Matthew Gordon sprawled across his bed, laptop propped on his knees, fingers skimming across the braille display connected via USB. Saturday morning research had become a ritual—his way of understanding this new world beyond Gotham's borders.
Today's subject: Lex Luthor, whose meteoric rise from Metropolis slum kid to tech billionaire seemed suspiciously rapid, even by American capitalist standards.
His phone buzzed beside him. Matthew touched the screen, and his text-to-speech app announced: "Dick Grayson calling."
"Hey Dick," Matthew answered, setting aside his laptop.
"Matt! What are you doing today?" Dick's voice carried that particular energy he'd maintained despite the transition from acrobat to vigilante to college student.
"Just research. Why?"
"Come hang out at the manor. Bruce is at some corporate retreat, and Alfred's promised to make his famous cookies. Plus, I've got this new sound system you've got to experience."
Matthew smiled. Six years of friendship with Dick Grayson. He was a sweet kid.
"Sounds better than reading about Luthor's dubious business practices," Matthew replied. "Need me to bring anything?"
"Just yourself. I'll send a car. One hour?"
"Works for me."
After hanging up, Matthew changed into jeans and a button-down, running a comb through his unruly ginger hair. Despite knowing his appearance was largely irrelevant to him personally, he'd learned to maintain certain standards. People responded better to polished presentation, even from a blind person—perhaps especially from a blind person.
The car arrived precisely on time—an understated Lincoln rather than one of Bruce's flashier vehicles. Matthew sensed Alfred behind the wheel before the butler even spoke.
"Good morning, Master Matthew," Alfred greeted as Matthew navigated to the passenger door. "Master Richard is rather excited about your visit. He's been rearranging the entertainment system all morning."
"He mentioned a new sound setup," Matthew replied, settling into the leather seat.
"Indeed. A seventy-thousand-dollar investment that Master Bruce pretends to find excessive."
The drive to Wayne Manor passed pleasantly, with Alfred sharing stories of Dick's latest university exploits. Matthew listened attentively, filing away details that might be relevant to understanding the current Robin's state of mind. The friendship that had begun at a charity gala years ago had evolved into something genuine—Dick treating Matthew as a confidant despite their age difference, and Matthew offering the perspective of someone that's not his father or Alfred.
"Yo, Matty!" Dick called from the doorway, his heartbeat elevated with genuine excitement. At twenty-three, Dick had matured into his role as Nightwing, establishing his own territory in Blüdhaven while maintaining connections to Gotham. Yet something boyish remained in his enthusiasm, a quality that Matthew suspected was essential to his survival in Batman's shadow.
"Hey Dick," Matthew replied, accepting a brief hug as he entered the manor. "Thanks for the rescue from research hell."
"What were you digging into this time? More case law?"
"Luthor's business empire," Matthew admitted as they walked through the grand entryway. "Something about him doesn't add up."
Dick laughed. "Trust me, you don't know the half of it. But we're under strict 'no shop talk' orders from Alfred today. Just normal college guys hanging out."
The irony wasn't lost on Matthew—two young men with secret lives pretending to be ordinary. But perhaps that was precisely what made their friendship work. With Dick, Matthew could relax certain pretenses. Not all of them, of course. Dick still believed Matthew was simply an exceptionally capable blind person, not a reincarnated vigilante that dressed up like a fucking devil from another universe, but enough to be comfortable.
They settled in Dick's private den, a space that reflected the young man's eclectic interests—gymnastics equipment sharing space with engineering textbooks and vintage circus posters. The promised sound system dominated one wall, its components meticulously arranged.
"So," Dick began, dropping onto the couch beside Matthew, "how's it going with Barbara?"
Matthew raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't I be asking you that question? You're the one dating my sister."
Dick's heartbeat accelerated slightly—the physiological equivalent of a blush. "Yeah, well. It's good. She's amazing. Scary smart, you know?"
"I'm familiar with her terrifying intellect, yes."
"It's just..." Dick hesitated, "sometimes I wonder if I'm holding her back. She's got this fellowship offer from MIT, but she's talking about staying local because of me. And her work with the GCPD cybercrime division."
Matthew nodded thoughtfully. Barbara's evolution into Oracle remained one of his most closely guarded secrets—something he'd pieced together quite easily.
When stalking Batman, he says 'ORACLE' out loud. He wanted to laugh, but his sister being involved such a dangerous world was no laughing matter.
"Barbara makes her own decisions," Matthew said carefully. "Trust me, if she wants MIT, nothing will stop her—including you."
"That's what Alfred says too." Dick's tension eased slightly. "How about you? Still planning on Columbia Law?"
"That's the plan. Early admission came through last month."
"Following in Murdock's footsteps, huh?" Dick referenced Matthew's oft-mentioned legal hero. "The blind lawyer who took down Wilson Fisk."
Yes, Matt did create a case law template of himself from his past life. It may be corny, but what if he liked corny?
Matthew smiled at the irony. "Something like that."
The conversation flowed easily after that—college plans, mutual friends, music recommendations. Dick demonstrated his sound system's capabilities with tracks ranging from classical to hip-hop.
By late afternoon, the manor's atmosphere shifted subtly. Alfred's footsteps approached, accompanied by the distinctive scent of his famous chocolate chip cookies.
"Sustenance, young masters," Alfred announced, setting a tray on the coffee table. "And a message from Master Bruce. He'll be returning for dinner with an unexpected guest."
Dick's curiosity spiked. "Who?"
"Miss Barbara," Alfred replied. "Apparently, they encountered each other at the cybersecurity conference downtown. Master Bruce invited her to join us this evening, assuming you would both approve."
Matthew detected Alfred's subtle amusement—the butler knew exactly how Dick would react to Barbara's visit.
"That's... great!" Dick stammered, suddenly alert. "Is Bruce expecting formal dinner?"
"Semi-formal would be appropriate," Alfred advised. "Seven o'clock."
After Alfred departed, Dick groaned. "Great. Now Bruce and Barbara can debate encryption protocols over dinner while I try to remember which fork to use."
Matthew laughed. "At least I'll be here to share your pain."
"You're staying, right? Please say yes. I need someone normal at this table."
"Since when am I the normal one in any scenario?" Matthew joked, but nodded. "I'll stay. Let me text my dad so he doesn't wait up."
As he sent the message, Matthew considered the evening ahead. Bruce Wayne, Barbara Gordon, Dick Grayson, and himself—Batman, Oracle, Nightwing, and a former Daredevil—all sharing a meal while pretending to be ordinary people. The universe truly had a strange sense of humor.
At precisely seven o'clock, they gathered in Wayne Manor's formal dining room. Bruce Wayne entered with his characteristic presence—commanding attention without obvious effort, his heartbeat its usual controlled rhythm that had first revealed his identity to Matthew years ago.
"Matthew," Bruce greeted, shaking his hand. "Good to see you again. Dick mentioned you're headed to Columbia Law."
"That's the plan," Matthew confirmed.
"Honestly, that great Matthew," Bruce observed. "Stay the course, you're very talented."
Before Matthew could respond, Barbara arrived. Her distinctive pattern of movement, confident strides with the slightest asymmetry from an old gymnastics injury, announced her presence before Alfred could.
"Sorry I'm late," she called. "Traffic from downtown was brutal."
The dynamic shifted immediately with Barbara's arrival. Dick's entire physiological state changed, heartbeat accelerating, breathing pattern altering, body chemistry adjusting in ways only Matthew could detect. Love, Matthew realized, genuine and unguarded.
How adorable.
Dinner proceeded with surprisingly natural conversation. Bruce discussed Wayne Enterprises' latest charitable initiative while Barbara described her cybersecurity research. Dick contributed stories from his criminology classes, and Matthew offered insights on constitutional law that drew thoughtful responses from Bruce.
The easy rapport among them struck Matthew as both wonderful and dangerous. These connections—his sister dating Dick, his friendship with the Wayne household—created vulnerabilities in the careful separation he'd maintained between his lives.
Don't him wrong, there was value. But with value, comes a price.
As dessert arrived, Matthew's phone buzzed. Excusing himself to check the message, he found a text from Eliza: "Chloe Kane got us into Iceberg Lounge tonight. VIP treatment. Need arm candy. You free after your Wayne dinner? Dress sharp."
Matthew smiled. A night at Penguin's infamous club would certainly provide intelligence opportunities, and Eliza's new college friends—particularly the Kane connection—represented Gotham's upper echelon.
"Everything okay?" Bruce asked when Matthew returned to the table.
"Just Eliza," Matthew explained. "She's invited me to join her and some friends at the Iceberg Lounge tonight."
Bruce's heartbeat altered subtly—concern, perhaps? "Cobblepot's establishment isn't exactly a college hangout."
"One of her friends is a Kane," Matthew elaborated. "Apparently that means VIP treatment."
"Chloe Kane," Bruce nodded, recognizing the name instantly. "Katherine's daughter. Influential family, old Gotham money."
"I should probably pass," Matthew said, aware of the complications. "I didn't bring anything appropriate to wear anyway."
"Nonsense," Bruce replied unexpectedly. "If you'd like to go, I'm sure we can find something suitable. Dick?"
And that was how Matthew found himself, an hour later, wearing a Brioni suit worth more than most people's monthly salary, with Alfred making final adjustments to the cuffs.
"The midnight blue complements your coloring, Master Matthew," Alfred observed, brushing invisible lint from the shoulder. "And the cut disguises the fact it wasn't tailored specifically for you."
"This is very generous, Mr. Wayne," Matthew said, still surprised by the offer.
Bruce, leaning against the doorframe, shrugged audibly. "Consider it a congratulatory gift for Columbia. The suit should be enjoyed, not just hang in my closet."
A car horn sounded from the driveway—Eliza and her friends arriving. Alfred helped Matthew with a final grooming touch-up, styling his hair in a way that felt more sophisticated than his usual practical cut.
"Thanks for dinner," Matthew said as Bruce walked him to the door. "And for the suit. I'll return it tomorrow."
"Keep it," Bruce replied. "And Matthew? Cobblepot's establishment attracts certain elements. Keep your awareness up. Be careful..."
The warning, delivered casually but with unmistakable seriousness, confirmed what Matthew had long suspected, Bruce Wayne was well aware that Matthew Gordon was not normal. To what extent? Well, he would like keep Batman guessing.
"Always do," Matthew promised.
Outside, Eliza's surprised reaction was audible even before he reached the car. "Holy shit, Matt! You clean up better than I expected."
"Wayne's lending him clothes now?" another voice asked. Female, refined, with the distinctive Kane accent that blended British finishing school with Gotham old money. "Interesting friends you have, Eliza."
The car interior revealed four heartbeats besides his own—Eliza driving, three other women as passengers. Matthew settled into the vacant seat, immediately the focus of curious attention.
"Everyone, this is Matt Gordon," Eliza introduced. "Matt, meet Chloe Kane, Raina Vries, and Sophia Nolan—my Gotham U crew."
Oof, that was cringe. Gotta work on those titles Eliza.
"The commissioner's blind son wearing Bruce Wayne's suit," Chloe observed, her interest evident in her elevated pulse. "There's a story there."
"Less interesting than you'd think," Matthew deflected smoothly. "I'm friends with Dick Grayson. He invited me over, dinner ran late, and Mr. Wayne kindly solved my fashion emergency."
"Dick Grayson," Sophia echoed, impressed. "Isn't he dating your sister?"
Geez, word gets out eh?
"Uh huh.." Matthew confirmed, shifting the conversation away from himself. "So, Iceberg Lounge. I've heard stories but never been. What's the attraction?"
As Chloe described the exclusive club's allure, Matthew noted her gradual positioning toward him—subtle shifts that reduced the distance between them, her perfume deliberately wafting his way. The Kane heiress was interested, her heartbeat revealing attraction that her carefully modulated voice attempted to conceal.
Oh boy, tonight was either going to be fun... or a shitshow.
_____________________
The Iceberg Lounge emerged from Gotham's upscale waterfront district like a gleaming ice sculpture—all angular glass and strategic lighting designed to suggest frozen elegance. A line stretched around the block, but Chloe led them directly to the VIP entrance, where the bouncer's demeanor changed instantly upon hearing her name.
"Miss Kane," he acknowledged, unclipping the velvet rope. "Mr. Cobblepot mentioned you might grace us tonight. Your usual table is ready."
The club's interior assaulted Matthew's senses—pounding music, hundreds of conversations, the complex chemical cocktail of alcohol, perfume, and less legal substances. He absorbed it all, filtering and categorizing while maintaining his outward role as Eliza's charming blind friend.
Chloe secured the seat beside Matthew at their VIP table, her hand casually brushing his arm as she signaled a waitress. "First round's on me," she announced. "What's your poison, Matt?"
"Macallan, neat," he replied, falling into the practiced social ease that Foggy had once teased him about in their Columbia days—another lifetime ago.
The drinks arrived quickly, followed by a second round, and Matthew found himself genuinely enjoying the evening. Chloe's interest remained obvious but not unpleasant. She was intelligent, and funny. It was a start.
"Dance floor?" Eliza suggested after their third round, rising from her seat. "Come on, ladies. Let's show these trust fund babies how it's done."
Chloe hesitated, clearly torn between joining her friends and continuing her conversation with Matthew. Eliza made the decision for her, pulling her toward the dance floor with good-natured insistence.
"Save my seat," Chloe called back to Matthew, her interest unmistakable.
Alone at the table, Matthew expanded his awareness through the club. Beyond the music and revelry, he detected the expected undercurrent of criminal enterprise—drug deals in bathroom stalls, information exchanges in shadowy corners, security personnel with military-grade weapons concealed beneath tailored suits.
This was Penguin's domain—a neutral ground where Gotham's underworld could conduct business under the veneer of legitimate nightlife.
He didn't need Bruce's warning. So why did he come here? It was the perfect hunting ground for the Ghost's intelligence gathering. Why can't one have a good time, but also tip off the GCPD if I just happen to here something big.
But then....
A familiar heartbeat cut through the cacophony, approaching the bar beside their table. The distinctive rhythm Matthew had encountered only days ago at Meta-Brawl, Ravager. The fighter who had recognized his blindness despite his disguise.
Ugh..
She ordered a vodka tonic, her voice confirming her identity beyond doubt. Matthew sensed her awareness of him as well—her heart rate altered slightly, her body shifting toward him though she hadn't yet spoken.
Matthew decided to take the initiative. Turning toward her, he offered a smile. "The acoustics in here are terrible. Want to join me while my friends are dancing? I'm Matt, by the way."
A pause, then: "Rose." She settled onto the stool beside him, bringing with her that distinctive scent of metal and chemicals he'd detected during their fight. "You come here often?"
"First time," Matthew admitted. "You?"
"I work here. Sort of." Her voice carried an edge of amusement. "Tonight I'm off-duty, though."
Matthew raised his glass slightly. "To nights off, then."
Their conversation flowed with surprising ease—guarded at first, then gradually opening as they discovered mutual interests in martial arts, obscure music, and cynical perspectives on Gotham's elite. Matthew carefully avoided mentioning his last name or his connection to the GCPD, just as she avoided explaining exactly what her "sort of" job entailed.
"It's too loud in here," Rose observed after they'd been talking for nearly an hour. "There's a quieter space upstairs, if you want to actually hear each other."
Matthew nodded, sending Eliza a quick text about his whereabouts. The upper level proved significantly calmer—a lounge area overlooking the main floor, with scattered seating and ambient music replacing the pounding bass below.
"Better?" Rose asked, claiming a secluded corner.
"Much," Matthew agreed. "So, why Gotham? You don't sound like you're from here."
Rose's heartbeat stuttered slightly—touching on something personal. "Family business, initially. Stayed because... it fits, somehow, for now. This city has a way of making sense when nowhere else does."
Matthew understood completely. "It grows on you like a beautiful fungus."
That earned a genuine laugh—the first he'd heard from her. The sound transformed her energy, revealing a youth and vulnerability her guarded demeanor typically concealed.
Their conversation wandered through topics both trivial and profound. Rose described constellations visible above Gotham on clear nights, while Matthew shared stories from his law studies. They raided an unattended hors d'oeuvres platter, then ventured onto a small balcony overlooking the harbor.
"Can you see stars?" Rose asked suddenly, looking upward. "I mean, can blind people see anything at all?"
"Depends on the person," Matthew replied honestly. "Some have light perception, some see shadows or blurry shapes. Me? Complete darkness since I was nine."
Rose nodded, then caught herself. "Sorry, that was a dumb question."
"Not at all," Matthew assured her. "People either avoid asking anything or treat me like I'm made of glass. Direct questions are refreshing."
"Well, in that case—you're missing a gorgeous view," she said, a smile in her voice. "But the air smells like fish and industrial chemicals, so maybe you're getting the authentic Gotham experience after all."
Matthew laughed, appreciating her comfort with his disability. "I bet I can name more harbor pollutants than you can see stars. Inhaling Gotham City fumes should get me the Nobel Peace prize."
Their easy banter continued until a sound cut through everything—screams from below, sharp and genuine. Rose tensed beside him, heartbeat shifting to combat readiness instantly.
"Something's wrong," she said, already moving toward the door.
Matthew followed, extending his senses to the main floor. Chaotic movement, elevated heart rates consistent with panic, and the distinctive sound of weapons being unsafely handled—amateur gunmen, at least six of them.
"Armed men," he murmured, grateful when Rose didn't question how he knew.
They reached the upper balcony overlooking the main floor just as a voice shouted demands—something about Black Mask, territory disputes, and making examples. Matthew filtered through the hostage situation, identifying positions and weapons while searching for Eliza and her friends.
He found her heartbeat immediately—elevated but controlled, Eliza displaying the calm under pressure he'd always admired. Then her position shifted violently, dragged forward by one of the gunmen.
"This one," the man announced, pressing a pistol against Eliza's temple. "The commissioner's kid's friend, right? Perfect message."
No....
Matthew's world narrowed to that single point of contact. Metal against Eliza's skin, the tremor in the gunman's hand suggesting twitchy trigger discipline, the absolute certainty that he wouldn't reach her in time through conventional means.
Beside him, Rose had already shifted stance, her body language suggesting imminent intervention despite being outnumbered and outgunned.
"I need a distraction," Matthew whispered, already formulating his approach. "Can you cut the lights?"
Rose's surprise lasted only a millisecond before she nodded. "East wall, electrical panel. On my signal?"
Matthew nodded, centering himself as he hadn't needed to in years.
He took his glasses off, put them in his suit pocket. Grabbed a scarf that was left behind by people fleeing for their lives, and wrapped it around the top half of his face.
Rose looked at him in confusion, but slowly her eyes widened..
"You..." But she stopped herself. Questions would come later. There were bigger fish to fry right at the moment.
"Now," Rose whispered, already in motion.
And the Man Without Fear prepared to emerge from hiding at last.