Chapter 2: The Second Spider-Man
The death of Spider-Man brought sadness to many, but it brought relief—and joy—to others.
For instance, the criminals dealing in illicit goods in the alley were visibly less nervous than usual. Their voices were several decibels louder.
"Hahaha, that guy who wandered above the city every day is finally dead." A gangster happily spoke to his partner, looking at the news notification pushed to his phone.
If they had a beer in hand, Wayne had no doubt they would be raising a toast immediately.
"Alright, the Spider is gone, but I don't know if other guys will come out and cause trouble." The other man handling the deal was clearly more cautious. He maintained his vigilance, using his peripheral vision to scan for any other street-level heroes. If one appeared, it would surely interfere with their transaction. It was better to finish quickly and avoid complications.
"What are you afraid of? There are no heroes coming out to stop us now. I bet they all went to pay respects to that Spider." The first gangster was entirely dismissive, even looking directly above him as if challenging the empty space.
"No way."
Just as the gangster was about to say something else, a shape flashed into his sight: the Bat.
The shadow of the bat passed quickly, and the last thing he saw was a specially reinforced combat boot descending toward his face.
Wayne leaped from the air. The black cloak behind him immediately unfurled like a bat spreading its wings, initially slowing his descent. However, the cloak soon followed Newton's laws, rattling against the rapid downward movement.
"CRUNCH!"
A heavy, forceful kick from Wayne ensured the gangster felt no pain at all before falling into a deep, immediate sleep. It's truly a good thing to be young, Wayne thought sardonically. When you want to sleep, you can always fall asleep.
The other gangster had no intention of drawing a gun. His first instinct was to turn and flee. Years of criminal experience had taught him one truth when facing masked vigilantes: Don't fight them, and certainly don't talk to them. The only viable options were to surrender or run. With luck, he might escape the masked freak.
"Where do you think you're going?" A deep, demon-like voice sounded right next to the gangster's ear.
He slammed head-on into Wayne. Under the impact, Wayne didn't even budge, but the gangster was immediately knocked to the ground.
He looked up at Wayne, scrambling backward with his hands and feet. He couldn't understand how the figure was suddenly in front of him when he had been behind him just a second ago. In the dark alley, he couldn't see the expression in Wayne's eyes at all.
Wayne's eyes were scanning the items in the man's hands. He hated these guys who dealt in contraband. They were highly annoying.
Wayne walked forward, steadily approaching the criminal. The fear induced by the dark figure was doubly intense for the gangster. With every step Wayne took, the fear in the gangster's heart escalated.
Unable to take the pressure, the gangster reached for the pistol on his waist.
Unfortunately, the gangster's movements were far too slow in Wayne's eyes. Before the man could even aim the gun, Wayne had launched a Batarang. The sharp, projectile bat-dart was aimed not at the weapon, but at the gangster's wrist.
"Ah!!! My hand!"
The gangster clutched his right wrist and screamed. A Batarang had cleanly pierced his forearm.
Wayne looked at the scene with indifference: "The Batarang didn't hit any important parts of your forearm. It just hurts."
Wayne paid no mind to the gangster's wailing. He spoke as if discussing a trivial, unrelated matter. Perhaps it was because the current Wayne possessed abilities from a certain Batman; upon seeing the gangster, he had instinctively analyzed the positions on the man that could be subdued without being fatal. In Wayne's eyes, the criminal was no different from a corpse that had been dissected layer by layer.
"You are a devil!" the gangster snarled at Wayne, snot and tears streaming down his face.
Wayne ignored him. He strode up to the man, lifted him with one hand, and slammed him against the wall.
"Now, I ask. You answer." Wayne brought his face close to the gangster's. The angry, stylized bat mask loomed, perhaps more terrifying than anything the gangster had ever faced.
"I said! Don't suck my blood dry!" The gangster was completely terrified and nodded frantically, believing the man in front of him might actually drain his blood.
Before Wayne could ask a question, a strand of spider silk shot out and instantly adhered to the gangster's body, pulling him directly into the middle of the alley.
When a man who can lift a fully grown adult with one hand and is dressed like a demonic bat starts torturing you with a chilling voice, who would believe that such a man is one of the good guys?
At least, this new, aggressive figure was far too recognizable for another guy who had just arrived in this world.
Sometimes, superheroes aren't the only ones who wear masks. Supervillains also cover their faces to appear more intimidating. Wayne, right now, perfectly fit this Spider-Man's judgment of a supervillain.
"That's really rough, man." The Spider-Man looked at the Batarang sticking through the gangster's forearm. "I know you're a big Batman fan, but Batman wouldn't do something like this." He gestured around the alley. "Let's keep the alley free of evil, okay?"
Looking closely at this visibly downtrodden Spider-Man, Wayne instinctively tried to avoid thinking of the most difficult explanation for the man's state. But then he noticed the hero didn't even have proper shoes.
And he had a little gut.
Perhaps sensing Wayne's gaze on his stomach, the Spider-Man waved a hand dismissively: "It might be from some spatial fluctuation. I used to have a pretty perfect body."
Walking slowly within five meters of the Spider-Man, Wayne spoke softly.
"You smell like pizza, bacon, and cheese."
"Huh?" Wayne's words made Spider-Man instantly lean down and smell his own suit, but he didn't detect any pizza scent. "Uh-huh, you're kidding me, dude." Spider-Man shook his head, indicating Wayne was joking.
"The guy next to you sells contraband, carries illegal weapons, and is wanted in connection with a homicide," Wayne said, dropping the food issue. He shifted his gaze to the motionless criminal on the ground.
"Oh." Spider-Man looked at the man on the ground.
The gangster quickly nodded at the disheveled Spider-Man, confirming that Wayne was correct. At least the criminals knew that when they couldn't escape the pursuit of masked freaks, their best choice was to find Spider-Man and let him take them to the police station. That way, they could save their lives.
However, facing a guy like Wayne—a complete unknown who had knocked out his trading partner instantly—he wouldn't dare bet on whether Wayne would kill someone.
"It seems I misjudged you," Spider-Man said, turning his head to offer Wayne an apology.
The problem was, Wayne was gone.
"I hate it when that happens."
Spider-Man used his silk to tie up the gangster and stop the bleeding where the Batarang had pierced the forearm. He then called the police using the gangster's own mobile phone before disappearing.
Due to the intrusion of a certain guy, Wayne now needed to find a new target to replenish his empty pockets.
"The Batarang should be recovered," Wayne frowned, remembering the one projectile he hadn't retrieved. He currently lacked a Batcave as a logistics base. Every Batarang was a precious, non-renewable resource.
"I think you forgot something." A slightly annoying voice rang out next to Wayne.
Spider-Man had followed him. In his hand, he held the Batarang Wayne had used earlier.
(End of Chapter)
Be sure to tell me if i should improve Something