Starting With Batman

Charlie's current situation wasn't because he had so much free time that he could easily multitask—playing a game while talking trash through his headset. Far from it.

As a seasoned gamer and a self-imposed recluse, the idea that Charlie could focus on the game while bantering with other players was laughable. It was almost as impossible as the idea that Spider-Man could run out of quips.

But that didn't matter. What Charlie lacked in verbal sparring, Spider-Man more than made up for. From the moment Charlie selected Spider-Man as his in-game avatar, the character's mouth switched on like a broken faucet, spewing a never-ending stream of chatter. It was as if Spider-Man's verbal agility was as much a part of his abilities as his web-slinging.

Charlie didn't know where all those quips and remarks came from, but Spider-Man never seemed to run out of things to say. His mouth ran faster than his feet, and he had something to say at every turn. Whether he was battling villains or soaring between skyscrapers, Spider-Man kept up his relentless commentary.

If someone tried to capture all his banter in comic-style text bubbles, they'd probably overwhelm the screen with speech balloons, drowning out everything else.

And so, facing Spider-Man in the game didn't just mean dealing with his impressive powers and agility—it also meant enduring the psychological exhaustion of his endless stream of chatter. It was a mental assault on top of the physical one, a constant barrage of words that wore down even the toughest opponents. In fact, the game developers had officially acknowledged that Spider-Man's incessant talking was part of his powers. It might even have a profound effect on particularly strong enemies who found the verbal onslaught harder to handle than the punches.

There was one small problem, though: Spider-Man's mouth wasn't selective in its targets. Once he started talking, it wasn't just the enemies who had to suffer. His teammates were equally caught in the crossfire of quips, and once he opened his mouth, there was no stopping him. The endless barrage of jokes and comments mentally polluted everyone on the map, regardless of whether they were friend or foe.

Charlie spotted a target that looked like it was trying to escape—a gangster in a getaway car—and his well-honed gaming instincts kicked in. Years of experience told him that this wasn't just some low-level goon. This enemy had the air of an elite mob, the kind that offered valuable experience points. There was no way Charlie was letting it get away.

Spider-Man, under Charlie's control, leapt into the air with the kind of graceful athleticism only he could pull off. His figure arced against the skyline as he shot out a web, swinging effortlessly through the air like a trapeze artist. He soared above the rooftops, moving with such speed and precision that the gangsters below could hardly comprehend what was happening.

With a quick flick of his wrist, Spider-Man fired a second web, and within seconds, he was soaring towards the fleeing vehicle like a rocket, his body cutting through the air with perfect accuracy. In the blink of an eye, Spider-Man landed firmly on the roof of the speeding getaway car, his feet sticking to the surface like glue.

The thugs inside the vehicle were bewildered. They couldn't make sense of what Spider-Man had just done. The webs, the acrobatics, the sheer speed—it was all too much for their brains to process. As far as they were concerned, this man in tights was a supernatural force. Not only did he dodge bullets and fight like a martial arts master, but he also moved faster than any human had the right to. The thugs barely had time to react before Spider-Man was already on top of them.

"This guy's a real freak of nature!" one of the gang members exclaimed in terror.

Spider-Man's superhuman abilities shattered any hope they had of escape. From the moment he'd landed on the car, they knew they were done for. The hundreds of heavily armed men, the meticulously planned escape—it was all futile. To Spider-Man, they were already as good as dead. It was only a matter of time before he finished them off.

The thugs' confidence, which had already been teetering on the edge, collapsed completely. It was like watching their collective willpower dissolve. All the bravado they'd built up was smashed into pieces, washed away like trash in a rainstorm.

Just when they thought they'd reached their breaking point, something unexpected happened—a small, unassuming exclamation mark popped up on Charlie's screen.

"Meow!"

In the game, Spider-Man's spider-sense triggered, alerting him to danger. But the threat wasn't what Charlie or the thugs expected. A black cat had darted in front of the speeding vehicle, presumably scavenging for food from a nearby trash can.

The game prompted Charlie with a quick-time event (QTE), urging him to react fast. Unlike traditional games that handhold the player through every step, this game trusted its players. The action was up to them. Sure, the game offered subtle suggestions, like Batman's detective mode or inner monologues from the character, but it never forced players down a particular path. They were free to ignore prompts and do as they pleased.

Charlie, trusting Spider-Man's instincts, hit the QTE button as soon as it appeared.

The first prompt instructed Charlie to hit the arrow key, followed by a spacebar jump. Charlie executed the commands perfectly, and Spider-Man leapt into the air, performing a flawless backflip.

As Spider-Man flipped through the air, more prompts appeared, this time highlighting the car's wheels and the driver's seat. Charlie's reflexes took over, and he quickly clicked the mouse, firing two perfectly aimed webs at the car's wheels.

With a loud thwap, the webs hit their targets, wrapping around the speeding wheels and locking them in place. The vehicle, suddenly unable to continue forward, flipped over under the force of inertia, crashing onto its side with a violent thud.

Spider-Man landed effortlessly in front of the wild cat, and, as if it were nothing, lifted the entire overturned car above his head. The sight of it was surreal. Spider-Man stood there, holding the massive vehicle as if it weighed nothing at all.

"Hey, little guy," Spider-Man quipped, looking down at the cat, "Everything going okay?"

The black cat meowed in response, flicking its tail before darting away into the shadows.

"Wow, tough crowd," Spider-Man shrugged, still holding the car above his head as if it were a minor inconvenience. With a casual flick of his wrists, he tossed the car aside as though it were a piece of scrap metal, sending it skidding across the pavement.

Behind him, the gangsters were completely frozen. They couldn't even blink as they tried to comprehend what they had just witnessed. Spider-Man had not only flipped the car, but he had also tossed it aside with the ease of crumpling a piece of paper.

It was clear now that running was pointless. Fighting was out of the question. All of their hopes were completely obliterated.

Charlie watched as Spider-Man ripped the driver's door off the car with barely any effort. The thug inside, who hadn't been wearing a seatbelt, had been tossed around like a ragdoll during the crash. His face was bruised and swollen, and as soon as the door was ripped off, he stumbled out, shaking with fear, his hands raised in surrender. A foul smell followed him, and it was obvious—he had wet himself.

The bosses watching from their vantage point weren't faring much better. Though they weren't in immediate danger of soiling themselves, they were questioning everything they had planned. Who had been the genius that suggested they could take on this monster?

Did someone actually think this masked man was just an ordinary person? How could they even begin to fight someone who flipped cars with his bare hands?

All eyes turned to Hades, the leader of the operation, but he remained silent, glancing back at them with cold detachment. The unspoken message was clear: If we can't beat him, surrender and flee.

But before any of them could move, the shadows shifted, and a figure emerged, as silent as death itself. A dark silhouette with eyes as cold and sharp as a blade stepped into view.

It was Batman.

The bosses, already on the verge of collapse, were now completely petrified.

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