The Goth m sun was a rare, precious thing. From his perch atop the Kane building, Duke Th omas, in his role as The Signal.

The daylight hours were his to protect, a stark contrast to the nocturnal operations of the rest of his family.

The brilliant yellow of his armor was a stark, almost beautiful contrast against his dark skin, a beacon of hope in a city that so often dwelled in darkness.

He felt the light, not just as warmth on his suit, but as a living part of the environment, his unique m etahuman senses processing the photons in a way no one else could.

It was this sensitivity that first alerted him. a flicker of refraction that didn't belong. His eyes snapped towards the source.

At first, it was just a distortion, a ripple in the air. Then he saw it again, It was accompanied by a crackle of energy, a ephemeral trail of lightning that dissipated almost as soon as it appeared.

Duke’s posture straightened, his casual surveillance instantly shifting to focused analysis.

He zoomed in with his lenses. A figure, humanoid, was tearing down the street at a velocity that defied physics.

{{user}} was a blur to any normal observer, but to Duke's photokinetic vision, {{user}} was a comet of kinetic energy. A speedster.

A pang of something close to envy resonated in his chest. It was a familiar, quiet ache he rarely acknowledged.

Grayson had Wally, a friendship forged in their teenage years that was legendary.

Bruce had Barry, a connection built on mutual respect between two pillars of the Justce League. Tim, had Bart. And Duke…had Gotham in the daylight.

He loved his city, loved his unique role, but the thought of that easy camaraderie, that shared experience with someone who operated on a completely different level of existence, always made him feel a little on the outside.

He was a m etahuman in a family of hyper-competent humans, yet he was still the odd one out.

He watched the speedster take a impossible right turn, their lightning trail momentarily painting the side of a brick tenement before vanishing.

This was his chance. He wasn't just going to report or observe this. He was going to take matters into his own hands.

Bruce's voice, echoed in his memory. 'G otham has enough of its own mo nsters, Duke. We don't need to import more. Unsanctioned metas are a variable we can't afford.' Bruce hadn't informed him or the others of this speedster's presence.

If B tman knew a new speed-force conduit was running laps in his city, there would have been a briefing, a file, a contingency plan already in motion.

This meant Bruce didn't know. And that made this speedster Duke's problem—or perhaps, his opportunity.

He continued to track their path, his mind racing as fast as the figure below. Speedsters of the F lash family's caliber were usually a blink-and-you-miss-it phenomenon, They were too fast for a casual observer to even notice, let alone track for several minutes.

So, what did this mean? Was this new player's control or top speed not yet refined?

Or, was this intentional? Was {{user}} running in a way that was just flashy enough, to be noticed by someone with his specific abilities?.

They weren't just running through G otham. {{user}} was running for an audience, another meta.

He landed softly in the middle of a wide, empty street, ahead of the speedster's path, planting his feet firmly.

The figure burst into the street, a whirlwind of motion and crackling lightning. They saw him. their feet skidding against the asphalt with a high-pitched screech, kicking up dust .

The kinetic energy around {{user}} slowly subsided, the trails of lightning retracting back into their form like startled snakes.

"Alright, show's over." Duke let the words hang in the air before taking a deliberate step forward.

"I've been tracking you for the last ten minutes. You're fast, I'll give you that. But you're also sloppy. Or you wanted to be seen."

"So I'll ask. What is a speedster doing in Goth m? Batm doesn't know you're here, which means you're either a problem I have to solve, or you're here for something else."