Even after his new ability deactivated and his heart rate went back to normal, Ethan’s mindset was changed forever.
He walked through Gotham city like it was the first time experiencing it; despite how much of a shithole it was he loved every moment of it, and even slowed his walk to take in the sights before he made it back to his apartment.
He had to get there quickly, there was so many tests he needed to run on himself, on his ability.
The excitement of doing it was almost unbearable, and it was only the newfound interest of everything around him that stopped him from running home.
When he came up to his apartment building the excitement surged and he nearly broke the door to the lobby as he entered.
His mind was too transfixed with the different possibilities and solutions to the current conundrum he was faced with.
Why did he have powers?
How did he steal the dealers powers?
Could he recreate it?
There were numerous questions that needed answers, and Ethan would have them all.
“Hey Ethan…”
Ethan looked up, his thought process interrupted.
He was greeted with the form of Artemis who was standing by the elevator.
She was wearing a tight crop top that looked like a sports bra, that showed her tanned skin and taut stomach; she also had on some yoga pants that fit her wait and thighs very nicely.
She had her blonde hair in a pony tail like she usually did.
Needless to say Ethan noticed it, but unlike before…
he really noticed it.
“Hey,” he said as he walked past her and pressed the button to the elevator.
Despite having a newfound appreciation for Artemis’s physical appearance he was still more interested in the questions that he had yet to answer.
Artemis frowned as she looked at him.
“Are you okay?” She asked.
He had a black eye and multiple other bruises, as well as his uniform looking scuffed.
“I’m fine…
got into a fight,” he replied casually.
“Clearly…” she said as he pushed off the wall.
She grabbed his arm and made him face her.
“Shit Ethan, you look kinda fucked, need me to call a doctor?” She asked as she touched one of the bruises on his face.
“I’m good,” he replied as he moved her hand away.
Since he was facing her he took the opportunity to look at her properly.
She had a slightly pronounced collarbone, one that seemed to pair well with her breast; it seemed to emphasise them more.
She wasn’t wearing any perfume at the moment, from her scent it was clear she just worked out.
It didn’t smell bad, it was actually a little intoxicating.
Ethan turned his gaze away as the elevator opened.
“See you later,” he said as he pressed the button to his floor.
Artemis was left standing there feeling a mixture of confusion and concern.
Though there was one prominent thought in her mind.
‘Was he checking me out?’ In the entire time they’d been friendly with each other he hadn’t even so much as checked out her ass, to the point where she actually thought he might be gay—or she wasn’t as attractive as she thought she was.
To see him actively check her out was both flattering and concerning at the same time.
‘What’s going on with your Ethan?
…
Ethan walked out onto his floor with a spring in his step.
Not even the sinking feeling of having to deal with his parents was enough to damper Ethan’s mood.
In fact, he happily walked up to the door and opened it; it smelled just as revolting as it usually did, the kind of smell you could only get from two people who pissed and shit themselves on a regular basis.
The moment he stepped through the threshold he was greeted with the sounds he was all too accustomed with.
“WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN YOU LITTLE SHIT!!!”
“IVE CALLED YOU 34 TIMES!!!”
“YOU DISRESPECT YOUR OWN MOTHER LIKE THAT!!!”
“LITTLE FUCKING PUNK!!!”
‘Same old same old,’ he thought to himself as he walked inside his apartment.
Honestly his parents were likely one of the first things to bore him, they were so repetitive in their actions it was like being forced to watch the shittiest episode of your least favourite show.
As he walked into the hallway from the entrance he saw both his parents moving past one of the trash mounds—formed from them not taking out the garbage—and strode towards him.
“I got beaten up by a dealer,” he said as they continued to shout profanities at him.
“Useless fucking pussy!” His Dad cursed as he walked away back into the living room and plopped himself on the sofa.
“Did you get the shit at least?” She asked.
Both of them were pale, their mouths dry and it was clear they were suffering from the shakes.
Seems they overspent their social security this month and can’t afford to buy anymore.
“Come on baby…
you gotta have something right?
Gotta have something for mommy right,” she said sweetly as she put a hand on his arm and smiled at him showing black and yellow stained teeth.
How he was related to these people he’d never know.
He walked past her and into the front room before taking out two of the small bags of heroin that he’d gotten from the dealer.
The dealer himself had carried a big bag of it, but within that big bag were dozens of smaller ones.
He held these up so that both of his parents could see them.
“Oh my darling boy!
I knew you wouldn’t disappoint your mama!” She said in that sickly sweet voice of hers.
It’s like she forgot everything she’d said just a moment ago—not that he cared.
He threw both bags on the ground and watched as both of them almost dived to get them, when they did they held them up like they were the most precious things in their lives.
Not wanting to waste anymore time on them Ethan headed to his room.
After unlocking the door he closed it and locked it; while it was unlikely he’d be disturbed for the next two days he didn’t want his thought process interrupted by those degenerates.
Ethan closed the door, slid the bolt into place, and let the lock click.
He hung his blazer on the hook beside the frame, unbuttoned his shirt, and dropped it in the basket.
He noted the tear at the shoulder and the blood on the cuff, then decided he would replace it tomorrow with the dealer’s cash.
He crossed to the far wall, pinched the edge of the cloth that hid an old project, and pulled it away.
The whiteboard stretched from floor to ceiling.
Lines of blue and black equations listed chemical ratios, metabolic pathways, and dosage curves for a serum designed to raise oxygen capacity and accelerate myofibril repair.
Symbols in red marked abandoned routes.
A side column of dates ended six years earlier, the last entry a single slash drawn on the night he shelved the fantasy of becoming a hero, the night he truly discovered how rotten the world was.
He stared at the inert math, uncapped the black pen, and began again.
He wrote one word at the centre—THEFT—and boxed it.
An arrow pointed down to HYPERADRENAL VARIANT.
He paced once across the room, tapped the uncapped pen against his palm four times to set his rhythm, then added HOST COMPATABILIYY LOW beneath a crude stick figure labelled DEALER.
He paused, felt his pulse in his neck, timed the beats on his watch, and wrote BASELINE HR 62 AFTER EVENT beside it.
A second arrow branched to SELF.
Under it he added ACCEPTANCE HIGH, EFFECT MAGNIFIED.
He sketched a receptor chain and labelled one side ENDOGENOUS, the other AUGMENTED.
Beneath the chain he wrote BINDING AFFINITY ↑ X5.
He clicked the pen cap twice against his teeth, a habit he used when balancing coupled differential equations, and continued.
Possible triggers:
1.
TRAUMA + STRESS LOAD
2.
PROXIMITY TO ACTIVATED SUBJECT
3.
GENETIC LATCH—UNKNOWN SEQUENCE
He circled each item, drew a line linking them, and ended it with ACTIVATION EVENT 0.
He stood back, tugged at his lower lip once, and converted beats per minute to millilitres of blood per second, then to estimated adrenaline distribution across total plasma volume.
He wrote 5× STRENGTH = 5× ATP DEMAND and underlined it twice.
Next he added NO LACTIC BUILD-UP, POSSIBLE MITOCHONDRIAL UP-REGULATION.
He turned to the shelf, took down a pocket notebook, tore out the used pages, and copied out a few chemical formulas.
He jotted shorthand notes: tactile conduit unlikely—distance pull observed, field interaction unknown, bioelectric coupling probable.
Three slow taps of the pen on the metal hinge fixed the thought.
He scribbled UNKNOWN ALLELE ACTIVATED BY EXTERNAL SIGNAL?
and drew a question mark the size of his thumb.
It was clear to Ethan that the source of both of their abilities originated in their DNA.
Only that explained how the adrenal glands was able to develop in such a way; but his ability to steal that ability was mystery to him.
How did it work?
How did the bodily process work when he reached out and tore the ability from his body?
What was he even stealing?
He returned to the board and wrote across the bottom: DORMANT SEQUENCE IN DNA + ACUTE STRESS + NEARBY ACTIVATED INDIVIDUAL ⇒ GENE SWITCH.
A final arrow looped back to SELF, followed by HOST ENHANCEMENT OPTIMAL IF BASE FITNESS HIGH.
He stepped away, rolled his shoulders, and felt a faint vibration under the skin of his forearms.
His mind was in top form, it always was when he put his all into figuring something out.
It even affected his senses, the room sounded louder.
Dust motes drifted in clear resolution.
He clicked the pen once, set it on the tray at a right angle to the markers, and added in the lower corner: TOMORROW—TEST MAX PULSE, VO₂, PEAK FORCE; REPEAT WITH BETA BLOCKER; RECORD DIFFERENCE; SEARCH FOR GENETIC MARKERS.
From there Ethan moved onto more interesting questions, mainly about his own ability.
He stood and turned the light on and off aimlessly as he thought about it; he liked the noise the switch made and it helped him think a little.
After a few moments he walked back to the board and uncapped the red marker.
STEALING ABILITY—?
He underlined it once.
Then again.
Then wrote the next questions underneath in a vertical list.
—How was it transferred?
—What triggered it?
—Where is the ability stored?
—Is it neurological?
Genetic?
Energetic?
—Can it be removed?
—Can abilities be returned?
He paced.
Each step kept him in rhythm.
He clicked the pen once per stride.
He turned back to the board and wrote:
—Does the user lose the ability permanently when taken?
—Was it extraction or duplication?
—Does the ability degrade in the original host after loss?
He clicked the cap.
Once.
Twice.
Then added one more.
—What happens if I try to take another?
He paused.
The idea held there for a long moment.
He took the black marker again and boxed the final question.
COULD I STEAL MORE THAN ONE?
He stared at the words.
He didn’t know the answer.
Yet.
‘It has to be in my DNA’ he thought to himself, as he loooked at the work he’d done thus far.
‘There isn’t much else I can do now that would give me any substantial answers, what I need is lab equipment.’
A smile formed on his face as he remembered a certain red headed girl that had given him unlimited access to all the equipment he could ever need.
‘Tomorrow is going to be very interesting…’
(AN: Ethan might finally be feeling something other than the numbness that fills his every day, and it all happens when he kills someone.
Oof.
Anyway hope you enjoyed.)
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