CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: STRONGER THAN BEFORE

The air in the Narrows was colder than usual, the wind cutting through the crumbling alleyways like a knife. Taylor adjusted the scarf around her masked lower face, fingers tightening around the grip of her baton as she moved through familiar streets, eyes constantly scanning for trouble.

Her patrol had been routine: checking in on fortified buildings, making sure none of the locals had gone missing, gathering information about the Penguin and the Black Mask’s movements, and seeking hints of the League of Shadows amidst the chaos of the ongoing gang war. The community's resolve made all of this possible. But even resolve had limits. The gang war was grinding them down, and Taylor knew they couldn't hold out forever without more help.

If help is even coming.

The cold metal of her baton pressed against her side. She had patrolled these streets dozens of times, but tonight felt different—off, like the city itself was holding its breath.

The streets were too empty. The usual quiet hum of distant activity had faded, replaced by a tense, oppressive silence. It wasn't until she was halfway down an alley, her thoughts tangled in the growing storm of uncertainty, that she realized her mistake.

The silence wasn't natural.

It was a trap.

A dull thunk echoed against the bricks beside her—something embedding itself into the wall just inches from her head. The projectile hummed ominously before detonating, releasing a concussive blast that sent powdered concrete and dust scattering into the air.

But Taylor was already on the ground, rolling behind the cover of a dumpster. Her pulse raced; if that shot had been aimed just a little more precisely, she wouldn't be breathing right now.

Heavy boots pounded against pavement, and she moved further into the shadows, taking the risk of a quick glance at her attackers. 

Three men. No—four. Moving to cut off her exit. She recognized the leader. Penguin's enforcers.

And they weren't carrying normal weapons.

She caught the telltale signs of the Calculator's tech in the dim light—sleek, compact firearms with glowing barrels. One of them had a gauntlet strapped to his wrist, tiny arcs of electricity crackling along its surface. Another held a rifle that pulsed with a faint hum, the air around it subtly warping.

Taylor's stomach twisted. This was bad.

"There she is," one of them sneered, stepping forward. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a face marred by an old knife scar running down his cheek. "Gave us the run-around for a while, didn't ya? Nowhere to run this time."

Another stepped closer. "Boss says you've been sticking your nose where it doesn't belong." He pointed his rifle towards the dumpster. "We don't like that."

Taylor swallowed. Four on one. Armed with advanced tech.

No powers. No backup.

Shit.

She darted out from behind cover, and flicked her wrist. Her weighted scarf snapped through the air—a streak of dark blue—right into the closest man's face. He flinched, hands instinctively coming up—

Taylor was already moving.

A smooth step forward, a hard pivot, her baton snapping out in a sharp arc toward his wrist. The impact connected with a crack. The man yelled in pain, staggering back as his rifle slipped from his grasp.

She stepped in, driving her baton into the back of his head. He crumpled. She kicked his rifle under the dumpster.

But the others were already moving.

Electricity crackled behind her. Taylor barely managed to twist away just as the enforcer with the gauntlet lunged, swiping his arm where she had been a second ago. Sparks arced off the wall beside her, the sharp scent of ozone filling the air.

She moved to press her advantage, driving her shoulder into his chest and sending him sprawling.

A fist slammed into her ribs, knocking her to the ground. She had lost track of one of the enforcers and paid for it. She barely had time to recover before another enforcer loomed over her, a stun baton crackling with blue energy raised high.

Move.

She rolled out of the way just as the baton came down, striking the pavement with a violent snap. Sparks scattered across the ground, the energy discharge arching against her shoulder and sending a jolt of pain radiating down her arm.

Too close. Way too close.

Taylor hissed through clenched teeth, scrambling back to her feet. Her baton was in her hand, her breathing sharp. The pain was already fading. Faster than it should.

One of the enforcers still on their feet snarled. "Persistent little bitch, aren't you?"

Taylor ignored him, flexing her fingers. He wasn't wrong.

She shouldn't even be standing right now.

That kind of shock should have left her twitching on the ground, if not unconscious or worse.

And yet, she had recovered within seconds. 

The remaining three enforcers regrouped, moving in a practiced formation to surround her. The gauntlet-wielder was now back on his feet, shaking off her hit. His stance was tighter now, warier. They weren't underestimating her anymore.

Taylor tensed, raising her baton to a defensive position. Something was off. Not fatigue, not weakness, but something else.

The way she had knocked that man down—too easy. The way her body was recovering from the shock—too fast.

Her mind flashed back to the moment she'd woken up in this new world. Waking in the dark cavern. The green liquid clinging to her skin. Gasping for breath, lungs burning—but feeling whole.

Strong.

Three of Penguin’s men were still standing. Stun baton, gauntlet, and a second Calculator tech rifle. The enforcer with the rifle shifted, raising the weapon to aim.

Taylor moved faster than she thought she could—her body responding almost before her brain could process it. She twisted to the side just as the rifle discharged. The concussive blast missed her by inches, the shockwave cracking bricks behind her.

But she didn't stop moving. She was already closing the distance. Already swinging.

Her baton struck the gunman's wrist. The weapon jerked out of his grasp, and before he could recover, she followed up with a sharp strike to his knee. The joint buckled, sending him crumpling down with a pained shout.

The other two lunged.

Taylor spun, ducking under the gauntlet-wielder's wild swing. The stun baton guy jabbed at her midsection, but she twisted sharply, slipping through their reach too fluidly, too controlled

Too fast.

 Her grip tightened. Worry about that later.

The gauntlet crackled as its wielder pivoted, trying to catch her off guard. But Taylor was already stepping in, anticipating the move before he finished making it.

Her baton flicked out, striking his forearm hard enough to knock the gauntlet's aim off course. The weapon discharged into the empty air, sending arcs of electricity snapping against the alley walls.

The stun baton wielder took advantage of the momentary distraction, lunging at her exposed side.

Taylor didn't think. She reacted. Her free hand snapped up, catching his wrist mid-swing. His momentum carried him forward-and she used it. A quick shift of weight, a sharp tug, and suddenly he was overextended. She twisted sharply, sending him crashing to the ground with a forceful thud.

He didn't get back up.

The final enforcer hesitated, glancing between her and his downed allies. Then, with a muttered curse, he turned and ran.

Taylor let him.

Her mind was elsewhere.

She flexed her fingers experimentally. No tremors. No fatigue.

She should be exhausted, but she wasn't. Her muscles should be aching, but they felt fine. More than fine. Better than fine.

She exhaled slowly. Her breath misted in the cold air, but her pulse was steady. Too steady

Something was happening to her.

Something that had started the moment she woke up in that green pool.

This isn't normal.

She looked down at her hands, then at the unconscious enforcers sprawled across the alley. She hadn't needed powers to fight before—not since Earth-Bet. She had relied on her ingenuity, strategy, and physical ability—but this… this was something else.

Her body was changing.

She was becoming… a Brute?

And she had no idea what that meant. Or why now.