Starting With Batman

Ivan never believed in ghosts.

For an agent of the Ninth Special Service Division, that might seem strange. His job required him to handle the most bizarre and unexplainable cases, many of which bordered on the supernatural. Mysterious deaths, occult symbols, and whispers of the paranormal were part of his daily life.

Yet, living in that world of madness, Ivan still refused to acknowledge the existence of ghosts. To him, they were nothing more than superstitions, figments of imagination used to explain what science had yet to unravel. Even after confronting cases involving fraudulent corpses, eerie lights in abandoned houses, and the unsettling presence people claimed to feel in old buildings, Ivan remained resolute. Science had answers, and science would always have answers.

Ivan also never believed in an afterlife. He was convinced that once a person died, what followed was nothing but an endless void—darkness that swallowed everything. Tombstones and funeral rites were, in his opinion, for the benefit of the living, offering them closure. For the dead? They felt nothing. The world moved on.

So when Ivan swung his shovel and dug up the grave of a girl who had been dead for twenty years, he didn't see anything wrong.

Lisa had to be alive, he almost convinced himself of that. Even though her death was recorded two decades ago, and the body in the coffin was supposedly hers, something in his gut told him that she was out there, walking among the living. Maybe the infection they had been tracking started earlier than anyone realized. Or maybe… she was a shape-shifter, one of the many anomalies that slipped through the cracks in his world.

He thought back to her past, to the trauma she endured, and how it had left a heavy shadow over her life. He wondered if her experiences had twisted her mind, allowing some darker force to take hold of her. Had it been the darkness within that shaped her into something else? Something more dangerous?

Ivan believed she was the one who had taken the form of Melanie Chase, the agent from the Ninth Division who had mysteriously infiltrated the mothership and vanished. Lisa, somehow, had become the dead who walk.

As he continued digging, the weather matched the somber mood of the cemetery. A light drizzle fell from the sky, the cold wind cutting through the damp air. It wasn't the usual chill he was accustomed to. There was something different about it—something sharp, almost hostile. The wind moved through the rows of tombstones, bringing with it the whispers of the dead. Or so it felt.

Ivan noticed a faint fragrance in the air, something delicate, like flowers blooming out of place among the weeds.

It was an odd thing to focus on, a floral scent, while standing in the middle of a graveyard. But the aroma was unmistakable, and Ivan thought it might have come from some unknown wildflower growing nearby.

He lifted his shovel for the final strike, and with that, the coffin was fully uncovered.

Just as he pried the lid open, a soft, ethereal voice cut through the air.

"You shouldn't have done that."

The voice was clear, like a bell ringing in a quiet room, but there was something mournful about it, as if it carried the weight of sorrow that had been buried for years.

Ivan's head snapped up toward the sound, his heart pounding in his chest. There, standing among the countless tombstones, was a girl. She wore a pale yellow dress, the kind a young girl might wear on a spring day, and simple round-toed black shoes. Her posture was still, almost too still, but it was her eyes that drew Ivan's attention. They were wide, unblinking, and filled with an overwhelming sadness.

It only took Ivan a few seconds to recognize her—Lisa. She looked exactly like the photograph he had seen, the one taken when she was just fifteen years old.

His heart raced. I was right. She's alive, he thought. She's the shape-shifter.

But something wasn't right. His realization wavered, and his confidence crumbled.

The girl in the photo was from over ten years ago. Lisa would be in her thirties now if she were still alive. How could she still look the same? Frozen in time, as if death hadn't touched her.

Before Ivan could process what was happening, the girl vanished. She had been standing just a few feet away, but now she was gone, as if she had never been there.

His pulse quickened, and he turned his attention back to the coffin. The lid was off, and inside lay the remains of a body.

It was skeletal, decomposed beyond recognition, but by the size of the bones and the faded remnants of clothing, it seemed to be Lisa. She had been lying there for twenty years, undisturbed, her final resting place never disturbed until now. The way her bones were positioned, though, seemed… off. Her arms were splayed awkwardly, and her head was tilted in a way that didn't seem natural.

Ivan's mind raced. Was what I just saw an illusion? Or had he just witnessed something far worse?

Suddenly, a deafening boom shattered the eerie silence of the cemetery. The unmistakable sound of a shotgun echoed across the tombstones. Ivan felt the sting of shrapnel tearing through his back, the force of it ripping into his body.

He stumbled forward, his reflexes kicking in, but his movements were sluggish, and before he could fully turn, another blast hit him square in the chest.

Blood sprayed from the impact, soaking the front of his shirt. He staggered backward, tripping over the edge of the grave he had just dug. With a final misstep, he fell, crashing into the open coffin.

The pain was intense, but it wasn't enough to kill him—not with his enhanced physique. His body had been engineered to withstand trauma that would have killed an ordinary man. He should have been able to brush off the wounds, get up, and retaliate.

But he couldn't. His limbs refused to obey him. Something was wrong.

His mind snapped back to the strange fragrance he had smelled earlier. Was it some kind of hallucinogen? A nerve agent? Whatever it was, it was disrupting his control over his body. His strength, normally formidable, was failing him.

Before he could gather his thoughts, the coffin lid slammed shut with a thunderous bang, sealing him in darkness.

Ivan's breath hitched as he realized he wasn't alone. In the pitch black, he felt a cold, skeletal hand clutching his arm. The skeletal remains beside him seemed to come to life, its bony fingers tightening around him.

He turned his head, but in the darkness, he saw nothing. The only sensation was the gnarled, skinless hand gripping him, and the overwhelming feeling of dread as empty eye sockets bore into him, silently begging.

Help me.

Ivan closed his eyes, feeling the weight of his situation pressing down on him. For a moment, he thought about surrendering. This could be the end. A final resting place, one he had unwittingly dug for himself.

But no.

Not today.

He had work to do.

Summoning the last of his strength, Ivan started punching the wooden coffin lid, each blow sending splinters of wood and dust raining down on him. His fists were bleeding, his knuckles raw, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. He had to break free.

The world around him faded, his senses dulling as the darkness pressed in, but he kept punching, driven by pure will.

Suddenly, a hand gripped his, firm and unyielding, pulling him out of the suffocating darkness.

When Ivan opened his eyes, he found himself kneeling beside the grave, coughing violently.

"What happened, Ivan?" a familiar voice asked, deep and gravelly.

Ivan looked up through blurry eyes and saw the dark silhouette of Batman standing next to him. Even in the eerie light of the cemetery, the caped figure looked solid, grounded.

"You wouldn't believe it, Bat," Ivan said weakly, his body still trembling from the ordeal. He tried to stand, but his legs refused to cooperate, so he stayed seated on the cold ground, catching his breath.

He recounted everything to Batman—the strange events, the appearance of Lisa, and what he had found in the grave.

Batman walked to the edge of the pit and glanced at the bones inside the coffin.

"This is Lisa, no doubt," he said, his voice low. "But if she's here, then who was that?"

Ivan froze.

His strength returned just enough for him to stand, and he staggered to Batman's side, looking down into the pit.

His heart skipped a beat.

There was more than one skeleton in the coffin.

Lying next to the remains of the girl was another body—an adult skeleton.

"Friday, I need a DNA scan," Batman said into his communicator.

Moments later, Friday's voice came through. "The girl's body is indeed Lisa, as confirmed by the records from the FBI. The other skeleton… matches Agent Melanie Chase. She's been dead for over a year."

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Posted up to chapter 162

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