Chapter 4: Selling Out Spider-Man
Wayne ignored the middle-aged hero. When he opened the door and climbed in, the red and blue figure settled into the passenger seat quite naturally.
"Technically, this is grand theft auto. Sure, the kid probably bought this truck with drug money, but it's still theft," Spider-Man said, his mouth twitching beneath the mask. "Of course, I won't turn you in. Otherwise, I think we'd both get arrested. You're a car thief, and I'm a Spider-Man in a knock-off suit—basically a hobo in spandex."
Wayne had no response to Spider-Man's familiarity. He simply hoped his glare would communicate exactly how little he appreciated the company.
"Hey, don't give me that look. I think you need an assistant. Like a Robin," Spider-Man said, narrowing his large white lenses in a deliberate attempt to mimic the dangerous, squinting glare of the Bat-family.
Seeing the unimpressed stare from Wayne, Spider-Man widened his eyes back to normal. "Think about it. The pros definitely outweigh the cons." He flexed a bicep to prove his worthiness as a sidekick.
"Robin doesn't talk as much as you do. And besides, I don't need a Robin," Wayne said, refusing to argue further as he put the pickup into gear.
"You don't need a Robin? You definitely don't like the main universe Batman from the comics, do you? Let me think... are you a fan of the old man from Flashpoint? Or maybe something else?" Spider-Man pondered aloud.
To be honest, Peter was quite familiar with DC comics. But since becoming Spider-Man, he hadn't had much time to catch up on the lore. Still, remembering the famous iterations of Batman was a testament to his good memory.
Listening to Spider-Man chatter beside him, Wayne felt a headache forming. If three women were equivalent to 300 ducks, then one Spider-Man was equivalent to a thousand discordant voices screaming at once.
Thinking about the possibility of more Spider-People gathering later, Wayne's head began to throb. Out of six Spider-Men, even if two or three were quiet, there was always one who talked enough for the whole group.
"Shut up!" Wayne finally slammed on the brakes.
"Okay, okay. You're actually a little scary," Spider-Man said, raising his hands. Even though he tried to restrain himself, the quips slipped out.
"Get out," Wayne commanded coldly. He didn't want to share a space with this creature any longer.
"You're kicking me out of the car?" Spider-Man pointed at his mask in disbelief. He never imagined a day when he would be rejected so bluntly.
Meeting Wayne's eyes, he realized the man was entirely serious.
Peter shrugged. "Alright, you're the boss. I'll listen to you." He opened the door and stepped out.
"But..."
Spider-Man leaned back in to say one last thing, but his only answer was the roar of the engine and a face full of exhaust fumes as the truck sped away.
"Don't forget to come back and pick me up! He really is a guy who hates listening," Spider-Man muttered helplessly. He shot a web line, pulling himself to a rooftop to track Wayne's direction.
He wasn't too worried about the "fan." When he was around Wayne, his Spider-Sense gave off a faint, constant warning. Wayne didn't view him as an ally; he was clearly on guard against him.
"Let's see what you can do," Spider-Man said, feeling the cold roof beneath his feet. He looked down at his bare toes. "But first, I really need to find a pair of shoes for the Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man."
While Spider-Man went shoe hunting, Wayne felt that ejecting the arachnid had been the best tactical decision of the night.
The world was finally quiet. Now, he could operate on his own terms.
However, Wayne knew it was impossible to truly shake Spider-Man. The hero knew New York far better than he did. By the time Wayne located the target in Hell's Kitchen, the Spider would likely already be there. Wayne just hoped there wasn't a blind lawyer patrolling the area tonight to complicate things further.
Thanks to the driving skills inherited from Batman, Wayne pushed the pickup to its limits while evading detection. He didn't speed blindly; a stolen truck wouldn't last long against the NYPD.
"According to the dealer, he goes to Hell's Kitchen every two days. The location changes, but the zone remains the same."
While driving, Wayne checked the truck's GPS history. Selecting the two destinations with the highest repetition rate, he ran a mental simulation and pinpointed the likely area.
Before Wayne even reached the perimeter of the stronghold, he was spotted. As a frequent visitor to Hell's Kitchen, the truck was familiar to the gatekeepers.
But they didn't relax. They knew tonight wasn't a scheduled delivery. Even if the kid had sold all his product, the rules of Hell's Kitchen were absolute: no entry without authorization.
"Hey, kid, this isn't the d—"
Before the guard could finish shouting, he saw a figure leap from the moving vehicle.
The pickup truck showed no signs of slowing down. It careened straight toward the checkpoint.
"Oh, shit!"
The two guards dove out of the way to save their skins. As they scrambled in the dirt, they swore that if they saw that black dealer again, they would knock every tooth out of his head.
It was dark, but the guard was certain he had seen someone bail out of the truck.
"Motherfucker!! Gavill, you okay over there?" the first guard shouted, dusting himself off.
There was no answer. The only sound was the hissing of the radiator from the pickup truck, which was now smashed against a nearby wall.
"You didn't get hit by the car, did you?"
Sensing something wrong, the guard drew the pistol from his waist and moved toward his partner. "Hey, brother, say something."
When he reached Gavill, he found his partner completely unconscious. Just as he bent down to check Gavill's vitals, a figure materialized in front of him.
The jet-black mask and the sculptured fury of the cowl made his legs go weak. He forgot to raise his gun.
While he was frozen, Wayne grabbed the hand holding the weapon. With expert efficiency, he twisted the joint, snapping the man's elbow. Before the guard could scream, Wayne slammed the man's head into the brick wall.
The violent impact silenced him instantly.
Wayne took the pistol from the limp hand. He stripped the weapon into its components in seconds, tossing the firing pin and slide into a nearby sewer grate. Even if a homeless person found the pieces, the gun would never fire again.
Raising his grapple gun, Wayne fired a line to the roof and vanished.
The car crash had done its job. It was loud, obvious, and drew attention.
Wayne needed to see how the organization reacted. A minor accident wouldn't draw everyone out, but it would reveal the nature of this version of Hell's Kitchen. Was it chaos, or was it order?
If it was chaos, it was useful. If it was order, it would take time to dismantle.
The reaction was swift and organized. A tactical team was deployed to patrol the perimeter, ensuring no follow-up attack was imminent. Only then did they send someone to inspect the crash site.
"Our sentries are down," the lead inspector reported into a radio, looking at the two bodies. "Condition is critical."
"Do we have a hospital facility?" a cold voice asked over the radio.
"Understood." The inspector was concise. Without blinking, he drew his weapon and executed the two unconscious guards.
"Find out who is working against us," the voice on the radio commanded before the line went dead.
"Yes."
"Looks like we're going to get busy again," said another guard, walking up to the leader.
Wayne watched it all from the shadows. This Hell's Kitchen was unified. It was no longer a collection of warring gangs; it was the backyard of a single, powerful force.
"I see why you were so calm about my arrival," a voice whispered. Spider-Man had caught up. "But I don't think crashing a car into Hell's Kitchen is a great strategy."
Spider-Man had not expected the calm, rational fanboy to choose a tactic as reckless as a vehicular assault.
"I believe the sudden appearance of Spider-Man will make the residents of Hell's Kitchen quite happy," Wayne said.
Spider-Man was prepared for a snarky comment, but Wayne's words confused him. Why would they be happy to see him? They wanted to tear him to pieces.
"ANOTHER SPIDER-MAN IS HERE!! RIGHT UP HERE!!!"
Wayne used his voice modulator, mimicking the voice of the thug he had just heard. The shout tore through the silence of the night, exposing Spider-Man to the entire underground force of Hell's Kitchen.
Just as Spider-Man opened his mouth to protest, Wayne deployed a smoke bomb. It obscured his own position but left Spider-Man perfectly highlighted against the skyline.
When the smoke cleared, Wayne was gone.
"No way. He did it again."
Spider-Man no longer believed this guy was a fan. This elusive movement, the use of others as tools, the silence—it was a perfect replica of the Bat himself.
Wayne didn't care about the morality of the setup. He just needed to draw their eyes. The smoke bomb had acted as a giant "Shoot Here" sign.
"THERE!!"
A guard with sharp eyes spotted the red and blue suit on the roof. Without a word, he raised his rifle and opened fire.
The sound of automatic gunfire shattered the night. Even though they knew the original Spider-Man was dead, wearing that costume in Hell's Kitchen was a death sentence.
"If I had known, I would never have followed you!" Spider-Man yelled, dodging wildly to avoid the hail of bullets.
Wayne crouched quietly on top of a water tower, watching the chaos unfold.
Hell's Kitchen was alive with gunfire and shouting, focused entirely on the Spider. But there was one building that remained completely silent, with no movement in or out.
If Wayne's calculations were correct, that was where the goods and the cash were stored.
He fired his grapple gun, and the Bat swung toward his true target.
(End of Chapter)