The fallout from Tony Stark's announcement still reverberated through the city. Markets shook, rival companies scrambled, and television networks cycled endless debates. Nate Cross observed with quiet detachment. CrossTech's path was set; it would not stumble into the dangerous politics of defense or energy monopolies. His company grew on technical innovation that touched everyday lives, compact batteries, wearable safety gear, civilian tech with practical applications. Let Stark Industries wage wars over morality and power. CrossTech would build quietly, precisely, invisibly.
But in the shadows, Batman moved differently. The press could debate Stark's future. He had work to do.
The base beneath the warehouse thrummed with activity. Batman hunched over workbenches littered with prototypes and disassembled electronics. Weeks of design refinements had borne fruit. New tools lay ready for the field.
EMP disruptor: compact, capable of shutting down cameras, floodlights, and small vehicles in a pulse radius. Perfect for sowing confusion.
Acoustic sensors: slim, disc-shaped devices. Planted on rooftops or walls, they triangulated voices and movements through walls. Batman could now eavesdrop on criminal meetings without entering the room.
Improved glider-cape: memory-fabric reinforced, it allowed longer glides and sharper control, carrying him across full city blocks instead of a few rooftops.
Cryptographic Sequencer: a portable, high-powered hacking tool. It sniffed encrypted handshakes, mapped packet exchanges, and exploited vulnerabilities. With it, digital locks were as vulnerable as physical ones.
Upgraded Grappling Gun with Batclaw: faster spool, reinforced line, detachable claw strong enough to yank rifles from hands or tear open light doors.
Additional field gear: compact winches, smoke charges, and a micro-EMP for disabling vehicles.
Every gadget had a place on the utility belt. Every one a weapon, every one a solution.
The Bat-database had logged a repeating pattern: small shipments of drugs and weapons disappearing from docks and reappearing days later in midtown. Financial overlays and chatter pointed to a warehouse near the East River. Batman prepared accordingly.
The Batmobile purred as it coasted to a stop in the shadows of a disused pier. Batman slipped out, cape drawn around him. He launched a sensor disk onto a warehouse wall. Its readings streamed into his cowl display, ten voices inside, clustered around crates, another four pacing perimeters. The patterns confirmed smuggling.
He approached a side entrance, deploying the cryptographic sequencer. The device sniffed the wireless feed, mapped its handshake, and spat out vulnerabilities. A moment later, the lock yielded. Inside, the glow of work lamps and the stink of diesel filled the air.
Batman released the EMP disruptor. Lights snapped off. Generators coughed, silent. Shouts erupted.
Thug 1: "What the hell...?!"
Thug 2: "Get the lights back! Now!"
Batman descended from the catwalk on his cape, silent. A Batclaw lashed out, ripping a shotgun from a startled guard. He landed in the dark, fists breaking ribs, knees collapsing joints. Another man swung a pipe; Batman ducked, drove an elbow into his jaw, and left him crumpled.
A truck roared to life in desperation. Batman hurled a micro-EMP, its engine died with a sputter. Batarangs followed, clattering against tires, pinning the driver in panic. Smoke spread as he moved, a phantom dismantling men and machines alike.
Within minutes, fourteen enforcers lay broken, tied, and unconscious. Batman secured the crates and slipped into an office to analyze papers. The sequencer extracted data from a hidden server: invoices routed through shell companies, dummy ledgers tied to Harlem. He logged every byte. Another thread in the network unraveled.
Elsewhere, the footage reached S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. Coulson stood before a screen, grainy video replaying Batman's ambush. The figure was blurred, shadow cutting off detail, but the presence was undeniable.
Coulson: "He's real. Whoever he is, he's methodical. And he's hitting organized crime with precision."
Fury: "Enhanced?"
Coulson: "No confirmation. But his mobility and arsenal are beyond standard vigilante play. He's prepared. Trained."
Fury: "Keep digging, Phil. Don't let this ghost slip past you. But right now? Stark's the priority. He's back, and if that armor is his, I want every file, every sighting. Split your resources. Two eyes on the vigilante, ten on Stark."
Orders given, the meeting dispersed. Files marked "Unknown Vigilante" circulated in secret, but Batman remained untraceable.
Days later, the news shifted. Reports surfaced from a remote village in Gulmira. Militia scattered, civilians rescued. Eyewitnesses described a man in red armor, but accounts were inconsistent. Some claimed he flew, others that he unleashed devastating weapons. No cameras had captured the figure clearly, leaving only fragments of rumor.
Batman logged the reports into the Bat-database.
Power signatures: news described scorch marks and melted vehicles. Thermal irregularities suggested an energy source unlike conventional munitions.
Material evidence: recovered fragments hinted at advanced alloys, lightweight yet resilient, unlike standard military composites. Can only be found in Stark Industries Weapons.
Witness statements: chaotic, often contradictory, but recurring mentions of red armor and inhuman precision.
The analysis pointed to a new player. Someone armed with technology far beyond anything in circulation.
Batman sat back in silence. The world wasn't changing because of myths or legends. It was changing because of machines, built by human hands, wielded with purpose.
But Batman had also noticed something closer to home. For weeks, subtle tails trailed his routes. Unmarked vans parked too conveniently, drones buzzing faintly above rooftops, comms pings faintly detected by the sequencer. He let them run, testing their persistence. Finally, a tracer revealed the source: encrypted channels tied to S.H.I.E.L.D.
Batman didn't act. Not yet. He knew their name now. He knew they were watching. And that was enough.
Later that night, after stopping another mugging in Brooklyn, Batman lingered long enough for bystanders to glimpse him clearly before he vanished into the dark. The myth was becoming real. The city whispered louder.
In the base, he logged his files, fingers still on the keyboard as the Bat-database updated.
Batman exhaled, staring at the screen. The shadows had grown wide, but daylight business loomed. And soon, Tony Stark would stand across the same table as Nate Cross.