Hawk and Dove

Friday, October 24th, 22:30.

New Jersey,

Gotham City,

Gotham Heights.

The night air was crisp and cool as Esau stepped out of the Gordon home, zipping up his jacket as he made his way toward his bike. The distant hum of Gotham never truly ceased, the city always alive with distant sirens, the occasional honk of a horn, and the murmuring voices of those who found themselves roaming the streets after dark. He took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scent of damp asphalt and faint cigarette smoke, remnants of city life lingering in the air.

Mounting his bike, Esau fastened his helmet, twisting the key and feeling the low rumble of the engine beneath him. The streets were relatively empty as he pulled onto the road, the dim glow of streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement. His mind wandered briefly—thinking about Barbara, about his training, about the next steps in improving himself. He had a long road ahead, but for the first time in a while, it didn't feel as uncertain.

But as he neared Jason's home, something tugged at the back of his mind—a sensation, an instinct honed through years of surviving Gotham's underbelly. His grip on the handlebars tightened, his eyes flicking to the side mirror. A car, sleek and black, had been behind him for some time.

At first, he chalked it up to coincidence. This was Gotham, people drove at night all the time. But when he made a turn at an intersection and the car followed…and then another turn…and another, all without deviation, that sense of unease sharpened into certainty.

Someone was tailing him.

Esau exhaled through his nose, keeping his expression neutral beneath his helmet. 'Great,'he mused dryly. 'Two nights back in Gotham and I've already got someone trying to kill me. I really do have a penchant for trouble.'

Keeping his pace steady, he passed Jason's home without slowing, continuing forward into the city. He needed to be sure. A few more turns, some unnecessary detours, and yet the car remained on his tail. That confirmed it—this wasn't a coincidence.

'Dubelz?' He immediately considered the crime family. He had wrecked their place and humiliated their men just last night, so retaliation made the most sense. He had expected something, but he hadn't thought they'd be this fast to move. 'Guess I pissed them off more than I thought.'

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

Deciding to confront the situation head-on, Esau made a sharp turn down a dimly lit street in the East End, pulling into an alleyway and bringing his bike to a stop near a rusted chain-link fence. He casually stepped off, removing his helmet and shaking out his hair. His posture was relaxed, hands slipping into his pockets as he leaned against the wall, but his muscles were coiled, ready.

A moment later, the car pulled up at the alley's entrance, its headlights casting stark illumination against the graffiti-covered brick walls. The doors opened, and multiple figures stepped out—six, maybe seven. A mix of suits and streetwear, each one carrying some form of weapon. Bats, pipes, and knives gleamed under the sickly yellow light of a flickering streetlamp.

One of them, a burly man with a scar running down his cheek, chuckled. "You really ain't that bright, huh? Running yourself into a dead end."

Esau just tilted his head, amusement flickering in his sharp golden eyes. "Dead end, huh?" He murmured, rolling the words over his tongue as if considering them. "Well, that's unfortunate…for you."

The men exchanged glances, confused at his lack of fear.

Scarface sneered. "Tough guy, huh? You think what you pulled last night goes unanswered? You cost the Dubelz some serious cash, freak. They want your head, but me? I'm just here to break every bone in your body." He tapped his bat against his palm for emphasis.

Esau let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Right, right, retaliation and all that. Makes sense." His gaze swept over them, reading their stances, their grips on their weapons, their confidence. Sloppy. Overconfident. Used to people being scared. He sighed dramatically. "You know, I was really hoping for a quiet night. Maybe sleep in for once. But I guess some things never change in Gotham."

Scarface scowled. "Enough talk. Get him."

The group surged forward.

Esau's smirk widened.

The moment the thugs surged forward, Esau casually rolled his shoulders, exhaling through his nose as he prepared to handle them. He wasn't particularly worried—he'd dealt with worse on his worst day. But before he could even take a step, two shadows descended from above, landing hard on the pavement with a dull thud, their capes billowing briefly from the impact.

Esau's brow rose as he took in the newcomers.

One was clad in red and white, broad-shouldered and powerful, his stance radiating aggression as his fists clenched at his sides. The other was leaner, dressed in blue and white, moving with a fluidity that was almost birdlike.

Then, without hesitation, they attacked.

The thugs barely had time to register what was happening before the two vigilantes were upon them. Hawk was the first to strike, charging forward like a battering ram, his fist slamming into the chest of the closest thug. The impact was brutal—a loud crack echoed as ribs snapped, and the man crumpled like a house of cards, wheezing and coughing blood before collapsing unconscious.

Dove, meanwhile, was more precise, weaving through the fray with effortless grace. A thug swung a bat at his head, but Dove ducked beneath it and retaliated with a swift, calculated strike to the man's jaw, sending him sprawling. Before the thug could recover, Dove flipped him over with a smooth takedown, rendering him unconscious with a single, well-placed punch to the temple.

Esau remained leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching the entire spectacle unfold with an expression of mild curiosity.

'Not bad,' he mused.

Hawk was all brute force, smashing through the opposition with raw, unchecked aggression. There was no finesse, no strategy beyond hitting as hard as possible, and from the wet crunch of bones shattering, it was clear that he wasn't holding back. He moved like an unstoppable force, tossing men aside like rag dolls, his strikes meant to maim, to ensure they stayed down.

Dove, in contrast, fought with a level of restraint. He still used his enhanced strength to incapacitate, but his movements were more measured, his strikes placed to disable rather than cripple. While Hawk left a trail of broken bodies, Dove ensured his opponents would wake up with bruises rather than permanent injuries.

Interesting dynamic.

Despite their clear physical superiority, neither of them were particularly skilled fighters. They knew how to throw a punch, that much was obvious, but there was a lack of refinement in their technique. They relied almost entirely on their superhuman strength, overwhelming enemies with sheer force rather than calculated precision.

The entire fight lasted barely a minute.

The last thug—a wiry man with a knife—made the mistake of trying to stab Hawk. He lunged forward, aiming for his ribs, but Hawk caught his wrist mid-thrust, twisting it with a sickening pop. The thug screamed in agony before Hawk silenced him with a savage punch to the face, sending him sprawling across the ground in a motionless heap.

Esau finally pushed off the wall, clapping his hands together once. "Well, that was quick," he remarked, striding toward the two vigilantes. "Appreciate the help."

Hawk and Dove turned to face him, both still tense from the fight.

They had been in the area by pure coincidence, initially assuming they were stepping in to help a helpless civilian. But now that they actually looked at Esau, something felt…off.

He wasn't shaken.

Wasn't out of breath.

Wasn't even slightly unnerved by the brutality they had just displayed.

Most civilians—even in Gotham—would be wide-eyed and trembling, at least a little shaken after witnessing what they had just done. But Esau? He was completely relaxed. Unbothered. Almost bored.

Dove narrowed his eyes. "Are…are you okay?"

Esau smirked. "Yeah, I'm good."

Hawk gestured toward the unconscious men scattered across the alley. "You're way too calm for this."

Esau shrugged. "Seen worse."

That only deepened their confusion.

Hawk frowned, stepping closer. "Hold up—who are you?"

Before Esau could answer, he crouched down beside one of the unconscious thugs, pulling a phone out of the man's pocket. He pressed it against the guy's unconscious face, using the facial recognition to unlock it.

Hawk's brow furrowed. "Are you stealing his phone?"

Esau smirked, flipping through the messages. "Nah. Just seeing why they were following me…and for how long."

Hawk and Dove exchanged a glance. This guy was their age, maybe a year older, but he was way too comfortable dealing with crime like this. The way he moved, the way he handled himself—it was wrong.

Dove crossed his arms. "Are…all those from the East End like this?" They had mostly stuck to Gotham Heights, but they had ventured into the East End a few times, yet they had barely had much interaction with people outside of the criminals they fought in the East End.

"Not sure," Hawk muttered. "Haven't spent enough time here to figure that out."

Esau ignored them, scanning the phone's recent messages. His golden eyes flicked across the screen, lips twitching slightly when he saw what he was looking for. 'They hadn't been tailing me from the Gordon house.' That was a relief. If they had been following him since he left Barbara's place, that meant they had gotten too close to her, to Jim, and that would have been a problem.

Instead, it seemed like the Dubelz had just put out an order to keep an eye out for his bike.

One of these guys had spotted him while he was driving back and decided to act on it.

Sloppy. Rushed.

He tossed the phone back onto the unconscious thug's chest and straightened up. "Well, that's a relief," he muttered to himself.

Hawk raised an eyebrow. "You figure something out?"

"Yeah. They weren't following me personally. Just saw my bike and thought they'd get lucky." Esau stretched his arms above his head before turning on his heel and walking past them. "Anyway, thanks for the assist."

Hawk and Dove just stared at him as he strolled out of the alley, completely unbothered by everything that had just happened.

Hawk let out a low whistle. "That guy's weird."

Dove exhaled, shaking his head. "Yeah. No kidding."

They both stood there in silence for a moment longer before Hawk finally muttered, "You think we should, like…follow him?"

Dove hesitated, then shook his head. "Nah. Something tells me we're gonna run into him again."

As they looked down at the battered and broken thugs littering the alley, they both got the distinct feeling that whoever that guy was…

He wasn't someone they should ignore.

-X-

Friday, October 24th, 23:00.

New Jersey,

Gotham City,

Gotham Heights.

Esau stepped into Jason's home, shutting the door behind him and rolling his shoulders as he made his way toward the kitchen. The night had been long, and he was looking forward to some quiet before he crashed for the night. His fingers flexed at his sides, his knuckles still faintly sore from his earlier encounter with the Dubelz thugs, though the pain was more of a dull ache than anything serious. He'd had worse. Much worse.

The kitchen lights were dim, a soft amber glow casting shadows against the walls. The familiar scent of whiskey and faint traces of cigar smoke lingered in the air, something he had come to associate with Jason over the years.

As he stepped inside, he immediately noticed he wasn't alone.

Jason sat at the kitchen island, his feet casually propped up on a chair, one arm resting against the back of his seat as he nursed a glass of whiskey in his other hand. Across from him, seated with a quiet but commanding presence, was a stocky, broad-shouldered man who, even at first glance, exuded an air of authority. He had the kind of rugged build that belonged to someone who had spent a lifetime in the ring—solid muscle beneath a worn, navy sweatshirt, sleeves pushed up to reveal thick, scarred forearms. His hair was short, graying at the temples, and his face bore the unmistakable signs of a man who had seen more fights than most people had hot meals.

The second Esau entered, both men looked up.

Jason smiled, raising his glass in greeting. "There he is."

The older man's sharp blue eyes flicked over Esau with the kind of scrutiny that only came from years of sizing up fighters. His gaze wasn't judgmental, just assessing, like a man looking over an opponent before the first bell.

Jason nodded toward him. "Esau, meet Ted Grant. Also known as Wildcat."

Esau's brows rose slightly at the name. He had heard of Wildcat before, though only in passing. A former heavyweight champion, a member of the old Justice Society, and one of the best bare-knuckle brawlers to ever live. He wasn't just some street-level fighter—he was the guy if you wanted to learn how to throw hands properly.

Moving further into the room, Esau approached and extended a hand. "Good to meet you."

Ted smirked, his handshake firm, the grip of a man who had spent a lifetime hitting and being hit. "Likewise. Heard a lot about you. Black Hood, right?"

Esau let out a short chuckle, shaking his head. "Maelstrom now."

Ted nodded. "Yeah? I like it. Lot of guys change their names, means they're tryin' to move forward. Nothing wrong with that."

Esau took a seat across from them, leaning back slightly as he reached for a glass and poured himself a drink. "So, I take it Jason told you why I wanted to meet?"

Ted nodded, settling his arms against the countertop. "He did. Says you wanna sharpen your skills, take your fighting to the next level."

Esau exhaled through his nose, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "That's right. I've trained under some damn good teachers. Slade taught me how to fight to kill, Black Canary refined my technique, and Talon—well, Talon taught me how to make my hits hurt in the right places. But even with that, I know there's more to learn. I've been focusing on my powers, but I don't want to rely on them. I want my skills to stand on their own."

Ted studied him for a moment, his fingers tapping against the counter in thought. "Smart. Too many guys with powers forget that there's always gonna be someone stronger, faster, or just plain meaner. Your skills are what'll keep you alive when the odds ain't in your favor."

Esau nodded. "Exactly."

Ted leaned forward slightly. "So tell me, kid—what do you think you're lacking?"

Esau frowned, taking a moment to consider his answer. "I'm a strong striker, but I know I can be better. I've got good instincts, good reactions, but against someone like Bronze Tiger…" He let out a slow breath. "I don't think I'd win."

Ted let out a low whistle. "Bronze Tiger, huh? Ain't many who can hold a candle to him. If you're lookin' to reach that level, you're in for a lot of work."

Esau smirked. "Good. I'm not looking for easy."

Jason chuckled, shaking his head. "You really don't know how to take it slow, do you?"

Esau ignored him, turning back to Ted. "I was also told about someone else—Armless Master."

Ted's brow lifted slightly. "That's a name I haven't heard in a long time."

"You know him?"

"Not personally," Ted admitted, rubbing his chin. "But I've heard plenty. He's got a reputation. Lost both his arms in a fight and still managed to turn himself into a top-tier martial artist. If you're looking for someone to train your footwork and kicking game, he's a damn good choice."

Esau nodded. "That's what I was thinking."

Ted exhaled through his nose, tapping a finger against the countertop. "Alright. Here's what we'll do. I'll work with you on your hands—your boxing, your ability to read a fight. If you're serious about groundwork, keep working with Canary. And for your kicks, you'll want to track down Armless Master. Between the three of us, you'll be well-rounded as hell."

Esau smirked, raising his glass. "Sounds like a plan."

Ted clinked his glass against Esau's before taking a sip, his sharp eyes gleaming with approval. "Good. Then we start tomorrow. And kid?"

Esau tilted his head slightly. "Yeah?"

Ted smirked. "Hope you're ready to bleed."