Nate sat across the table from his father for the first time in weeks. The two men were quiet at first, nursing coffee that had gone lukewarm. Marcus Cross broke the silence with a sigh.
Marcus: "It feels like forever since we sat down together. Busy nights, huh?"
Nate: "Something like that. You look tired too."
Marcus leaned back, his eyes distant. "Your mother would have scolded us both for this. She always said family meals mattered more than anything." He paused, and his voice lowered. "She was a great doctor. One of the best in the emergency ward. You remember how she used to leave in the middle of dinner if a call came in. Sometimes she even went out to accident sites herself. She saved more people than we'll ever know."
Nate's jaw tightened. He knew where the story was going, but he let his father speak.
Marcus: "After all that, after the lives she saved… a getaway car from a bank job took her from us. Wrong place, wrong time. I caught those bastards, but it didn't matter. We lost her. And the patients she would have saved that night lost her too."
Silence filled the room. Nate stared at his cup, anger simmering in his chest. His mother's death was more than grief. It was a wound carved by crime itself. The kind of wound no conviction could heal.
Nate: "We carry her work forward. In our own ways."
Marcus gave a small nod. They left it at that, both men knowing the rest would remain unspoken.
The streets whispered with fear, but Batman searched for a deeper voice. He stalked a small crew rumored to work under Finger's network. The ambush was swift. Smoke and shadows, two unconscious, three bound. He hauled the last two into an alley for questioning.
Batman: "Finger. Tell me what you know."
The first criminal spat on the ground. "You think we fear you. You don't get it. We fear him more."
Batman slammed him against the wall. "Talk."
The man shook his head, blood on his lip. Nothing. Batman let him drop unconscious with a single punch.
The second thug swallowed hard, eyes darting. "I don't know what you've heard… but the name we got from boss is Finger. That's it. He's not like the street crews. He's higher. Untouchable. Sends people you never see coming. Killers that don't miss. Ghosts. If they're after you…" His voice faltered. "You won't even know until it's over."
Batman leaned in, voice a blade. "Who's your boss, and where do I find him?"
The thug's eyes went wide. "Marlo. He runs a chop-shop above the old Hanover textile mill on Mercer, second floor. Back door on Mercer, deliveries at night. He meets clients at The Rook on 11th after midnight. That's it, I swear."
Batman bound him and left him for the police. Back at the base, he typed the entry: Finger – Higher than street crime. Employs assassins. Hidden system. Insufficient data.
He knew now that he was not just chasing corruption. He was staring into something larger. Something organized and deadly.
In a secured meeting room, Coulson spread out a series of reports. Not surveillance footage, there was none, but photographs of unconscious S.H.I.E.L.D. agents pulled from the field.
Coulson: "We've got men waking up with no memory of how they went down. Equipment's dead, logs are scrambled. If it isn't tampering, it's damn close."
Fury's one eye narrowed. "Then he's been walking through us like it's nothing."
Coulson hesitated. "You think it's Batman?"
Fury: "I think I don't like ghosts in my house. Set a trap. Nothing flashy. I want it airtight, designed to push him into a corner. One way or another, it'll force him to show us who he is."
What neither of them knew was that Batman had already burrowed into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s database. The backdoor he planted gave him access far deeper than their analysts could trace. His security and infiltration techniques were decades ahead of the current era. They had removed the surface bug, but the infection was already rooted.
From his base, Batman watched their files scroll across his bat computer. Every attempt to track him, every report on Stark, even mentions of projects classified beyond Level 8. He logged it all silently.
It was a night like any other until the radio chatter shifted. Words like monster and destruction cut through the routine. Batman froze, listening. Harlem was burning. He tapped his wrist computer. Above, the Batjet decloaked, hovering silently. His car peeled away, autopilot guiding it back to base. Batman fired his Batclaw into the jet and let it pull him skyward.
Engines roared as the craft shot across the skyline. Its top speed was three thousand kilometers an hour, not what he once commanded in another life, but fast enough. Within a minute he was over Harlem.
Below was chaos. Civilians screaming, military vehicles overturned, buildings torn apart. Batman's eyes narrowed. At the center of it stood the Abomination.
Batman could not fire missiles. Too many civilians. He released the glider mode of his cape and dropped into the street. Abomination raised a yellow taxi, muscles straining as he prepared to crush a cluster of soldiers. Batman dove, his boots slamming into the monster's face. The car crashed back onto the pavement as Abomination staggered, more surprised than hurt.
From above, General Ross watched through the screen of the helicopter, eyes narrowing at the dark figure in the smoke. On the ground, Batman's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding.
"Move! Now!"
The soldiers scrambled, obeying without hesitation. Even from the sky, Ross saw it, whoever this shadow was, he wasn't just myth. He had just saved Ross's men.
Batman planted half-charged sticky bombs across Abomination's jaw. They detonated with concussive blasts, smoke curling over his snarling face. When the haze cleared, Abomination laughed.
Abomination: "Weak. Costume freak. I'll break you."
He charged, fists raised high. Batman rolled aside, smoke pellets bursting at his feet. The monster swung into the haze, striking only shadows. Batman's objective was clear: draw him away from civilians. Firing his grappling hook, he shot upward, cape flaring as he vaulted over rooftops. From one building to the next he moved swiftly, the Batclaw pulling him higher each time. Above the skyline, his comms pinged, Batjet scanning ahead. Morningside Park was clear.
Batman vaulted upward with his Batclaw, perching in a tree's crown. Abomination tore through the grove, ripping trunks from the ground, bellowing with rage. Batman launched another full-powered sticky bomb, this time to the back of the knee. The explosion staggered him, forcing a howl of pain, but did not slow his pursuit.
The Batjet descended, releasing a wave of smoke across the park. The entire battlefield vanished under a choking gray blanket. Batman repositioned silently, waiting.
Abomination roared, blinded by the dense smoke. He swung wildly, fists tearing chunks out of the ground, but the haze clung thick around him. Frustration boiled over. With a guttural snarl, he seized a massive tree by its roots and ripped it free. Muscles bulging, he spun the trunk in a wide arc, the violent rotation whipping through the air. The force scattered the smoke in great swaths, clearing his sightline inch by inch as he searched for the shadow that taunted him.
From the top of the tree, Batman caught the motion of a body plummeting from the sky. He engaged the binocular lenses in his cowl, zooming in. The figure was falling on his back, limbs flailing, no parachute, no control. Batman couldn't see his face, but the uncontrolled descent told him everything. This wasn't a calculated jump. It was a fall. A death sentence.
The impact shook the ground. Dust clouded upward. Then a massive green hand burst from the crater. Hulk had arrived.
Batman's instincts sharpened. If both turned on him, survival was near impossible. He prepared contingencies in seconds. Instead, Hulk charged Abomination.
The two giants collided. Hulk's fists cracked ribs. Abomination countered with bone-breaking swipes. Batman circled the edges, striking surgically. Sticky bombs against joints. Grappling lines yanking Abomination's footing. Limited ammo dwindled fast.
Abomination slammed Hulk away, then roared at Batman. Batman hurled a sticky bomb at his chest, detonating at the solar plexus. The blast staggered him, stealing his breath. Batman followed with a hail of small gas pellets. They burst against Abomination's face. Forcing him to inhale at this moment, his lungs flooded with anesthetic.
The effect was brutal. His movements faltered almost instantly, legs buckling, lungs drowning in anesthetic. He dropped to his knees, clawing at the ground, strength bleeding away. But before he could collapse completely, Hulk was already on him.
With a thunderous roar, Hulk's fists crashed down. Blow after blow hammered Abomination into the pavement. The monster was limp, eyes glazing, yet Hulk did not stop, rage driving his fists in a relentless rhythm that shook the street.
Batman: "STOP."
The voice cut through the haze. Hulk froze, teeth bared. He roared, shaking the ground. Batman stood his ground, every muscle tense, ready for the strike. But it did not come.
Betty Ross's voice broke the standoff. She ran forward, tears streaming.
Betty: "Bruce."
The name froze both men. Batman realized it was not meant for him. The Hulk's expression shifted, rage dimming into sorrow. He reached out, wiping her tears with trembling hands.
A single helicopter hovered above, its spotlight blazing down on Hulk's face. The glare washed over him, muscles tense, teeth bared. He roared in fury, the sound shaking the park. His eyes shifted, locking on Betty. For a brief moment, the rage in his face eased. Then he bent his legs and launched into the air. He landed hard, the ground trembling, then leapt again. Each bound carried him farther into the distance until the night swallowed him.
When the searchlights swept back, Batman was gone. The Batjet cloaked as it pulled him away. He followed Hulk's leaps to the Hudson River, but the trail ended there.
Hours later, back at the base, Batman's database logged a new entry: Bruce Banner – Codename Hulk.
He leaned back, pale eyes reflecting the screen. Finger in the shadows. Monsters in the open. And the war was only beginning.