The Dark Knight of Marvel

Wayne ignored the middle-aged Spider-Man. As he opened the car door and sat inside, a red-and-blue figure naturally slipped into the passenger seat.

"Can I call this car theft? I mean, sure, this truck was probably bought with drug money by that kid, but still, stealing is stealing," Spider-Man started rambling the moment he sat down.

"Of course, I won't turn you in to the cops. Otherwise, both of us might end up behind bars," he continued, gesturing animatedly. "You're a car thief, and I'm just a homeless guy in a cheap Spider-Man suit."

Wayne had nothing to say in response to Spider-Man's overly familiar attitude.

All he could do was hope that his expression conveyed his annoyance—enough to make Spider-Man realize he wasn't welcome.

"Hey, don't give me that disapproving look, okay? I think you need a sidekick—like Robin!" Spider-Man widened his large, expressive eyes, mimicking the intense stare of the Bat-family.

Seeing Wayne's clear disapproval, he quickly reverted to his usual expression. "Think about it. I'd definitely be more of an asset than a liability," he added, flexing his biceps to prove his worth.

"Robin doesn't talk as much as you do. And I don't need a Robin," Wayne said flatly, starting the truck without further discussion.

"No Robin? You must not be a fan of the main universe Batman, then. Let me guess… are you more into Flashpoint Batman? Or maybe someone else?" Spider-Man mused, deep in thought.

Truth be told, he knew quite a bit about DC Comics' Batman.

But ever since he became Spider-Man himself, he hadn't had much time for comics.

Remembering a few of the most famous versions of Batman was already an achievement.

Listening to Spider-Man's constant chatter, Wayne suddenly realized that men could be just as talkative as three hundred ducks—maybe even six hundred.

And Spider-Man? Easily a thousand.

Thinking of all the Spider-Men gathering together in the future, Wayne felt a headache coming on.

Six Spider-Men. Sure, two or three weren't that talkative, but the rest? They stuck to their roles—endlessly running their mouths.

"Shut up!" Wayne finally slammed the brakes.

"Okay, okay! You're scaring me now," Spider-Man said, trying his best to stay quiet but still unable to resist adding another comment.

"Get out." Wayne had no intention of spending another second in the same space with him. His voice was cold and firm.

"You're kicking me out?" Spider-Man pointed to his own mask in disbelief. He never imagined someone would actually get sick of him.

But when he met Wayne's unwavering gaze, he knew he was serious.

Shrugging, Spider-Man sighed. "Fine, you're the boss. Whatever you say." He opened the door and stepped out.

"But—"

Before he could finish, the truck's engine roared, leaving him behind in a cloud of exhaust.

"...Don't forget to come back for me," Spider-Man muttered, watching the truck disappear. "Man, that guy really doesn't like listening to people."

He shot a web, pulling himself onto a rooftop, then observed Wayne's direction.

He still wasn't sure about this hardcore Batman fan.

His spider-sense had been giving him subtle warnings the whole time they were together.

Wayne didn't trust him.

He was constantly on guard.

"Let's see what you're really up to," Spider-Man muttered, feeling the cold rooftop beneath his feet. Then, tilting his head, he added, "But first, I should probably find myself some shoes."

While Spider-Man searched for a pair of shoes, Wayne was relieved he had kicked him out.

Finally, peace and quiet.

Now he could begin his mission properly.

But he knew that truly getting rid of Spider-Man was impossible.

This was New York. The guy knew the city far better than he did.

Chances were, by the time he reached Hell's Kitchen, Spider-Man would already be there waiting for him.

Wayne wasn't even sure if this world had a blind lawyer who spent his time fighting crime.

Thanks to his Batman-trained driving skills, Wayne was able to push the truck to its legal speed limit.

As for why he didn't just speed?

This old pickup probably wouldn't outrun the NYPD.

"According to that guy, he shows up in Hell's Kitchen every two days. The exact location changes, but it's always within the same area."

Wayne drove while reviewing the truck's turn signal history, analyzing the most frequently repeated routes.

After running multiple simulations in his mind, he had a rough idea of where to go.

Before he even got close to Hell's Kitchen, someone had already noticed the pickup.

The locals of Hell's Kitchen were familiar with this truck.

But familiarity didn't mean they let their guard down.

They knew today wasn't a scheduled pickup day.

Even if the kid had sold out his supply, he wasn't allowed in without permission. No one broke the rules of Hell's Kitchen.

"Hey, kid, today's not—"

Before the guy guarding the entrance could finish his sentence, a figure suddenly jumped out of the moving truck.

The pickup didn't slow down.

It sped straight into Hell's Kitchen.

"Oh, shit!"

The two guards barely had time to dive out of the way.

Once they recovered, they swore that if they ever ran into that damn kid again, they'd knock all his teeth out.

It was already nighttime, but they were sure—someone had jumped out of that truck.

It had to be that bastard.

"Motherf—! Gaviel, you okay over there?" The first guy dusted himself off and called out to his partner.

No response.

The only sound was the crackling of the truck's short-circuiting wires after it crashed into a nearby wall.

"You didn't seriously get hit by a runaway truck, did you?" The unsettling silence made him draw his gun as he cautiously approached.

"Hey, man, say something."

When he finally reached Gaviel's side, he found his partner unconscious.

As he knelt to check Gaviel's pulse, a shadow loomed over him.

A pitch-black mask and a furious expression made his knees go weak.

He forgot to raise his gun.

Before he could react, Wayne seized his wrist, twisting it into a joint lock.

A sharp crack signaled his elbow snapping.

The pain barely registered before Wayne slammed his head into the nearby wall.

The impact knocked him out instantly.

The scream that was about to escape his throat?

Swallowed by the darkness.

Wayne swiftly took the handgun from the guy's hand and, with practiced ease, disassembled it completely into individual components.

He then tossed the smaller parts directly into the sewer.

At the very least, by removing a few key pieces, the chances of a homeless person finding the gun and making it operational again became significantly lower.

Raising his arm, he fired his grappling gun toward the top of a building and disappeared from the scene.

The sound of the car crash was loud and had already drawn attention from the surrounding area.

Now, Wayne's next task was simple:

Figure out where these people were converging from.

A minor car accident wouldn't be enough to attract everyone nearby, but it would at least reveal what kind of state Hell's Kitchen was currently in.

Was it chaotic or under strict order?

A chaotic Hell's Kitchen would be advantageous. If it was organized, then dealing with it would take a little more effort.

Not everything would go exactly as Wayne wanted. The car accident had indeed caught their attention.

They were already on the move.

But their movements were organized.

They even sent a squad to patrol the area, ensuring no one would ambush them before checking out the situation.

"Our guards have been knocked out." One of the men at the entrance examined the two unconscious sentries on the ground. After confirming they were still alive, he reported through his radio, "Their condition is bad."

"Do we look like we have a hospital?" A cold voice responded from the other end of the radio.

"Understood." The man who made the report was decisive—without hesitation, he aimed his gun and shot the two unconscious guards.

"Find out who's messing with us." The voice on the radio issued the command before cutting off.

Even though the line had gone dead, the man still responded with a firm, "Yes."

"Looks like we're going to be busy again." Another man, seemingly familiar with the one in charge, stepped forward.

Wayne observed all of this. Hell's Kitchen had clearly unified.

It was no longer the chaotic neighborhood it once was.

Standing up, Wayne watched as they carried their fallen men away, leaving no one behind.

"Looks like this Hell's Kitchen is different from the one in my world," a voice chimed in.

Spider-Man had seen everything as well.

In his world, the biggest force in Hell's Kitchen was Kingpin, but no single organization had ever consolidated complete control over the area.

Here, however, the entire place had been transformed into one faction's personal playground.

"No wonder you seemed so calm about my arrival," Spider-Man suddenly remarked. He had planned to catch a Batman fanatic off guard, but Wayne hadn't even flinched.

"But I don't see how your reckless method of barging into Hell's Kitchen is going to end well."

Spider-Man hadn't expected someone who seemed so calm and rational to use something as blunt as a car crash to break into the area's power structure.

"I'm sure a sudden appearance from Spider-Man will make Hell's Kitchen very happy," Wayne finally replied.

Spider-Man had been prepared for complete silence, so Wayne's unexpected response caught him off guard.

But what did he mean by that? The people of Hell's Kitchen would love nothing more than to tear him apart!

"Another Spider-Man has appeared!! Right here!!!"

Wayne used his voice modulator to mimic the voice of one of the small-time thugs he had overheard earlier.

His loud shout shattered the calm night of Hell's Kitchen.

Spider-Man had never been in a situation like this before—Batman had just thrown him directly into the underground syndicate's crosshairs.

Before he could protest, Wayne flicked a miniature smoke bomb, shrouding himself while simultaneously drawing even more attention to Spider-Man's location.

By the time Spider-Man passed through the smoke, Wayne was already gone.

"Oh, come on, not this again."

At this point, Spider-Man seriously doubted that this guy was just a Batman fan. He was starting to believe he might actually be Batman himself, here in New York City.

The way he moved, the way he disappeared without a trace, the way he used gadgets without a second thought—it was all too familiar.

Even though Wayne's plan wasn't flawless—he couldn't be sure who his impersonated voice had actually been speaking to—he didn't need perfection.

He just needed to shift their attention.

And thanks to the smoke bomb, they had a clear target.

"There he is!!"

A sharp-eyed thug spotted Spider-Man perched on a rooftop, his red-and-blue suit unmistakable.

Without hesitation, they raised their guns and opened fire.

Gunshots shattered the silence.

They had already received news of Spider-Man's death, but that didn't mean they would lower their guard. Besides, someone dressing up as Spider-Man in Hell's Kitchen? That was a blatant provocation.

"If I had known this would happen, I never would have followed him."

Now, Spider-Man had no choice but to dodge rapidly, avoiding the bullets flying his way.

Meanwhile, Wayne crouched atop a water tower, silently watching it all unfold.

Hell's Kitchen had erupted with activity at the sound of gunfire, but one particular area remained completely still.

If Wayne's guess was right, that must be where they stored their goods and cash flow.

Firing his grappling gun once more, the Bat swung toward his real target.

(End of Chapter)

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