In the heart of the Batcave, the sound of keystrokes echoed against the stone walls as Batman delved deeper into his investigation. The encounter with the mysterious man who had taken out Penguin's thugs had left too many unanswered questions. Whoever this person was, they had power—dangerous power. And Batman wasn't one to let such threats roam Gotham unchecked.
With the Batcomputer's screens lighting up the dark cave, Batman pulled up surveillance footage from the factory district. He had traced the man's movements through various cameras around the city, watching as he trained with an invisible force that sliced through metal and concrete with ease. This was no ordinary criminal, and his abilities certainly weren't the result of any known weapon or technology. There was something… supernatural about the way he fought, the way he moved.
"Oracle," Batman called, his voice low and firm.
A voice crackled to life through the comms. "What do you need, Batman?"
"I need a full background check on someone. I don't have much to go on yet, but I've got a name." He paused, leaning closer to the screen as he recalled the way the man had spoken. "Mirk Ethan Anderson."
"Give me a minute," Oracle responded, her fingers already tapping against the keyboard on her end.
Batman waited, staring at the faint image of Mirk captured on one of the security cameras. The look in the man's eyes during their brief encounter was still fresh in his mind. Cold, determined—fueled by something dark, something more than just revenge. Whatever it was, Mirk had made a clear statement: he wasn't someone who could be ignored.
Within minutes, Oracle's voice came back. "Got him. Mirk Ethan Anderson, born and raised in Metropolis. Twenty-five years old. He's been off the grid for a while, but there's a trail. Brace yourself—it's not a pretty story."
Batman's jaw tightened as he listened, eyes flicking across the data that began to populate the screen.
Mirk had grown up in a home that was anything but a refuge. His parents—if you could call them that—were abusive. From a young age, he had learned how to survive in a world that seemed determined to break him. His father was an alcoholic, violent, with a cruel streak that left Mirk bearing the brunt of his rage. His mother, distant and cold, was no better, barely acknowledging his existence except when she needed something. They had been more concerned with their own vices than with raising their children.
And then there was his sister.
Her name was Lily, and to Mirk, she had been everything. He had become her protector, her provider—her entire world. From the age of twelve, Mirk had shouldered responsibilities far beyond his years, hustling to bring in whatever money he could while shielding Lily from their parents' wrath. He took on side jobs, doing whatever he had to just to keep them afloat. But no matter how hard he worked, the money never stayed in his hands for long. Their parents always found a way to take it.
He had endured it all for her. Lily had been his light in an otherwise pitch-black existence.
And then, in an instant, she was gone.
The Batcomputer's screens filled with reports from the day of the Superman-Doomsday battle in Metropolis. Batman had read through these files before—he had analyzed every detail of that catastrophic event—but now he was looking at it through a different lens.
Mirk and his sister had been on a bus when Doomsday and Superman's fight tore through the city. The footage from that day was still etched in the minds of many: Doomsday, a living engine of destruction, rampaging through the streets while Superman fought to contain the chaos. Buildings crumbled, cars were hurled like toys, and innocent lives were caught in the crossfire.
Mirk had been holding Lily in his arms when the bus they were on was struck. Batman could see it now, the timeline syncing with the records: the bus had been caught in the shockwave of Doomsday's charge. Most of the passengers were killed instantly. Lily had been among them.
The image of Mirk kneeling in the wreckage, clutching his sister's lifeless body, appeared on the screen. It was a raw, brutal moment—a scene that encapsulated the cruelty of living in a world where gods walked among mortals. The loss, the devastation, was palpable even through the grainy footage.
Batman stared at the screen, piecing it all together. This was the moment that had broken Mirk. The moment when he realized how powerless he truly was in the face of the chaos that people like Superman faced daily. His entire world had been destroyed—not by criminals, but by forces far beyond his control.
Oracle's voice broke through the silence. "It looks like Mirk disappeared after that. He dropped off the map for a while. No recorded employment, no known address. But here's where it gets strange."
Batman raised an eyebrow. "Go on."
"There's a report from a Gotham hospital. A man matching Mirk's description was admitted there shortly after the Metropolis incident. His left arm had been amputated—cleanly, as if it had been sliced right off. The doctors couldn't explain how it happened. No weapon, no machinery. He was in and out of the hospital in less than a day, and after that, he vanished again."
Batman frowned, his mind racing. The amputated arm, the supernatural abilities Mirk had displayed—there had to be a connection. Something had happened to him after that battle in Metropolis, something that had given him these powers.
"What about his parents?" Batman asked.
"They're still alive, barely," Oracle replied. "His father's in prison, convicted of multiple charges related to domestic abuse. His mother… she's in some run-down nursing home. There's no sign that Mirk's had any contact with either of them since he left Metropolis."
It all made sense now. Mirk had been running. Running from the pain, the trauma, and the memories of a life shattered by both family and fate. But he wasn't running anymore.
Now, he was fighting back.
Batman leaned back in his chair, his mind piecing together the final fragments of Mirk's story. The deaths of Penguin's men, the violent outburst of power—this wasn't just a revenge spree. Mirk had a purpose, a plan. And from the looks of it, he was only just getting started.
"Thanks, Oracle," Batman said, his voice even. He disconnected the call and sat in silence for a moment, staring at the image of Mirk on the screen.
There was still much he didn't know—what had given Mirk his powers, how far he was willing to go—but one thing was certain. Mirk Ethan Anderson was a threat to Gotham. And Batman would need to stop him before that threat spiraled out of control.
Standing up, Batman moved toward the Batmobile. It was time to put the pieces together and confront Mirk again. But this time, it wouldn't be in the shadows. He had questions that needed answering, and Mirk wasn't going to evade him for long.
As he slipped into the Batmobile, the engines roaring to life, Batman's mind was already calculating his next move. Gotham was his city, and he wasn't about to let it become a battleground for another broken soul on a path to destruction.