Marvel’s Dark Knight

"Sorry, I hate this."

Wayne straightened up. At this moment, apart from the women who had already been drugged by those scumbags, there was no one left standing normally.

The scene before him was a chaotic mess—wild, crazed women acting like lunatics. Wayne doubted they could even form a coherent sentence. Their minds had probably been completely destroyed.

He pressed a miniature explosive against the intact safe and blew the door open.

Wayne couldn't help but admire Batman—his utility belt really had everything.

Inside the safe were stacks of cash, uncut diamonds, and gold bars.

The former Batman would have remained indifferent to such riches, but unfortunately, it was Wayne standing here now.

Even so, any excitement he felt was immediately suppressed by his rational mind.

He grabbed the nearby curtains, tore them down, and used them to bundle up everything from the safe.

But the scattered cash in the hall? He didn't touch a single bill.

Wayne wasn't about to take any chances—who knew what might be on that money?

Shooting his grappling hook, Wayne disappeared onto the rooftop, carrying his makeshift sack filled with cash and valuables.

But that didn't mean he was simply walking away from the rest of their stash.

"So, you sold me out just to get yourself some startup capital?"

Spider-Man stared at Wayne, who was now lugging a bag full of loot. His large white eyes widened in disbelief.

He simply couldn't fathom that Wayne had abandoned him just for a haul of valuables.

"Dude, that really hurts my feelings." Spider-Man clutched his chest dramatically, squinting his eyes as if to express his deep sorrow.

"Watch over these. I'll be back."

Wayne handed the hefty sack to Spider-Man and immediately leaped back into the building.

Spider-Man couldn't believe his ears. He feared he had misheard.

Did Batman just ask him to watch his stuff?

The same Batman who had literally sold him out just moments ago?

For a split second, Spider-Man wanted to yell "Son of a bitch!" at the top of his lungs.

But in the end, his good upbringing held him back. Instead, he sighed, sat down on the rooftop water tank, and stared at the bag Wayne had left behind.

Having taken care of his primary objective, Wayne was now moving in with direct and decisive action.

"Boom!"

A not-so-sturdy backdoor was smashed open as a shadowy figure burst through.

A gang member, armed with a gun, fell to the ground, writhing in pain.

Before anyone could approach to ask what had happened, Wayne had already appeared before them.

His response to gangsters? Simple and brutal.

Batman's iron fist slammed into their faces.

With a force exceeding 1,000 pounds, his punches instantly knocked them unconscious.

The commotion naturally attracted the attention of other gang members.

They had no idea what was happening at the back entrance, but they couldn't afford to ignore it.

Their lives and fortunes were on the line—they had to investigate.

No one knew if the chaos at the back entrance would end with their boss deciding to execute them all.

But when they arrived, all they found were their fellow gang members, sprawled out unconscious—no sign of the attacker.

"What the hell happened?"

One of them hurriedly shook an unconscious gang member, trying to wake him up and get information about the intruder.

Hell's Kitchen had been unusually eventful tonight.

First, the supposedly dead Spider-Man showed up on their turf.

Now, some unknown figure had barged straight into their headquarters, tearing through their ranks.

As some gang members questioned what had happened, the others stood on high alert, gripping their guns tightly and scanning their surroundings for any sign of an intruder.

Unbeknownst to them, Wayne was watching silently from above, observing their every move.

With a light push against the wall, Wayne abandoned the idea of staying on the ceiling any longer. Bringing his knees together, he dropped straight onto the back of a gun-wielding thug.

The moment his knees crashed down, the thug spat out a mouthful of blood and collapsed to the ground, completely incapacitated.

Before the two men beside him could even react, they each took a swift knife-hand strike to the neck and crumpled to the floor.

In an instant, Wayne spun around, hooking his leg around the neck of a gang member—the very one who had been questioning his whereabouts earlier.

"Now, I ask, you answer."

"Go to hell, you freak!"

To his credit, the guy still had some guts. Even when facing Wayne, he managed to spit out such defiance.

"What's happening at the back entrance? Has anyone broken in?" Suddenly, the thug's radio crackled to life.

Even if he wanted to warn his allies about the dire situation here, he had no way to do so.

Wayne's leg was locked tightly around his throat, making even breathing difficult.

Snatching the radio, Wayne operated a control panel on his armored forearm before responding.

"Everything's secure. Just a couple of guys messing around for fun."

"Damn it, always causing trouble. Tell them to stay put and keep their mouths shut. If anything goes wrong, I'll skin them alive!" The voice on the other end was clearly someone with a higher rank than those sent to check the disturbance.

"Got it."

Switching off the radio, Wayne's gaze fixed on the thug, whose face was now flushed red from lack of air.

Easing his grip slightly, Wayne allowed him to gasp for the air he had always taken for granted.

"Tell me—why is no one paying attention to the top floor?"

Wayne was genuinely curious. He had caused a considerable commotion up there, yet no one had come to investigate.

Perhaps the threat of imminent death finally broke the thug's resolve.

He stopped resisting and spoke up. "The people up there are important clients. No matter what happens, we're not allowed to disturb them."

That answer surprised Wayne. He had assumed it was just a bunch of mid- to high-level gang leaders gathering for a wild party. He hadn't expected them to be actual clients.

"Where's your drug lab?" Wayne pressed on without wasting time.

He needed to move fast. The sniper he had taken out earlier wouldn't stay unnoticed for long. By his estimate, another check-in was due soon.

The moment they realized the sniper was unresponsive, they would know something was wrong.

"It's just downstairs. Go through that entrance," the thug said weakly, struggling to lift his hand and point toward a nearby stairwell.

"Anyone else down there?"

"No one."

With that confirmation, Wayne delivered a solid punch to the thug's head, knocking him out cold. His face was left bruised and swollen, but at least he'd be getting some sleep.

Releasing his hold, Wayne let the thug slump to the floor before retrieving two miniature incendiary bombs from his utility belt.

He pressed the detonation switch and quickly retraced his path back out.

A bat-like silhouette landed gracefully on the rooftop of the building.

There, crouching idly, was Spider-Man—along with a safely secured package nearby.

"Oh, our great Bat finally returns," Spider-Man quipped, his keen hearing having picked up the sound of Wayne retracting his grappling hook.

Just as he was about to ask where Wayne had been, his gaze shifted to a building in the distance, where raging flames had begun to engulf the lower floors.

"Now that's a big deal," Spider-Man muttered in awe.

(End of Chapter)

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