The first was the massive bald man who'd captured him. Seven feet tall, built like violence made flesh. He stood to the side, silent, watchful.
The second was a thin man in a white coat. Older, maybe sixties, with wire-rimmed glasses and the detached expression of someone used to viewing people as subjects rather than humans. He carried a medical case.
The third made Marcus's breath catch.
The man from before. The one who'd welcomed him right before the final dose of sedative.
He looked maybe fifty, but something in his eyes suggested much older. Dark hair with gray at the temples. Immaculate suit that seemed oddly formal for the ancient stone surroundings. He moved with the confidence of someone used to absolute authority.
The man studied Marcus with patient interest. Like a collector examining a new acquisition.
"Ah. You're awake sooner than expected." His voice was cultured. Precise. The accent impossible to place—too many languages, too many centuries blended together. "Your metabolism is quite remarkable, Marcus Reid."
Marcus's throat was dry. He worked moisture back into his mouth. "Where am I?"
"Somewhere far from Gotham. Somewhere you won't be found." The man gestured casually. "I am Ra's al Ghul. This is Dr. Darrk, who will be monitoring your health during your time here. And you've already met Ubu, of course."
The name meant nothing to Marcus. Just another player in Gotham's endless parade of criminals and crazies. But the setup—the compound, the resources, the professional operation—suggested this was bigger than the usual Gotham nonsense.
"What do you want?"
"Direct. I appreciate that." Ra's began to circle slowly. "You died, Marcus. Officially pronounced dead. Three days later, you woke up. Changed. Enhanced in ways that fascinate me."
How does he know—
"And since your resurrection, you've been quite active. Vigilante work in Crime Alley. Building connections. Developing your abilities." Ra's stopped, studied Marcus. "That's what brought you to my attention. Your... unique situation."
Marcus kept his expression neutral. "So what, you want to study me? Figure out how I came back?"
"Among other things." Ra's nodded to Dr. Darrk. "The good doctor will be conducting regular examinations. Nothing invasive if you cooperate. Blood work. Scans. Understanding how your enhanced physiology functions."
Dr. Darrk stepped forward, opened his medical case. "I'll need samples. Your metabolism is processing the sedative at an extraordinary rate. I'd like to understand why."
"And if I refuse?"
Ra's smiled slightly. "You won't. You're intelligent enough to recognize your situation. Bound. In an unknown location. Surrounded by my people. Resistance would be... unproductive."
He wasn't wrong. Marcus tested the restraints again. Professional. Solid.
"Besides," Ra's continued, "I'm not asking you to do anything harmful. Simple medical examinations. In exchange, you'll be fed, housed, treated well. Eventually, we may even offer you training. My organization has resources your Crime Alley activities could scarcely imagine."
"I'm not interested in joining whatever this is."
"No one said anything about joining. I'm simply offering you... hospitality. For as long as necessary." Ra's's tone remained pleasant. "Dr. Darrk, please begin."
The thin doctor approached with his equipment. "I'll need blood samples first. Several vials. Try not to struggle—it makes the process more difficult."
Marcus sat still as the needle slid into his arm. Blood filled the first vial, then a second, then a third.
Dr. Darrk worked methodically, professionally, taking multiple samples and making notes on a tablet.
"Remarkable," he murmured. "Your cellular structure shows unusual markers. The resurrection process clearly altered you at a fundamental level."
"Glad I'm so interesting."
"You are, actually. Unprecedented." Dr. Darrk packed away the samples. "I'll return tomorrow for more comprehensive testing. Blood work takes time to analyze, but there are other examinations I'd like to conduct."
Ra's gestured, and Ubu moved forward. The massive man cut Marcus's ankle restraints, then his wrist ties.
Marcus immediately tried to stand. His legs didn't quite work—combination of being seated for hours and lingering sedative. Ubu caught him casually, held him upright like he weighed nothing.
"Slowly," Ra's advised. "Your body is still recovering. Ubu will escort you to your quarters. You'll find them reasonably comfortable. Food will be provided. Rest. Tomorrow we begin properly."
"Begin what?"
"Understanding what you are, Marcus Reid. And perhaps, helping you understand it yourself." Ra's moved toward the exit. "Oh, and don't attempt anything foolish. This compound is isolated. The desert is vast and unforgiving. And we have many eyes watching at all times."
He left, taking Dr. Darrk with him.
Ubu held Marcus's arm, guiding him toward a different doorway. They moved through stone corridors—more carved archways, more torches, ancient architecture that spoke of centuries.
They passed other people. Men and women in dark clothing, moving with the precise efficiency of trained fighters. Some watched Marcus with curious eyes. Others ignored him completely.
Not just a compound. This is a whole organization. How many people does this guy have?
Ubu stopped at a heavy wooden door, opened it.
The room inside was simple but clean. Stone walls. A bed with actual sheets. A small table and chair. A basin of water. A narrow window—barred—letting in moonlight and desert air.
Ubu released Marcus's arm, pointed to the bed.
"Rest," he said. First word Marcus had heard from him. Voice like grinding stone.
Then he left, closing the door. Marcus heard a lock click.
He stood there for a moment, processing.
Captive. Unknown location. Desert somewhere. Drugged, studied, locked up.
Sarah. Jackson. Uncle Mike. Are they okay? Did Sarah wake up? Did they find her?
And Spoiler. Does she know what happened? Is she looking for me?
Marcus moved to the barred window. Looked out at endless darkness punctuated by stars. No city lights. No roads. Just desert stretching forever.
Okay. Think. Assess the situation.
They want me alive. Want me functional. Want to study me.
That means regular interactions. Examinations. Maybe training eventually.
Every person I interact with is a potential ability copy.
280 abilities now. How many will I have in a month? Six months?
I just need to stay alive. Stay smart. Learn this place. Copy from everyone I can.
Find a weakness. Find an opening.
And get back to Gotham.
Marcus sat on the bed. His body ached from the restraints, from the drugs, from everything.
But his mind was already working.
Planning.
Strategizing.
They think they captured me. Think they're studying me.
But I'm studying them too.
I'm coming home. I just need to figure out how.
He lay back on the bed, staring at the stone ceiling.
Tomorrow would bring more examinations. More questions. More of whatever Ra's al Ghul had planned.
But it would also bring opportunities.
To learn. To copy. To prepare.
Stay alive. Stay smart. Stay myself.
That's all I can do right now.
Outside, the desert wind whispered against ancient stone.
Marcus closed his eyes and tried to rest.
Tomorrow, the real work began.