Starting With Batman

Ten days ago, the Regulance Mountains.

The night crept in slowly, swallowing the last remnants of daylight as the temperature plummeted sharply. The cold was cruel, seeping into every crevice as if determined to outdo the warmth of the daylight hours. As the sun disappeared behind the jagged peaks, leaving the vast mountain range shrouded in darkness, the silence was so profound that it felt like one could almost hear the deep, resonant cracking of ice beneath the earth's crust.

The sky, devoid of moonlight, seemed an infinite void, with only the faint reflection of starlight glinting off the snow-covered slopes. The wind howled through the mountain passes, a piercing sound that cut through the air like a knife. It carried with it swirling snowflakes, delicate as feathers, which danced chaotically across the sky before settling into the growing drifts. The storm seemed to blur the line between earth and sky, creating an eerie, monochromatic landscape where the layers of snow-white mountains melded into one indistinct mass.

In the heart of this desolate wilderness, the snow-capped peaks loomed like silent sentinels, their beauty both mesmerizing and menacing. The blizzard transformed the landscape into a deadly but breathtaking panorama, where the unrelenting forces of nature ruled supreme. Any sign of life—a fleeting movement, a struggling form—was swallowed by the storm, reduced to a mere speck in the vast, unforgiving wilderness.

A lone black off-road vehicle was precariously parked halfway up one of the mountains, its sturdy frame now partially buried under several feet of snow. The vehicle, once a reliable companion on this treacherous journey, had become an icy tomb. A young man, bundled in a thick fleece-lined jacket, clung to the hope that he could still coax life back into the dead engine. His flashlight flickered as he strained to keep his hands steady in the biting cold, his fingers clumsy and numb as he worked beneath the raised hood.

Three hours had passed since the car's air conditioner had sputtered and died, leaving the occupants to the mercy of the relentless cold. Despite his best efforts, the engine remained silent. Frustration bubbled to the surface, and in a moment of helpless anger, he kicked the front tire with all his might, only to stumble back, nearly losing his balance on the slick, icy ground.

With a sigh of defeat, he climbed back into the driver's seat, slamming the door shut against the icy wind.

"Still can't start it?" The question came from the girl beside him, her voice barely a whisper. She sat huddled in the passenger seat, her head resting weakly against the frosted window. Her once-vibrant face was now pallid, lips tinged blue, and her eyes, though still bright, were dulled by the cold that gnawed at her very core. In the dim light, she looked like a ghost—fragile, ethereal, and fading.

The young man forced a smile though his heart was heavy with fear. He tried to keep his voice light, to inject some semblance of hope into the bleak situation. "It's okay, the rescue team will be here soon," he assured her, though the words felt hollow.

Her gaze drifted back to the snowstorm outside, the howling wind muffling everything else. The world beyond the window was nothing but a blur of white, an endless expanse of swirling snow and shadows. It was as if the mountains themselves were closing in, ready to swallow them whole.

Her eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment, a leaden weight pulling her into darkness. The cold had seeped into her bones, dulling her senses, and now it was as if she were sinking into a deep, icy ocean, her consciousness slipping further and further away. Even the sound of her boyfriend's voice, so close yet so distant, seemed to fade into the background.

"I'm just... a little tired," she mumbled, her words slurred, "Just need a little sleep..."

"No, no, you can't sleep now!" Panic laced his voice as he grabbed her shoulders, shaking her as if that would keep her from slipping away. "Stay with me! The rescue team is almost here, just hang on a little longer!"

His hands were trembling, not just from the cold but from the sheer terror of losing her. He could feel the life draining from her, slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. His voice grew more desperate, but it seemed to fall on deaf ears. Her eyelids fluttered, the light in her eyes dimming as she drifted towards unconsciousness.

Just then, a bright light cut through the darkness, piercing the snow-filled sky like a beacon of hope. It was a searchlight, strong and unwavering, its beam slicing through the storm as if to guide them out of the abyss. Snowflakes danced wildly in its path, sparkling like diamonds in the golden light.

"They're coming!" he cried out, his voice breaking with relief. "Did you hear that? They're coming! You did it! We're going to be okay! We're saved!"

But as he turned back to her, the realization hit him like a punch to the gut. Her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow and labored. He called her name, his voice cracking, but there was no response.

In her final moments, she heard his voice, distant and fading, along with the hum of the rescue helicopter. She felt herself being lifted, weightless and free, her spirit rising above the storm.

Are they saved?

Good...

A small, peaceful smile graced her lips as she closed her eyes, surrendering to the warmth of eternal sleep.

---

Ten days later, now.

A burst of flame shot from the muzzle of a gun, and a claw darted out, gripping the edge of a towering building. The line, made of advanced, high-tensile fibers, retracted swiftly, pulling Batman through the air in a blur of motion. His figure, cloaked in shadow, cut a dark streak against the night sky as he flew toward the point where the claw had latched on.

As he neared the edge of the building, Batman released the line and performed an acrobatic leap, propelling himself higher. His cape, a marvel of technology, stiffened instantly, transforming into a glider that allowed him to soar through the air with the grace of a bat. The dark fabric shimmered as it caught the wind, making him appear as a living shadow, flitting silently through the city.

The cape, crafted from memory fabric produced by Wayne Industries, was typically soft and flexible, but with a jolt of electricity, it became rigid, forming the perfect glider. It was one of the many gadgets at Batman's disposal—tools designed to give him an edge in his nightly patrols, where the line between man and myth blurred.

For Charlie, donning the mantle of Batman had become a nightly ritual, a way to channel his energy into something productive. Each night, he would log in, scan the city, and seek out troublemakers to hone his skills. It was a routine that brought him a strange sense of purpose, as if by stepping into the Dark Knight's shoes, he could make a difference in the virtual world.

Sometimes, for a bit of fun, he would activate the bat signal—a prop he had unlocked from a prize pool. It was a searchlight that could be triggered to shine in any part of the city for three minutes. The circular beam would appear in the sky, an untraceable symbol of Batman's presence. It served no real purpose other than to strike fear into the hearts of criminals, a reminder that the city was under his watchful eye.

But if he had his way, Charlie would have preferred to stay home during the day, skipping classes and indulging in his games. After all, earning points and experience was crucial to leveling up and unlocking new abilities. Yet, despite his desire to grind through levels, his body often betrayed him, reminding him that he was only human. Fatigue would set in, forcing him to rest and recharge for the next night's patrol.

Charlie had quickly realized that, while the game was exhilarating, it was also demanding. If he pushed himself too hard, staying up all night, he would be drained the next day, barely able to function. So, out of necessity, he began to pace himself, limiting his sessions to the cover of night when the city was most alive with opportunities for experience.

Among the heroes he had unlocked, Batman remained his favorite. The others, though powerful in their own right, couldn't match the efficiency and stealth of the Dark Knight. Some were too flashy, drawing unwanted attention, while others, though physically stronger, required more energy and left him exhausted after just a few hours.

Captain America, for instance, was formidable, with enhanced physical abilities and a near-indestructible shield. But Charlie found that even with the added strength, the effort required to wield it effectively was draining. After just half a night as Captain America, he was left more fatigued than if he had been patrolling as Batman.

For sheer energy efficiency, Charlie discovered that the crowbar-wielding character was the best option. With the crowbar in hand, he could patrol all night and still have enough stamina to make it through the next day. The character wasn't as glamorous as the others, but it got the job done.

One night, while patrolling with Crowbar, Charlie stumbled upon a group of street thugs. The leader, a burly man with a plasma iron mohawk, was leading his gang in looting a shop, hauling out a TV and other stolen goods.

To an outsider, it might have looked like a typical Gotham scene, with criminals taking advantage of the chaos; anyone else would ignore the situation and try to stay away from the area. However, armed with his crowbar, Charlie wasn't about to let them escape.

He blocked their path, the crowbar resting on his shoulder.

The leader, mistaking Charlie for another thug, grinned and said, "You're late, man. We've already cleared this place out. Maybe try the shop across the street?"

It was a reasonable assumption, given Charlie's appearance. The crowbar, his muscular build, and the skull emblem on his chest all screamed "bad guy."

But Charlie had no intention of letting them off easy. He activated the crowbar's special ability, revealing its true nature—a weapon capable of shooting laser beams.

The leader's grin faltered, but he wasn't intimidated. "Oh, a fancy toy, huh? Let's see what you've got." He signaled his men, and they brandished their own weapons, each more menacing than the last.

For a moment, it seemed like the situation might escalate into a full-blown brawl. But when the crowbar fired its first laser, cutting through the air with a searing hiss, the thugs' bravado vanished. The beam tore through their ranks, scattering them like leaves in a storm. Some were blown off their feet, while others barely managed to scramble away.

In the aftermath, Charlie looked at the crowbar with a mix of satisfaction and disappointment. It was a powerful tool, but it lacked the finesse and versatility of Batman's gadgets. After that night, he decided to retire the crowbar from active duty, sticking to what he knew best.

As he soared through the night sky, the familiar hum of the city below reached his ears. It was a symphony of sounds—the distant roar of traffic, the murmur of voices, and the occasional wail of a siren. This was his domain, a playground where he could test his limits and keep the streets safe, even if only in a virtual sense.

Suddenly, a small exclamation mark appeared on his HUD, drawing his attention. It was a signal, a sign that something unusual had been detected nearby. Charlie's instincts kicked in, and he opened the map to investigate.

The marker led him to a bank—a classic scene for a robbery.

A grin spread across his face. Finally, a real challenge. The classic bank heist scenario, where he could put his skills to the test and earn some serious experience.

With a quick tap, he plotted his course, ready to swoop in and take down the criminals. It was time to show them what Batman could do.

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