Starting With Batman

"Three targets. They may be infected... No, based on their body shapes, they're more likely phantoms."

As Friday analyzed the scene, she tapped into the external camera feeds with ease. Charlie quickly observed the three unexpected visitors outside the room.

With Friday on his side, Charlie's surveillance issues were solved faster than ever before. In the past, he'd need to guide Batman within range and use a universal decoder to hack into systems. Now, even that process was unnecessary. Friday, with her superintelligence, made ordinary firewalls seem laughable, mere child's play—completely useless.

Now, Charlie didn't have to break a sweat manually hacking into surveillance systems. Wherever he went, Friday could hack into any feed, whether it was the street, a corporate facility, or even a high-security asylum. If he so desired, Friday could even replace all the surveillance footage with episodes of SpongeBob SquarePants at the snap of her fingers.

After hijacking the camera feed—probably belonging to the notorious underworld gang—Charlie saw the faces of his enemies.

Three opponents stood outside.

The first was massive, his hulking frame rivaling that of a professional bodybuilder. His skin was covered in fine, scale-like armor, which shimmered under the dim light. The scales added to his already imposing figure, making him look like an unstoppable tank. His hands had only three fingers each, but their sharp tips glinted like steel blades, a clear sign of his lethal capabilities. Every inch of his body radiated sheer physical power, and even his stance suggested that he could tear through walls if he so desired.

The second figure was a woman. Her appearance was striking, almost surreal. Most of her pale, white skin was exposed, with only minimal strips of black leather covering the essential areas. The leather, barely enough to qualify as clothing, accentuated her dangerously seductive physique, and a long, black, segmented tail trailed behind her, much like a scorpion's. At first glance, she could have passed for a dangerous assassin, but with her revealing outfit, Charlie couldn't help but think that she looked more like she was working extra shifts to buy more fabric. Her high-speed boots clicked ominously against the ground as she shifted her weight, her eyes gleaming with predatory intent.

The third figure was less striking in stature, but far more bizarre. His medium build might have seemed ordinary if not for the grotesque tentacles protruding from his back. His facial features were obscured in shadow, adding to his unsettling appearance, but the real horror lay in the writhing mass of tentacles attached to his spine. Each appendage was lined with cruel, jagged barbs that gleamed like deadly spikes, twisting and coiling with an unnatural life of their own. The movement of the tentacles was hypnotic, as though they had minds of their own, ready to lash out at any moment.

It was a surreal scene. Had the tentacle man been standing alone in a dimly lit alley, he would've looked like a horror movie villain. But standing next to the scorpion woman, the two of them together looked like something out of an R-rated action movie—with questionable romantic undertones.

As the saying goes, "Strike first to gain the upper hand." The moment Charlie locked onto the three of them, he formulated a plan.

Click.

The lock on the hostage room was silently disengaged from the inside, courtesy of Batman, and the door creaked open slightly, creating a narrow gap.

All three phantoms outside snapped their heads toward the door, their eyes narrowing in unison.

But before anyone could make a move, a high-pitched whistle cut through the air. A split second later, a heavy, blunt object collided with the scaly man's forehead. The force of the impact sent him crashing backward, his massive body toppling like a tree felled by an ax. He hit the ground with a bone-rattling thud, shaking the floor beneath him.

The other two phantoms whipped their heads toward the source of the attack, startled. What they saw made them freeze in their tracks. The object that had struck their ally was now back in the hand of a man dressed in a tight blue uniform. A white "A" was emblazoned on the front of his blue steel helmet, and beneath it, his sharp blue eyes gleamed with unwavering determination.

"I can do this all day," Captain America said, gripping his vibranium shield tightly and taking a combat stance.

The door swung open wider, revealing the chaos inside the room. Batman, ever composed, quietly whispered, "Go." Without hesitation, the terrified hostages scrambled out, their arms covering their heads as they made a frantic dash for safety. At that very moment, Batman lobbed a smoke bomb, and the room quickly filled with a thick cloud of smoke, obscuring the hostages' retreat.

"You think you can just leave?" The scorpion woman sneered, her eyes flashing with malice as she crouched low. With a flick of her long tail, she sprang into the air, her lithe body moving with predatory grace. Her black tail whipped through the smoke, aiming to snatch one of the fleeing hostages.

But just as her tail was about to make contact, a playful voice echoed from above: "Hey there, watch your head!"

The scorpion woman twisted in mid-air, her predatory instincts kicking in. She barely had time to react before a red-and-blue blur swung down toward her, suspended by a thin webline. Before she could even register what was happening, the sole of Spider-Man's boot filled her vision.

Wham!

The scorpion woman was sent flying backward, crashing into the far wall with a deafening crack. The impact left a spider-web of cracks in the masonry, and her body slumped into the crevice she'd created. The force of the kick had knocked the wind out of her, and she gasped for air, her chest heaving with every ragged breath.

Spider-Man landed nimbly on a nearby wall, crouching effortlessly. "Sorry, ma'am! My bad. First-day jitters, you know? Sometimes my aim's a little off…" He paused, pretending to think. "Actually, that was pretty spot-on!"

Before he could finish his quip, the tentacle man sprang into action, his barbed appendages lashing out from the shadows like serpents. The strike was swift and silent, each tentacle moving with deadly precision. The tentacle man had honed his skills to the point that even he couldn't track the movement of his own attacks—yet he had no doubt they would land.

But Spider-Man, without missing a beat, flipped along the wall, dodging the tentacles with almost unnatural agility. His movements were smooth and effortless, as though he knew the attack was coming even before the tentacle man had launched it.

The tentacle man paused, his eyes narrowing in confusion.

Among the phantoms, he was known for his speed. His tentacles moved faster than the human eye could see, and he prided himself on the precision of his strikes. Even his fellow phantoms had trouble evading his attacks in direct combat. Yet Spider-Man had dodged not just one, but all of them, without even breaking a sweat.

And worse, the kid hadn't even stopped talking.

"A sneak attack? Really? That's all you've got?" Spider-Man flipped onto the ceiling, still speaking as though he were having a casual conversation. "You remind me of a guy I know—round, bald, eight legs, and not much love in his life. You two related by any chance?"

Before the tentacle man could respond, he launched two more tentacles, their barbed tips whistling through the air. Yet again, Spider-Man evaded them, his body twisting and contorting in ways that seemed almost inhuman.

"Shut up, kid," the tentacle man growled, his frustration mounting.

"Oh, okay, I get it," Spider-Man said, flipping to the ground with a graceful somersault, dodging more tentacles in the process. "You're smarter than me. No need to rub it in!"

The tentacle man, his patience wearing thin, unleashed a flurry of attacks, his tentacles whipping toward Spider-Man in rapid succession like a machine gun. Each strike was faster than the last, the air humming with the sheer speed of his movements.

But Spider-Man danced around the attacks with ease. His movements were fluid, almost artistic, as he ducked, flipped, and spun out of harm's way. Each tentacle missed by a hair's breadth, brushing past his cheek, shoulder, or leg, but never landing a single blow.

To an outsider, it looked like Spider-Man was on the verge of disaster, dodging attacks by mere millimeters. But to Spider-Man, it was all just another day at the office. There was no tension, no panic—just pure instinct and skill.

And all the while, he continued his relentless banter.

"Look, if you're so much smarter, why don't you just give up now?" Spider-Man said, dodging another tentacle. "We could save a lot of time and effort, y'know?"

"Keep talking, punk," the tentacle man spat, his voice trembling with anger as he fired off another barrage of tentacles.

Despite his bravado, the tentacle man was beginning to feel a gnawing sense of unease. Something was very wrong.

Spider-Man's reflexes were beyond anything he'd ever seen. His agility, balance, and combat awareness were at an almost superhuman level. Even at maximum speed, Spider-Man dodged every attack as if it were second nature.

But what truly unnerved the tentacle man was that Spider-Man wasn't even out of breath. He was moving with the speed and precision of a machine, yet he showed no signs of fatigue. His breathing was steady, his movements relaxed, and his speech flowed effortlessly.

For Spider-Man, it was just another casual conversation.

The tentacle man's heart sank as realization dawned on him.

He was in way over his head.

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Posted up to chapter 158

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