The Dark Knight of Marvel

"Are you planning to stay here, or are you coming with me?"

Wayne paid no attention to the raging flames consuming the building behind him.

He knew exactly how powerful the incendiary grenades he had thrown were.

As long as the contraband factory below was truly empty—just as that guy had claimed—then this fire wouldn't cause any casualties.

The only thing being destroyed was the contraband itself.

"To be honest, I'm not really sure where we're headed next," Spider-Man said nonchalantly to Wayne.

"We find a suitable place and sort out our identities." Wayne spoke as he started moving.

"Okay, you're the boss. I'll follow your lead." Spider-Man didn't want to waste any more brainpower on this.

Today's workload had already met his personal quota.

"Wait… are you saying we're forging IDs?" It wasn't until he had left with the Bat that Spider-Man realized what Wayne meant.

"Sorting out our identities"—wasn't that just making fake documents?

"That's a crime, man." Spider-Man suddenly leaped in front of the Bat, speaking to Wayne with a serious expression.

Wayne squinted at the web-slinger before him. "Haven't we always been criminals?"

"What? No way! We have these powers, so shouldn't we take responsibility? Stopping those criminals—that's our mission, isn't it?"

Spider-Man was visibly agitated, completely rejecting the implications of Wayne's words.

If he had truly understood the meaning of "with great power comes great responsibility" when he first got his abilities, then maybe he wouldn't have lost Uncle Ben.

"Are you a cop?"

Wayne's tone was cold.

Spider-Man shook his head. "No… I'm not."

"Are you an enforcer of the law?"

"No."

"Then what do you think you're doing?"

Wayne had no desire to continue the conversation. He vanished from Spider-Man's sight once again.

Spider-Man wanted to stop him from leaving, but right now, he needed to think over Wayne's words carefully.

The Bat's statement had shaken his beliefs.

He needed to clear his mind.

It was probably best to stay away from the Bat for a while—at least until he could come up with a solid argument to counter him.

Shooting out a web, Spider-Man swung away in search of a quiet place to think.

But he didn't notice that the moment he left, Wayne had already reappeared on the fire escape below, watching him go with a calm expression.

"You really hit that chatterbox hard with your words just now," came Thomas's voice in Wayne's mind.

"Haven't we always been criminals?" Wayne saw nothing wrong with what he had said.

"Besides, if those words alone were enough to shake a 'mature' Spider-Man, then he doesn't deserve the title."

Wayne's voice was devoid of any warmth.

"By the way, what exactly is a 'Spider-Man'? You seem somewhat familiar with this world, but not entirely."

Thomas had been wanting to ask Wayne for a while now.

The man wore a Batman suit, yet he possessed knowledge of a world he had never seen before.

"Think of it as a knockoff hero universe."

Wayne leaped from the fire escape. Just before hitting the ground, his cape unfurled, slowing his descent.

To Thomas, Wayne's words made no sense—his world had never seemed like any kind of "hero universe."

He always felt that his world was a playground for superpowered lunatics—Amazon and Atlantis were at war, flooding half of Europe.

A cybernetic bio-organism spent its days trying to recruit him into some so-called resistance army.

None of it ever made Thomas feel like there was anything remotely heroic in his world.

Not even himself.

Just as Wayne had said—

They were all criminals. He was even a murderer.

"The way you do things might actually align with someone's ideology in this universe," Thomas remained silent, but Wayne spoke up.

"Oh yeah?"

"It's just that guy is even more extreme." Wayne walked toward the car in front of him.

Luck was on his side—inside, Wayne managed to find a casual outfit that would allow him to change out of his battle suit.

As a token of apology for taking the clothes, Wayne left behind a stack of cash.

Removing his mask, Wayne finally used the car's rearview mirror to take a clear look at himself in this world.

To be honest, at that moment, Wayne might have understood why, in the comics, the Joker always spoke so highly of Batman's appearance.

Even in the eyes of a madman, it could be judged as flawless.

Chiseled features, a sharp and defined face—by most women's standards, the current Wayne could definitely be considered attractive.

Especially those deep, melancholic blue eyes.

Anyone who met his gaze would find it impossible to look away.

"Not bad," Wayne complimented his own face before proceeding to change clothes.

The only downside? The original owner of these clothes had probably eaten a few too many hamburgers.

Even on Wayne's sculpted, statue-like physique, the outfit was noticeably baggy.

Still, as a temporary solution, it would do just fine.

He even found a travel backpack in the car—at least now he could replace the bundle that practically screamed "robber."

With a baseball cap on his head, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up, and a backpack stuffed with cash, Wayne left.

A man wearing ill-fitting clothes walking down the street wouldn't attract much attention.

New York had more homeless people than one could count.

He raised a hand to hail a taxi still out working.

A yellow cab pulled up in front of him.

"New York University."

Wayne got into the taxi and spoke before the driver could say a word.

"No problem," the driver replied, skipping any unnecessary chatter and driving off.

"But let's get one thing straight—if you don't have money, I'll beat you up."

As he drove, the driver gave Wayne a side glance.

The oversized clothes—while not particularly dirty—were enough for him to classify Wayne as just another homeless guy.

Wayne, unfazed, simply picked up a newspaper from the backseat and started studying this world in depth.

For him, only by understanding the majority of this world's reality could he properly blend in.

"Alright, looks like you're not much of a talker."

Seeing that Wayne had no intention of making conversation, the driver swallowed the rest of his words.

A small part of him hoped that when they reached the university, Wayne wouldn't be able to pay.

That way, at least he'd have a reason to give this smug guy a good beating.

The ride continued in silence.

When they finally arrived at New York University, the driver turned to ask for the fare—

But Wayne was already gone.

All that remained on the backseat was a crisp hundred-dollar bill and the faint whisper of the wind.

"Oh, my God…"

The driver stared blankly at the scene.

(End of Chapter)

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