DCU: Split

Sweat flew from Nolan’s brow with every movement, catching the light for an instant before disappearing against the dark mats beneath his feet. The heavy punching bag swayed violently on its chains, creaking with every impact as Nolan drove another combination into it. His breathing remained controlled despite the strain, each inhale measured through his nose and each exhale forced out through clenched teeth as he concentrated on keeping his feet beneath him.

Vey stood several feet away, watching him with his arms folded across his chest.

"Again."

Nolan shifted his weight, planted his rear foot, and drove a hook into the bag. The impact sent it swinging sideways.

"Your feet," Vey said immediately. "You’re reaching with your upper body. If you have to reach for the punch, you’re already giving your opponent an opening."

Nolan adjusted his stance.

I know I know," Nolan huffed, "Like this?"

"Better."

Nolan threw another combination, this time moving his feet with each strike. The bag rocked beneath the assault, but Vey’s expression remained unimpressed.

"Again."

Nolan sighed.

"You enjoy this entirely too much."

"I enjoy watching you improve."

"That’s not what I said."

Vey smiled.

Nolan continued for another minute before finally stepping away from the bag. His chest rose and fell steadily as he wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist. He took a long drink from the bottle sitting beside the mat and looked toward Vey.

"So, this cane we got."

Vey’s eyebrow lifted.

"What about it?"

Nolan set the bottle down and glanced toward the far side of the training room, where the strange cane rested against the wall. They had spent enough time examining it that Nolan had begun to recognize every imperfection in its surface. It looked old, almost impossibly so, yet it remained untouched by age. There was something about it that continued to bother him.

"I’ve been studying it," Nolan said. "I’ve gone over everything we know about it, and I still can’t figure out how to make the magic work."

Vey shrugged, "Maybe we don’t have any magic."

Nolan gave him an incredulous look, "That’s your theory?"

"It’s a possibility."

Vey stepped onto the mat.

Nolan immediately recognized the look in his eyes and sighed.

"Oh, come on."

Vey raised his hands.

"You wanted to talk about the cane. Talk while we train."

Nolan reluctantly raised his own guard. They approached one another, circling slowly.

"I’ve tried everything," Nolan said. "Concentration, visualization, physical contact, different grips. I’ve even tried repeating some of the things we saw in the inscriptions."

"Maybe you’re overthinking it."

"That’s rich coming from you."

Vey lunged.

Nolan barely reacted in time.

He slipped backward as Vey’s fist cut through the space where his head had been, then pivoted and drove forward, attempting to get beneath Vey’s center of gravity. His arms wrapped around Vey’s waist as he tried to complete the takedown.

"But?" Vey asked.

Nolan grunted with the effort.

"That’s a possibility."

Vey shifted his weight.

The takedown unraveled instantly.

He twisted sideways, slipped one leg free, and dragged his arm across Nolan’s shoulder before sweeping at Nolan’s legs. Nolan anticipated it at the last moment, sidestepping and raising his left leg to absorb the strike against his shin.

"But?" Vey repeated.

Nolan lowered his foot.

"I feel it."

Vey paused.

"What?"

"In my gut." Nolan circled away from him, breathing slightly harder now. "I feel like it should work. That it will be perfect for us."

"Feeling something and knowing how to use it are two different things."

"I know."

Nolan raised his guard again, "But I still think there’s something there."

Vey smiled.

"Then figure it out."

He attacked again.

This time there was no warning.

Nolan blocked the first strike, barely slipped the second, and tried to counter with a straight punch. Vey knocked it aside and immediately followed with another combination. Nolan’s feet moved beneath him as he tried to maintain distance, but Vey kept closing the gap.

A punch slipped through.

Nolan’s head snapped sideways.

Another struck his ribs.

He caught the next blow on his forearm, only for Vey to change angles and drive another strike toward his stomach. Nolan twisted away, but the movement left him open to a sweeping kick that forced him backward.

"Keep your hands up."

"I know."

"Then keep them up."

Nolan raised them. Vey attacked again.

The pace increased.

Nolan tried to keep up, blocking where he could and slipping what he couldn’t, but Vey was relentless. Every time Nolan thought he had found an opening, Vey was already somewhere else. A strike toward his head became a body shot. A body shot became a leg sweep. A feint became a genuine attack.

Nolan’s breathing grew ragged.

"Fuck."

He stumbled backward and barely caught himself before dropping to one knee.

Vey stopped.

Nolan bent forward, placing both hands on his knees as he fought to regain control of his breathing. Sweat dripped from his face onto the mat.

"You could have warned me."

"I did."

"When?"

"When I attacked you." Nolan looked up at him, "That’s not a warning."

"It’s a very effective one."

Nolan shook his head and laughed despite himself.

Vey walked toward the corner and picked up the bottle of water, tossing it to Nolan. Nolan caught it and immediately drank half of it.

"You’ll figure it out," Vey said.

Nolan lowered the bottle.

"You sound very confident."

"I am."

"Why?"

Vey shrugged. "Because you’re good at puzzles. That’s what this is, isn’t it? A puzzle."

Nolan looked toward the cane.

"A very strange puzzle."

"The best kind."

Nolan wiped his mouth with his wrist and glanced at the clock on the wall. "We’ve got a lot of travel ahead of us anyway. Back and forth between Metropolis, Gotham, and Star City."

"Which means you’ve got plenty of time to stare at that thing."

Nolan smiled faintly, "True."

He took another drink.

"Very true."

The two stood in silence for a moment, the only sound coming from the slow swinging of the punching bag behind them.

"We leave tomorrow," Nolan finally said. "There’s not much left for us to accomplish here in Gotham right now."

Vey nodded, "Brickwell?"

Nolan’s expression tightened slightly.

"Dre has him."

"Does he?"

Nolan considered that.

"Well," he admitted, "Dre has certainly found him. He hasn’t reported it yet but apparently Brickwell has been dealt with."

Vey laughed quietly, "I’m sure he learned a lot."

His eyes drifted back toward the strange cane resting against the wall.

"Dre’s shaping up to be quite the asset."

Vey followed his gaze.

"And the cane?"

Nolan smiled, "We’ll figure it out."

He picked up his towel and slung it over his shoulder before heading toward the locker room. Vey watched him go, then glanced toward the cane himself.

Neither of them noticed the faintest shimmer move beneath its surface. It was gone almost as quickly as it appeared.

***

The arrow studied the police reports connected to Brickwell. He was found dead, brutally murdered and before that there was an attack on the old mayoral office in the glades that left numerous bodies.

Bruce had warned him.

Once the organization started spreading, stopping it would become considerably harder. At the time, Oliver had understood the logic behind the warning, but he hadn’t appreciated just how quickly it could happen. The Underpass wasn’t operating like a traditional criminal organization. There were no obvious headquarters to raid, no distinctive uniforms, no centralized group of lieutenants whose arrests would cripple the organization.

They were everywhere.

The homeless population of Star City had become their camouflage.

Oliver picked up another report and scanned through it.

The police had already arrested several people suspected of being affiliated with the Underpass. Every single one had been released after investigators discovered there was no connection whatsoever.

They were simply homeless.

That was the problem.

A photograph showed a man sleeping beneath an overpass. Another showed a woman pushing a shopping cart through an alley. Another showed an elderly man sitting outside a convenience store with a blanket around his shoulders.

There was nothing remarkable about any of them.

And that was precisely why the Underpass had chosen them.

Oliver stared at the photographs for several seconds before muttering, "Nobody remembers what a homeless person looks like."

His voice was quiet, but the realization carried weight.

People remembered criminals.

They remembered gang members with tattoos, colors, weapons, and recognizable faces. They remembered men who strutted down streets believing themselves untouchable. They remembered the obvious threats.

Nobody remembered the man who had asked them for spare change that morning.

Nobody remembered the woman sleeping beneath the bridge.

Nobody remembered the person pushing a shopping cart past them in the rain.

The Underpass had turned anonymity into a weapon.

Oliver’s frown deepened as he flipped through another set of documents. The police were effectively searching for an organization whose members could disappear into the city’s forgotten population whenever they wanted. Arresting the wrong person wasn’t merely embarrassing; every mistaken arrest made the police more hesitant the next time they encountered someone who might actually be involved.

The Underpass was teaching them to doubt their own instincts.

Oliver pushed the reports aside and stood.

"Kieran."

The name lingered in his mind.

Kieran Everleigh was the obvious target, but that didn’t mean he was an accessible one. The man had spent years surrounding himself with layers of security, legitimate employees, criminal associates, and enough political connections to make attacking him directly almost impossible without creating a much larger problem.

Oliver couldn’t get to Kieran.

Not yet.

But he didn’t need to.

If Kieran was running an organization this large, he couldn’t possibly manage every operation himself. Someone had to coordinate the Underpass in Star City. Someone had to keep the local factions organized, distribute orders, move resources, and maintain communication with Gotham.

A lieutenant.

Oliver’s eyes returned to the map of Star City pinned against the wall.

"Kieran has to have someone here." And they won’t be as protected