Rain hammered down on the streets of Chicago like a war drum, turning sidewalks into rivers and casting halos of neon across the wet concrete. Thunder cracked overhead as the city trudged through another restless night. Underneath it all, deep in the city's gut, a group of kids huddled together on the subway platform, their sneakers squeaking on the damp tiles, faces lit by the flickering light of an old TV bolted to the wall.
The screen showed news footage chaos, fire, alien ships streaking across New York skies, crowds screaming, a green monster smashing through tanks.
"It's been a crazy six months, especially in New York," said one kid, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the screen.
"Yeah," another nodded. "An alien invasion gets stopped by that new team called the Avengers. Then that walking lizard dude tries to turn New York into other lizards, but Spider-Man shuts him down."
The smallest of the group chimed in, "Don't forget the mutant attack at the Statue of Liberty. That was nuts. Oh, and that space team that got superpowers and what are they called again?"
"The Fantastic Four," the first one replied, almost proudly.
They all nodded, impressed by the world's sudden explosion of the extraordinary.
Then came the question. The quiet one asked it, voice hushed like he was afraid of being heard.
"Do you think… the Bat is real?"
They looked at each other for a long second. Then laughed.
"Of course he's real," one said. "He's been showing up all over the South Side. That guy's no urban legend."
Their laughter faded as the train pulled in. Its brakes screamed against the tracks. The doors opened with a hiss, and the kids stepped in, their voices trailing off.
But someone else exited.
A man in a sharp gray suit and matching trench coat stepped off the train, umbrella tucked under his arm. He looked older, maybe late fifties, with polished shoes and a leather briefcase. He walked with purpose but glanced behind him but something in the air had changed.
Footsteps echoed behind him. Then came the sneers and laughter.
Fifteen of them. Young, rough, tattoos crawling up their necks. Each one wore a patch with a cartoonish penguin stitched into their jackets.
"Nice night for a walk, pops," one said, stepping into his path.
The man didn't answer. He clutched his briefcase tighter.
"Hey," another thug said, "maybe he didn't hear you."
They surrounded him. The man backed against a pillar, his breath quickening.
Then they heard it.
Footsteps.
Heavy. Deliberate.
From the far end of the platform, a shape emerged from the darkness. Towering. Cloaked in black. Rain dripping from the tips of his cowl. Two pointed ears rose from the top of his head. A dark bat emblazoned across his chest armor.
He didn't speak.
He moved.
The first thug didn't even finish turning before a black gauntlet shattered his jaw. He hit the ground screaming, blood mixing with the rain.
A second swung a pipe.
Clang!
The weapon was snatched mid-swing. Twisted. Used to sweep his legs out from under him. He hit the platform hard, gasping.
Another came from behind.
Batman spun, his cape flaring like wings, and drove an elbow into the attacker's ribs. Once. Twice. Then he smashed the man's head into the concrete pillar. He slumped, unconscious.
But there were fifteen.
And they weren't dumb.
Two jumped him together one with a chain, the other with a boot to the ribs. Batman grunted, crashing into the tiled wall. He caught the chain mid-swing, yanked its owner forward, and smashed his head through his own mask. Then looped the chain around his neck and kicked him down the stairs.
Three more came.
One threw a punch. Batman ducked, drove a palm into his throat, then swung around and slammed another's face into his knee. The third cracked brass knuckles against Batman's jaw.
His head snapped sideways.
For a second, the world buzzed.
Then Batman turned back.
Slowly.
Growling.
He lifted the thug by the front of his hoodie and hurled him down the tracks. He landed just shy of the rail, screaming.
Another came with a knife.
Batman caught the wrist, twisted, disarmed him and drove a punch into his chest so hard the man lifted off the ground and didn't get up.
The last four hesitated.
Too late.
Batman dropped a small black device.
PSSSSSSHHH—
Smoke hissed across the platform.
The fog swallowed everything.
Then came the screams.
A flash of a gauntlet. A glint of metal. The crack of bone.
One tried to run.
THWIP.
A grapple line caught his ankle and dragged him screaming into the fog like prey into the mouth of a beast.
Silence.
Then a final thud.
The man in the suit sat trembling, his back to the wall. The kids, hidden behind a pillar, didn't breathe.
The smoke cleared.
The Bat stood alone. Rain dripping off his armor. Chest heaving.
He turned to the kids.
Just a glance.
Then he vanished into the tunnel.
"He's real," one whispered.
"He's really real."
Later that night, it happened again.
Chicago's First Union Bank lit up the night with sirens and flashing lights. Security alarms wailed. The glass doors exploded outward as five men in ballistic gear sprinted out, duffel bags bulging with stolen cash.
Devil mask. Skull mask. Three with black hoods.
They piled into a waiting SUV. Rain pelted the windshield.
"GO, GO, GO!" Devil Mask shouted.
But the car didn't move.
BANG!
The front left tire blew out.
"What the hell!?" Skull Mask checked the dash.
The driver cursed. "We checked that tire this morning!"
Then someone in the back whispered, "…Look."
Across the alley, a silhouette stood atop a fire escape. Cloaked in shadow and mist. Two pointed ears. Pale emblem on his chest.
Then he was gone.
SLAM!
The back door flew open. One of the robbers screamed.
He was yanked into the shadows. Gone.
THUMP.
His body hit the hood, unconscious.
"FRAZIER!"
"GET OUT! FIGHT!"
Three leapt from the car, guns drawn.
Then the Bat dropped from above.
Bullets ricocheted off his armor as he charged forward. A fist crashed into one robber's jaw. Another was swept off his feet and hurled into the SUV. The last one tried to run—
THWIP!
The grappling hook caught his ankle, dragged him back. Batman pounced. Fists rained down and it was brutal but efficient.
One man left. Trembling. Empty clip clicking.
Batman stepped through the mist.
The robber turned but he was too late.
Batman slammed him into the wall. The man sobbed.
"I—I didn't kill anyone—!"
"But you tried," Batman growled.
He knocked him out with a single punch.
Police sirens wailed in the distance.
Batman disappeared into the alley just as the lights arrived.
Sunlight filled the master bedroom of Wayne Manor. Golden beams filtered through tall windows as the curtains flew open.
"Master Bruce, time to wake up," said a voice.
Alfred Pennyworth, graying, impeccably dressed, stood at the window.
Bruce groaned, face buried in the pillow.
"What time is it?"
"10:55. Your nightly excursions have made mornings… difficult."
Bruce sat up, stretching. His torso ached. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Bruised ribs. A dark circle under one eye.
"I need better armor in the cowl."
"We'll talk to Mr. Fox later."
After a shower and change, Bruce wandered into the kitchen. He made himself a coffee with sugar and creamer. He turned on the news.
"…fifteen thugs found beaten in the subway. A bank robbery foiled in South Chicago. Witnesses claim 'the Bat' is responsible. I'm Vicki Vale, and have a safe day, Chicago."
Alfred placed pancakes in front of him. "Will you be returning to school? Summer is over."
"I already graduated," Bruce said between bites.
"Online. But you still need friends."
"You know being Batman doesn't leave room for a normal life."
Alfred sighed. "An old man can wish."
After breakfast, Bruce approached the grand piano in the study. He pressed a sequence of keys.
Click.
A panel slid open in the wall, revealing a metal scanner. He leaned in. The retinal scanner beeped.
Access granted.
The elevator descended deep underground.
Into the Batcave.
He crossed the massive chamber part laboratory, part armory, part garage. At its heart was the armored Batmobile. Bruce slid under it, welding tool in hand.
After two hours, he pressed a button. The engine roared to life.
He smiled.
"Master Bruce," Alfred's voice came through the intercom. "Tony is here."
Bruce sighed. "On my way."
Upstairs, Tony Stark waited in the lounge, arms spread wide.
"Bruce! Kid! How are you?"
They hugged.
"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with the Avengers?"
Tony grinned. "Cap and Nat are doing spy stuff. Thor's on a date. Clint is… being Clint. Hulk stayed behind. I came to check on you."
He handed Bruce a signed Captain America action figure.
Bruce blinked. Nodded. "Thanks."
"I told Cap you were a fan. You're welcome."
Tony flopped onto the couch. "So, any crushes?"
Bruce shook his head. "No. Just running the company."
"Ugh, boring. That's why I gave mine to Pepper. You should meet her."
Tony stood, checked his watch. "Anyway, I gotta bounce. Cousin-slash-older-brother duties done. Alfred, always a pleasure."
After Tony left, Bruce stared out the window.
"He's changed," Alfred said softly.
"Yeah. He used to call. Now he shows up. I guess being stuck in a cave does that."
Across the city, in a penthouse overlooking the Chicago skyline, a man in a black skull mask stood behind a mahogany desk.
His name was Roman Sionis.
Black Mask.
A bald man entered. "Boss. The Bat. He hit our shipment last night."
Black Mask slammed his fist down.
"I want him gone. Hire the best. Seven assassins. Fifty million to whoever brings me his head."
Victor Zsasz nodded.
Later that night, the bounty alert went out.
A man in armor marked with a white X smirked as he saw it.
A sharpshooter at a gun range raised an eyebrow.
A man with an eyepatch said, "Interesting."
A killer in a skull mask said, "More money."
A woman with sais whispered, "Nice to see my student again."
A pale-skinned woman grinned. "Lucky day."
And a man with rotting skin and metal whips hissed, "That money is mine."