Erick's Point of View
The Gotham night wind howled like a wild beast around us, carrying the metallic scent of impending rain mixed with the distant stench of sewage and smoke from industrial chimneys that seemed never to sleep in the city. We were atop an abandoned skyscraper in the heart of the financial district—a relic of the 1970s, its cracked reinforced concrete structure and shattered windows reflecting the flickering lights of neighboring buildings like fragments of a broken mirror.
The building rose more than 350 meters above street level, a vertical monster defying the cloudy sky, with the city skyline stretching below like an uneven carpet of neon and shadows. On one side, the Gothic towers of downtown pierced the low clouds; on the other, the yellow glow of the harbor stood out like a luminous wound in the darkness of the night. It was the perfect building for the test I was planning—tall enough to simulate a real fall, isolated enough not to attract prying eyes.
The docks were our final destination, where Artemis had intercepted information about a massive shipment of drugs and weapons for the Black Mask, coming from a ghost ship of obscure origins. "A chance to intercept it before it hits the streets," she had said two days ago, during a lone patrol that ended with the two of us panting on a rooftop, laughing at a foiled robbery. I jumped at the chance—not just for the action, but for the opportunity to test the upgrades I had been working tirelessly on for the past few weeks.
My Cloak suit, now in version 2.1 which I refined in the mansion's basement, responded perfectly to strong winds. The base fabric—Kevlar alchemically fused with carbon nanotubes and transmuted titanium—was lighter and more elastic than ever, allowing movements that felt like a natural extension of my body without sacrificing protection. I had added extra layers of internal cushioning, inspired by exoskeleton designs that the Engineer had simulated: flexible polymers that absorbed impacts like a living sponge, dissipating forces that would previously have left me bruised for days.
The utility belt was more modular: magnetic compartments for quick swapping, with new items such as long-acting sedative darts (dosage adjustable via voice command) and chemical dispersion smoke grenades that neutralized thermal sensors for up to 5 minutes. The magnetic shield on the left arm—now 65 cm in diameter—had an enhanced repulsor: a solid-state battery extending the duration from 10 to 25 minutes of continuous use, and an "angular deflection" mode that redirected projectiles at specific angles, like a calculated ricochet. The sealed helmet had nerve toxin-resistant air filters and 92% accurate real-time ballistic analysis, projecting red lines onto the visor to guide dodges.
But what I most wanted to test that night were the "wings"—retractable gliding membranes integrated into the suit. Inspired by flying squirrels and military wingsuits, I created ultra-lightweight fabric panels (transformed from polymers into a flexible, tear-resistant alloy) that extended from the arms to the sides of the body and legs, forming an aerodynamic surface.
Activated by a wrist gesture, they expanded like the sails of an inverted parachute, allowing for controlled gliding via body tilt. I tested them in the mansion's basement—jumping from elevated platforms I built with hydraulic scaffolding—and it worked: incredible stability, speeds of up to 60 km/h in controlled descents. But here, at 350 meters high, with real wind and fatal risk, it was the ultimate test. If it went wrong, the elemental could save me with a burst of flames to cushion the descent, but I preferred not to depend on that.
Artemis stood beside me, clad in the suit I'd upgraded for her—an evolution of the first one I'd made, now with reinforced armor in critical areas and integrated technology I'd refined over the past few nights. The fabric clung to her body like a second skin, highlighting her athletic curves without restricting movement. The gloves and boots had adaptable magnetic grip, allowing them to adhere to any surface. The intelligent bow on her back automatically adjusted tension, releasing twice the power upon release. And the arrows—15 new custom types—were in the quiver, ready for any scenario.
She stood on the edge, looking down—the 350-meter abyss opening up like a black void dotted with the distant lights of the cars on the street below, tiny as luminous ants. For the first time since we'd known each other, I saw a genuine trace of hesitation in her: her almond-shaped eyes slightly widened, her lips pressed into a thin line, her hands clenched at her sides as if preparing for something she didn't want to admit. The wind ruffled the blonde strands escaping from her ponytail, and she leaned forward slightly, as if calculating the endless fall, the ground so distant it seemed like a bad dream.
"Ah, this is already kind of crazy," she said, her voice low and almost swallowed by the howling wind, with a tone that mixed excitement and genuine doubt. "No, like... whoever does this is very risky. We're incredibly high up, Erick. One mistake with the suit, a wrong crosswind, and we'd be pancaked down there. Are you sure these gliders will hold up? I tested them on my roof, but this is another level."
I chuckled inwardly—Artemis, the girl who faced assassins like her father without blinking, showing a fear of heights? It was rare, almost cute, and revealed a vulnerable side she rarely let slip. But I understood: it wasn't fear of death; it was fear of the unknown, of trusting a technology she hadn't tested under extreme conditions. I approached, stopping beside her, feeling the elemental pulse warm in my chest, ready for the test, as if eager to prove its worth.
"What's this? Are you scared?" I taunted, looking at her with a defiant smile from behind the helmet visor, my voice modulated and deep through the audio filter. Before she could respond with one of her sharp retorts, I took a step back—my back to the infinite abyss—and threw myself off. The wind engulfed me instantly, the world inverting as I fell backward, my arms outstretched as if embracing the black void. The air roared in my ears, the helmet filtering the sound into a controlled, manageable hum, and I watched the building receding above me, the lights of Gotham blurring into colorful streaks that looked like comet trails in a polluted sky. My stomach churned with pure adrenaline, my heart pounding in my chest like a war drum, but I remained calm—this was the test, the moment of truth.
Artemis's eyes widened—I saw it on the HUD, which captured her reaction in real time through a micro-camera on the suit's shoulder, projecting the image in the corner of the visor as a secondary feed. She took a step forward, leaning over the edge to look, the wind ruffling her ponytail. "Erick!"
I fell for what felt like an interminable few seconds, feeling gravity pulling me like an invisible, merciless hand, my stomach churning with the unchecked acceleration. The ground below was a distant blur of asphalt and lights, approaching too quickly, the wind pressing against my body like an invisible wall. Then, with a quick flick of my left wrist, the membranes activated: ultra-lightweight fabric panels stretched from my arms to the sides of my body and legs, forming a gliding surface like that of a giant flying squirrel.
The material—transmuted from ordinary polymers into a flexible, tear-resistant alloy with microfibers that captured microcurrents of air—caught the wind like a sail, creating immediate lift. I flipped onto my stomach in mid-air—a maneuver I had practiced hundreds of times with Sensei virtually, rotating my hips and adjusting my arms for stability—and the wind supported me. It wasn't free flight; It was controlled planing: the air passing beneath the membranes, creating a pressure cushion that carried me forward towards the dark horizon, the pier twinkling like a band of yellow lights in the distance.
The feeling was euphoric, liberating—the world below like a carpet of flashing lights, the buildings passing by like pillars of a floating city, the wind shaping my body as if I were part of it, an extension of the night. I leaned to the left, dodging a radio tower that appeared as a surprise obstacle in my path, the suit automatically adjusting the tension of the membranes to compensate for the crosswind and maintain a stable trajectory. "Perfect," I thought, the HUD flashing data in green: speed 55 km/h, altitude decreasing in control, crosswind 3 m/s compensated. The prototype had worked—and exceeded the expectations I had simulated with the Engineer. I had tested it in the mansion's basement, jumping from elevated platforms, but here, with real wind and real distances, it was another level.
The membrane design was solid, but the secret was the enchantment I had integrated: a basic arcane language I'd found on the deep web, a digitized grimoire of medieval rituals that Morgana had refined for me in hours of nightly simulations. The original spell was simple, almost weak: it made heavy objects lighter, like a partial levitation to effortlessly carry loads. But Morgana and I adapted it—an innovation no one else had attempted, fusing the arcane with science. I integrated tiny runes into the membranes, activated when the "wings" expanded: a passive spell that created a subtle fluctuation in the surrounding air, reducing effective gravity by 25-30%. It wasn't flight; it was a lightness that made gliding easy, stable, as if the air were denser and more welcoming, cooperating instead of resisting. "This changes everything," I reflected, tilting downwards to gain speed, the dock approaching like a luminous streak on the horizon. "Falls from heights are now commonplace. And the best part: nobody will understand how—it seems like magic, but it's science mixed with the arcane. Morgana nailed the adaptation."
I glanced back through the HUD—magnification activated, 4x optical zoom—and saw Artemis still on the edge, eyes wide, but a smile growing on her lips as if her initial fear was transforming into pure excitement. "Ah, I can't let a rookie surpass me," she murmured—the directional microphone in her helmet picked up the whisper, amplifying it for me—and jumped too. Backwards, like me, falling for seconds before turning in mid-air and activating the membranes. They extended from her like shadow wings, the fabric capturing the wind with precision, and she glided behind me, rapidly gaining speed, the suit adapting to the airflow as if it were alive. I smiled beneath the visor: "She's getting the hang of it. The charm helps, but her talent is what makes the difference. Let's see if she senses the subtle magic."
We glided toward the harbor, the distant dock drawing closer like a line of yellow lights on the dark horizon, moored ships bobbing in the black water like silhouettes of sleeping monsters. The feeling was euphoric: the cold air cutting my face under the visor, the suit automatically adjusting the membrane tension to maximize lift, the world below blurring in speed. I tilted my body to the left, dodging a radio tower that appeared as a surprise obstacle in my path, the suit adjusting: membrane tension increasing to compensate for the crosswind, maintaining a stable trajectory.
Artemis followed closely—I could see it on the HUD, which tracked her position via an encrypted signal in her suit, a green line tracing her route in real time. She glided with a grace I envied: body perfectly tilted, membranes extended like the wings of a nocturnal bird, dodging buildings with maneuvers that seemed instinctive, tilting upwards to catch an updraft and gain altitude effortlessly. "She's having fun," I noticed, watching how she adjusted her body to gain speed, passing close to an industrial chimney that spewed black smoke, her suit adapting to the turbulent hot air without flinching. The enchantment was working perfectly—the subtle lightness making the gliding seem natural, as if the air were conspiring in our favor.
I spotted a building ahead—a low, wide structure, perfect for landing, with a flat roof covered in gravel and rusty antennas. I pulled up, my body tilted at a 45-degree angle, gaining altitude to glide over the roof. At the peak of the ascent, I did a backflip—spinning in the air like a trained acrobat, membranes retracting with a flick of the wrist. Gravity pulled me back like an invisible anchor, but the magic still lingered for a few residual seconds, softening the descent and giving me time to adjust. I landed on my feet, knees bent to absorb the impact, the suit cushioning the rest with its layers of flexible polymer—a soft thud, no pain, no excessive noise. Perfect—stable, controlled, better than in the simulated tests.
I looked back: Artemis was approaching quickly, mimicking the movement with a grace I envied. She pulled up, performed the somersault with a precision that seemed natural—body spinning like an arrow in flight, membranes retracting at the peak—and landed beside me, light as a feather falling to the grass, knees bending slightly to dissipate the energy. "Better than you," I thought, impressed. "Skill is on another level. She was born for this."
I turned to her, my helmet still sealed, its dark visor reflecting the distant lights of the dock. "So, how did it go?"
She took off her aviation goggles—the piece I had made for her, with an integrated HUD for tracking and environmental analysis, shaped like a fighter pilot's visor with polarized lenses that filtered out night glare—and smiled, breathless but euphoric, her face flushed with adrenaline and the cold wind. "It was incredible. Like... ah, I wasn't expecting such a strong emotion thanks to this power. The wind carrying me as if I were nothing... it was surreal. I felt the air adapting, supporting me. It wasn't just wind—it was like it was collaborating."
I laughed, feeling the elemental pulse of satisfaction in my chest, as if proud of my own work. "That's what I expected. The costume helps, doesn't it? You picked it up quickly."
She nodded, tilting her head slightly, the blonde strands of hair tousled by the wind falling over her eyes. "What was that? Why was it so easy to glide in that suit? It felt... magical. The air was pushing me upwards, as if gravity were less. It wasn't just the design of the membranes—there was something more. How did you make it so stable? I dodged buildings and felt the suit adjusting itself, as if the wind were part of it."
I hesitated for a second, calculating how much to reveal—I didn't want to delve into the details of Morgana or the digital grimoires, but she deserved an honest explanation. "I managed to develop an... arcane language that allowed me to place small runes on the fabric. It works like a passive spell. When we activate the wings, we also activate these runes, allowing us to glide with much greater ease.
They create a subtle airflow around us, reducing our effective weight. I'll leave the technical part out of the equation, because it's too complicated to explain—it involves a fusion of science and... something older. But know that, while we're using this equipment, falling from great heights is almost nothing for us now. A mistake becomes an easy correction."
She blinked, impressed, her almond-shaped eyes shining with a mixture of admiration and curiosity. "Runes? Spells? You dabble in that too? That's... incredible. Like, I could feel the air adjusting, supporting me. There's no turbulence, no drag... it's too smooth. You're a genius, Erick. How do you think of these things? Science mixed with magic? That's crazy... but it works."
I smiled beneath the visor, feeling a warmth rise in my chest—not just from the elemental, but from something more personal. "Years of solitary experiments. But let's focus on what matters. Time is running out."
I touched the collar of my jacket—verbal command activated, whispered into the internal microphone: "Full camouflage mode." The helmet turned completely black, along with all my clothing, obscuring me against the darkness of the night. The fabric absorbed the ambient light, merging me with the shadows as if I were part of them—almost invisible to the naked eye, perfect for infiltration.
Artemis did the same—she touched a discreet button on the suit's wrist: the dark green darkened to absolute black, as if the suit were absorbing the surrounding light, turning it into a ghostly silhouette against the cloudy sky. "There. Now we are ghosts."
We began our parkour toward the pier—leaping from building to building, the dark horizon looming like a promise of action. The first gap was moderate—about 15 meters between two jagged rooftops. I used the grappling hook to jump: the cable extended with a low hum, snapping into the opposite edge with a metallic click, pulling me like a human pendulum across the chasm. The crosswind tried to throw me off balance, but I adjusted my body mid-air, landing with a roll to absorb the impact, the suit cushioning my knees with its layers of flexible polymer. Artemis followed—a perfect, hookless jump, using the magnetic grip of her boots to latch onto the metal edge for an instant and propel herself upward, landing beside me with a grace I still envied.
The next gap was bigger—about 25 meters, with a strong crosswind coming from the river, the humid air heavy with salt and pollution. I threw the grappling hook again, pirouetting in the air to adjust my trajectory against the wind, the cable retracting at the end to pull me to the edge. I landed on my feet, feeling the suit distribute the impact across the reinforced soles. Artemis came behind—activated the membranes for a second, gliding part of the way to gain distance, and used the magnetic gloves to grip the concrete edge, rising with a traction that seemed to defy gravity, the glove fingers emitting a low hum as they locked onto the edge. "Impressive," I thought, watching her move with growing confidence. "The grips are working perfectly—they stick to any surface, magnetically adjusting the force so they don't slip."
We kept up the pace: a sloping roof, I slipped slightly on the damp tile from the recent rain, but recovered with a quick grab, the cable saving me from a fall; Artemis sped past, her boots gripping the metal gutters for balance, leaning to counteract the wind. Another jump—I used the shield to block a strong gust of wind, gliding over a treacherous gap; she followed, laughing softly through the communicator integrated into her suit, her voice echoing in my helmet. "You've improved a lot, Erick. Three weeks ago, you could barely keep up without tripping. Now... you're on my level. How do you learn so fast?"
I laughed back, the sound modulated by the helmet's audio filter. "Years of solitary training. But you're the master—I just copy the best."
She questioned it internally—I couldn't hear it, but I could see it in the way she looked at me during the jumps, the visor capturing microexpressions. She wondered: "Erick is truly a genius to learn so many movements so easily." Little did she know about the Sensei, about the virtual nights I spent perfecting each gesture, each spin, each landing. To her, it was just natural talent—and I left it that way, maintaining the mystery.
The dock appeared ahead: a strip of dirty concrete next to the dark water, cranes standing like giant skeletons against the cloudy sky, containers stacked like blocks from a forgotten game, yellow lights illuminating piles of crates and elongated shadows. We landed on the roof of an abandoned building with a perfect view—me rolling to absorb the impact and getting up quickly, her landing on her feet like a feline, knees bending slightly to dissipate the energy.
From there, we could see everything: Black Mask and his henchmen hidden in a dark corner of the dock, well concealed behind piles of rusty crates and the shadows of stopped cranes, waiting for the shipment like predators on the prowl. The Mask, in his black suit and white mask, gestured with low orders, rifles at the ready in the hands of the henchmen, the air tense with the expectation of the ship's arrival.
"We've arrived," I said, zooming in on the HUD to scan the area: thermals showing 30 armed thugs, the Mask in the center, no immediate sign of the ship, but vibrations on the radar suggesting something approaching from the water. "Now the real fun begins."
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