Chapter 11: Chapter 11
The neon glow of the Gotham Street Fair faded behind Abel as he sprinted through shadowy alleys, his heart pounding in his ears. Zoe's stunned face haunted him, her whispered realization echoing in his mind: "You're him, aren't you? You're Private Eye."
He had made a split-second decision, muttering a barely coherent excuse before bolting into the crowd. But Abel knew this was far from over. The weight of his exposed secret pressed down on him, threatening to crush the fragile normalcy he'd built.
Ducking behind a dumpster, Abel pulled his makeshift mask off with trembling hands. The cheap plastic had left red marks around his eyes, a physical reminder of his rash decision. He sucked in deep breaths, trying to calm his racing thoughts.
What would Zoe do with this information? Would she tell the others? His father? The press? Each possibility seemed worse than the last.
A distant siren wailed, snapping Abel back to reality. He couldn't stay here. He needed to patrol, to clear his head, to do something other than panic.
Reaching into his backpack, Abel pulled out his real mask – the sleek, noir-inspired design of Private Eye. As he slipped it on, he felt a familiar sense of purpose wash over him. Whatever came next, he'd face it. But for now, Gotham needed him.
Private Eye swung through the city's towering canyons of steel and glass, the cool night air whipping past him. The streets below were a maze of flickering streetlights and shadowy corners, each potentially hiding threats only he could sense and stop.
Landing on a gargoyle overlooking Crime Alley, Private Eye took a moment to survey the area. The narrow street reeked of stale beer and rotting garbage, punctuated by the occasional waft of greasy food from a late-night diner. Muffled arguments and the distant thump of bass leaked from rundown apartment buildings.
A whisper of movement – too faint for normal ears – made Private Eye tense. His spider-sense tingled a split second before a blur of orange and black came hurtling towards him.
He backflipped off the gargoyle, narrowly avoiding the sword that embedded itself where he'd been perched. Landing in a crouch on the gritty rooftop, Private Eye found himself face-to-face with a white-haired figure in a black and orange suit.
"Well, well," a female voice purred from behind the mask. "The spider comes out to play."
Private Eye's eyes narrowed. "And you are?"
The woman yanked her sword free from the gargoyle, stone chips scattering across the roof. "Your end," she said, pointing the blade at him. "But you can call me Ravager."
Seriously..."Charming," Private Eye retorted, falling into a defensive stance. "What brings Deathstroke's little girl to my neck of the woods?"
Rose's single visible eye flashed with anger. "Daddy dearest wants to see what you're made of." She started circling him, blade now once again pointed at him. "I don't see it, but lucky me, I get to find out."
She lunged forward with blinding speed. Private Eye's enhanced reflexes allowed him to twist away, feeling the wind of the blade's passage against his cheek. The acrid smell of ozone filled his nostrils – the sword was electrically charged.
Rose pressed her attack, each strike a blur of lethal precision. Private Eye weaved and dodged, relying on his spider-sense to stay ahead of the flashing blade. He could feel the hum of electricity with each near miss, the hairs on his arms standing on end.
Looking for an opening, Private Eye shot a web at Rose's feet. She leapt over it with practiced ease, but the momentary distraction was enough. He closed the distance, landing a solid punch to her solar plexus. The impact sent shockwaves up his arm – her armor was top-notch.
Rose staggered back half a step, then retaliated with a vicious kick. Private Eye barely got his forearm up in time to block. Even with his enhanced durability, he felt the bone bruise from the force of the blow.
The fight became a brutal exchange. Rose's technique was flawless, each movement honed by years of training. She moved with fluid grace, every strike potentially lethal. Private Eye relied on his raw power and inhuman agility, using acrobatic flips and twists to stay just out of reach.
Sweat began to soak through Private Eye's mask. His breath came in ragged gasps. Rose was good – terrifyingly good. He needed to end this quickly.
"Not bad," Rose panted, a hint of grudging respect in her voice. "But let's see how you handle this."
She produced a small device from her belt and clicked a button. Suddenly, the air was filled with a high-pitched whine that sent Private Eye reeling. His enhanced senses, usually an advantage, became a crippling weakness. The world spun, nausea rising in his throat.
Rose pressed her advantage. Through swimming vision, Private Eye saw the sword flashing towards him. He twisted, but not fast enough. White-hot pain erupted across his bicep as the electrically charged blade sliced through his costume.
The sharp pain cleared his head momentarily. With a desperate lunge, Private Eye webbed the sonic device and crushed it in his fist. As the disorienting noise faded, he felt a surge of anger and determination.
Private Eye launched a furious counterattack. His movements became a blur, enhanced strength behind every strike. Webs flew with pinpoint accuracy, restricting Rose's movements. His fists connected in rapid succession, exploiting the tiny gaps in her defenses.
Rose found herself being driven back, her initial confidence wavering. A powerful roundhouse kick from Private Eye sent her skidding across the roof, her sword clattering away.
Private Eye stood over her, chest heaving. "Stay down," he warned, voice rough from exertion.
A slow clap echoed across the rooftop. Private Eye whirled, his heart sinking as he recognized the imposing figure emerging from the shadows. The orange and black mask of Deathstroke seemed to glow in the dim light, his single eye fixed on the young vigilante.
"Impressive," Deathstroke's cold voice sent chills down Private Eye's spine. "You've exceeded my expectations, boy."
Private Eye tensed, falling into a defensive stance, once again. Every instinct screamed danger. "Oh for fuck sake..."
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone