Artemis's living room was small, lit only by the yellowish light of an old lamp in the corner, near a crooked bookcase full of yellowed paperback books and some old comic books. The sofa was made of worn fabric, with stains that time couldn't erase, and the smell in the air mixed antiseptic from the first-aid kit with the subtle scent of leather and something floral that seemed to cling to her skin. I was sitting on the edge of the sofa, torso still bare, my skin marked by bruises that spread like dark clouds across my ribs, arms, and back.
The smaller lacerations were already covered with clean gauze and adhesive tape, the burning of the antiseptic giving way to a dull throbbing that the elemental was already beginning to soothe. Artemis was beside me, legs crossed, first-aid kit open in her lap, fingers still with traces of ointment.
None of us spoke. The silence was heavy, but not uncomfortable—it was the silence of someone who had just survived something real, something irreversible. Outside, the sirens of Gotham were still distant, a constant noise like the city's heartbeat. Inside, only the ticking of a clock on the wall and her breathing, slow and controlled.
I broke the silence first, my voice hoarse from shouting so much during the fight.
"Today was... great, wasn't it?"
She raised an eyebrow, but the corner of her mouth turned up in a tired smile.
"Cool? We took down two villains, neutralized over fifty henchmen, and almost died about ten times. If that's 'cool' to you, Erick, I want to see what you consider fun."
I chuckled softly, feeling my ribs protest.
"It was more than that. It was real. For the first time, I wasn't just training. I was... acting. And so were you."
She stood still for a second, staring at her own hands—short fingernails, with traces of dried blood that wasn't hers.
"Me too. It had been a long time since I felt this way. Not since…" She paused, shook her head. "It doesn't matter. Today I felt like I was doing something worthwhile. Not just following orders."
I nodded, looking at the floor.
"Exactly. The League wants us to stay in training, waiting for approval, waiting for 'readiness'. But meanwhile, out there, people are dying. Police officers, civilians, even the criminals themselves. If we wait, who will act?"
She turned her face towards me, her almond-shaped eyes gleaming in the dim light.
"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
I took a deep breath, feeling the elemental pulse in my chest like a secondary heart.
"Why don't we just keep doing this? Patrols. Missions. On our own. The League doesn't need to know. If they don't raise the level of training, we'll raise it ourselves. Training without practice is just theory. And theory doesn't save anyone."
She remained silent for a long time, staring at the lamp as if the answer lay in the dim light. Then, slowly, she nodded.
"You're right. What good is it for me to train with arrows, with combat, with everything Ollie taught me, if I can't use it when it really matters? And you… you too. You're not just a meta with fire in your hands. You think. You plan. We work together."
I smiled, feeling a weight lift from my shoulders.
"So it's settled. From now on, patrols. Together. Whenever possible, wherever possible. Without waiting for permission."
She extended her hand. I shook it—firm, warm, like a sealed pact.
"Patrols. Together."
We stayed like that for a moment, hands clasped, the silence now lighter. Then I stood up slowly, feeling every muscle protest.
"I'm going to say goodbye. I need to go back, clean the equipment, and really rest."
She stood up as well, accompanying me to the back door that led to the fire escape.
"Tomorrow, same time. On the terrace. Let's plan the next one."
I pulled the reinforced jacket over my bruised torso—the fabric fitting like a second skin—put on my helmet, the plates snapping into place with familiar clicks. I climbed the fire escape to the roof, grabbed the bag with my civilian clothes and the rest of my gear. Before jumping onto the neighboring roof, I glanced back. She was in the doorway, arms crossed, looking at me with a small smile.
"Watch out, rookie."
"You too, archer."
I jumped. The wind of Gotham greeted me like an old acquaintance.
I arrived home almost an hour later—I climbed the back wall, entered through the bedroom window, and went down the internal stairs to the basement. The armored door opened with its biometric beep, and the fresh air of my domain enveloped me like a hug.
I carefully removed the cloak—jacket, boots, cloak, helmet—placing everything on the central counter. The equipment was dirty: bullet marks, dried blood, scratches. Tomorrow I would do a complete cleaning, but now I had no strength. My body screamed for rest.
I opened the surgical capsule—the metal cylinder emerged from the floor with a hydraulic hiss. I lay down inside, the padding molding to my aching body. I put on the helmet—the plates attached to the jacket I was still wearing underneath—and the neural connection activated. The real world dissolved: a tingling in my skull, synapses realigning, and I awoke in the virtual world.
The open-air dojo materialized—polished wooden floor, starry sky, paper lanterns swaying in the night breeze. Sensei was there, performing a slow kata, his movements as precise as flowing water.
"Report," I said, my voice echoing in the space.
Doc appeared first — white coat, round glasses, clinical expression.
"Current physical condition: multiple contusions — ribs, arms, thighs. Deep hematomas in 14 locations, superficial lacerations in 7 locations. No fractures. Minimal internal bleeding, already controlled. Elemental regeneration at 68% efficiency — projected: full recovery in 72 actual hours, 48 with rest in the capsule."
I nodded, feeling relieved.
"And what about the rest?"
Natasha appeared beside him, serene as always.
"The interaction with Artemis was… positive. There's mutual interest. Clear chemistry. You hesitate to move forward."
Morgana, hooded, chuckled softly.
"You're a young man with fire inside. She is too. Why chicken out?"
I sighed, sitting down on the virtual mat.
"My goal isn't just to have a woman. Nor to be a hero. I didn't even want to be a hero. I wanted to survive in this world, to be one of the most powerful creatures that ever existed here. Power. Control. Protection. That comes first."
Natasha tilted her head.
"Power doesn't have to be lonely. You can have it all: strength, control… and company. As much as you want. Artemis could be the beginning."
Doc adjusted his glasses.
"Strategic. Relationships strengthen alliances. She's skilled, loyal in her own way. And you already feel attracted to her."
I looked at the virtual sky, stars twinkling.
"So... let's do this right. Protocol. Name: Artemis."
Natasha smiled.
"Artemis Protocol activated. Objective: to establish a deep connection, strengthen bonds, explore romantic and operational potential. First step: meeting outside of training. Tomorrow."
I nodded, feeling a mixture of anxiety and determination.
"Artemis Protocol. Initiated."
The dojo slowly dissolved, and I returned to the silence of the capsule, the elemental pulse calmly in my chest.
Tomorrow would be another day. And now, I was no longer alone in the darkness.
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