The city buzzed louder than it had in years. Talk shows, late‑night comedians, newspapers, every screen in New York hummed with the same conversation. Batman was real. Not rumor. Not shadow. Civilians had seen him in daylight. Criminals whispered about him with new fear. Cops were shaken, unsure whether to mark him as an ally or threat. Through his Bat‑database, Batman catalogued every mention, every rumor, every pattern. Fear was data, and data was power.
But chatter about himself was not the only thing he followed. Stark's revelation as Iron Man had shaken the world. Batman studied Stark's technology again and again, running simulations, watching the destructive capacity of the armor. And then he planned contingencies. Always contingencies. Stark might be brilliant. He might be well‑meaning. But unchecked power was always dangerous. There would be plans in place if Iron Man ever turned.
The base filled with the hiss of welders and the click of tools. Each workbench was cluttered with prototypes and stripped‑down tech. Piece by piece, the arsenal grew sharper.
Reinforced graphene plating: New panels layered into the suit. Graphene woven with composite mesh made the armor light, flexible, and resistant to high‑impact strikes. He tested it with controlled shots, the rounds flattening against his chest plate instead of piercing through.
Enhanced EMP Disruptor: A compact, handheld unit. Its pulse now powerful enough to shut down security grids, scramble drones mid-flight, and even stall armored military vehicles. Range Adjustable. it turned battlefields into blackout zones. Leaving enemies blind, deaf, and powerless.
Sticky Bombs: Small adhesive charges with an adjustable yield. The lowest setting is nonlethal, designed to stun and create concussive pain, though a direct step on one can still break a bone. Mid settings will blow open locks, disable unarmored vehicles, or punch holes through thin metal plating. At maximum yield the charge becomes a true breaching tool: a shaped, focused blast that can cut through reinforced doors, shear structural supports, or create a precise entry point in armored surfaces. Compact, brutal, and best used with extreme caution.
Wrist computer: A gauntlet‑mounted device synced directly with the Bat‑database. Allowed remote access to surveillance feeds, drone control, and immediate forensic scans. One gesture brought schematics, communications, or lock overrides onto the small display.
Improved cape: Reinforced memory fabric. When stiffened, it let him glide across rooftops. New weave layers of graphene gave it the resilience to withstand high‑caliber rounds, without costing him mobility.
The arsenal now felt closer to what he remembered from another life. Not yet perfect, but close. And with Stark's armor in the world, he would need every edge.
Batman tracked data points from a string of robberies. All targeted small tech companies. Schematics, components, not cash. Cross‑checking chatter from informants and surveillance confirmed it, organized crime was shifting away from street trades. Someone wanted technology.
The trail led him into Hell's Kitchen. A crumbling high-rise that loomed over the street, its upper floors gutted and forgotten. On paper, it was marked for renovation. In reality, the building's hollowed rooms were stacked with crates. At first glance, construction supplies. Beneath the false layers, weapons, rifles and explosives hidden under forged manifests. The trade hadn't stopped or slowed down. It had only burrowed deeper underground.
He moved in as night fell. The EMP disruptor clicked once in his palm. A wave of silence rolled out as lights cut. Shouts rang through the dark. Batman was already moving. An engine roared to life, and a truck surged forward, desperate to flee. Batman's hand moved in a blur. The sticky bomb snapped against the undercarriage, detonating with a sharp crack. Metal shrieked as the axle shattered, wheels spinning free. The truck collapsed sideways, skidding to a violent halt. Smoke curled from the wreck as confusion and fear spread through the remaining crew.
Gunfire spat from a balcony. His cape absorbed the heavy rounds, stopping them dead with bruising force. He vaulted upward, Batclaw snapping into the balcony rail. He ripped one rifle from a man's hands, then swung him hard into a crate. Another thug rushed forward, only to crumple under a gauntleted fist. Within minutes, dozens lay unconscious, bound in cables.
But two were left breathing, conscious. Lieutenants. Batman dragged them by their collars up to the roof.
Wind howled over the rooftops, carrying the distant thrum of sirens. Batman dropped the first man to his knees, mask looming inches from his face.
Batman: "Who runs you."
The man spat blood, shaking his head. "I don't know names. Orders just come."
Batman grabbed him by the throat, lifted, and stepped to the ledge. He dangled the man over thirty stories of empty air.
Batman: "You have three seconds."
The second criminal, still on his knees, watched in horror as Batman's grip loosened. The first man screamed as his body slipped away. For a heartbeat he thought he was gone. Then the rope snapped tight. Batman had anchored him to the ledge, leaving him swinging helplessly in the void.
The second man broke instantly. His voice cracked, urine soaking his pants.
Criminal 2: "Wait! Wait! Don't drop me! Please!"
Batman: "Talk."
Criminal 2: "We... we don't know names! Just one. Finger. That's what they call him. Nobody sees him. Nobody wants to. He's got… he's got killers. Not street trash. Real fighters. Like ghosts. Ninjas, man. They come out of nowhere."
Batman leaned close, voice low as a growl. "Finger is a codename. Where do I find him."
Criminal 2: "I swear I don't know! All I hear is… Finger's at the top. Higher than the bosses we deal with. That's all I know! Please!"
The man sobbed. Batman's pale eyes stared through him. Then the fist came, fast and final. The man crumpled unconscious.
Batman pulled the dangling criminal back up, slammed him to the ground, and bound him tight beside the other. By the time the police sirens arrived, both would be unconscious packages waiting on the roof.
He knew now this wasn't just corruption. This was something else. A hidden network. Dangerous. And the name was Finger.
Surveillance was no longer subtle. Batman had noticed it for weeks. Unmarked vans parked too long. Drones at the edge of rooftops. Comms pings faint but traceable. S.H.I.E.L.D. was watching.
At their headquarters, Coulson laid clearer footage across the table. Frames of Batman in motion, cape flaring, mask glowing pale.
Coulson: "He's not a myth anymore. Civilians saw him at the bank. He's escalating."
Fury: "Stark is public. The Bat is not. Keep the eyes sharp, Phil. If he's helping us, fine. If not, I want to know before the world does."
Batman prepared his own answer. He baited a surveillance team into following him into an alley. The anesthetic gas hissed from a capsule. Agents crumpled to the ground within seconds. He crouched, pried open their gear, and slipped a backdoor device into the uplink. S.H.I.E.L.D. thought they were watching him. In truth, he was already worming into their database.
Training sessions intensified. Running, climbing, meditating. He could now run along walls vertically with both feet locked in place. Where before he barely managed four meters, now he pushed ten and sometimes more. It wasn't perfection. But it was consistent. The key was focus. Chakra obeyed discipline. Control was the foundation, and he had always been its master.
Another feed rolled across his monitors. Green rage tearing through tanks and artillery. Soldiers scattered as the monster demolished everything in his path. But Batman's focus sharpened when one soldier moved differently. Faster. Stronger. Superhuman. He fought the monster head‑on before being hurled into rubble. It reminded Batman of the stories. The soldier from the war. Captain America. Maybe not myth after all.
Then something unexpected. The monster shielded a civilian woman from blast, fire and debris, then carried her away. Batman paused the footage. Enhanced her face. Ran it through his database. The identity came back quickly: Betty Ross, daughter of General Ross, who himself had been at the scene.
Batman leaned back in his chair, pale eyes on the monitor's glow. "There are always new wars," he muttered. "But for now, I hunt Finger."
The city roared on above him, oblivious to the wars waged in its veins. Iron Man in the skies. Hulk on the ground. And in the shadows, a Bat sharpening his claws.