Bang!!!
A towering figure stared at his own shadow on the wall ahead, slowly shifting his gaze downward. Slumped in the corner of the wall was Penguin Man, dressed in spiffy business attire, the very sa man who's the city's current and seemingly unstoppable mayor.
Emperor Penguin cocked his head, adjusting his tie. The door was flung open, and another Emperor Penguin dashed in, only to be imdiately held at gunpoint.
Raising his hands, he obeyed the escorting individual from behind and slowly squatted in the corner of the wall. A bodyguard in a black suit entered, and Penguin Man's figure was last to appear.
He sauntered into the mayor's office, eyeing the opulent decor appreciatively, his gaze finally falling on the unconscious Mayor Penguin Man.
"You sure were hard to find." From beneath his eagle hook nose, he grinned widely, showing a set of uniform teeth. Yet, his eyes held only contempt. He signaled to Emperor Penguin, who in turn, gestured to a mob muscle. The thug approached and firmly slapped Mayor Penguin Man a couple of tis.
The mayor had been unconscious for quite a while. Waking up to this sight, he was agog to find a replica of himself standing before him in nacing laughter, as if he were dreaming.
"You've acquired sothing you don't possess." sighed the main universe's Penguin Man. "You neither have the credentials to obtain it, nor can you keep it. Since it's wasted in your hands, better to give it to soone who will utilize it effectively."
"You..." Furious, Mayor Penguin Man made to protest: "By what right do you..."
Emperor Penguin jabbed a sharp kick at his leg. The man howled in pain, grimacing as he clutched his injured leg.
"Don't worry." Penguin Man reassured him with a smile. "You'll see soon enough that the adversary I'm up against is equally formidable and you won't be able to handle them. If at that ti you still have the audacity to question my right, then you're braver than I thought."
High above the 44th floor of Obvious Building, a shadow figure, its mouth taped shut, was wailing atop a tower crane. anwhile, down below, a ghastly face suddenly appeared on the big screen facing the street.
Fine green curls frad the forehead of a pale, wrinkled face, as bulging eyes stared out beneath the electrodes paired with the defining huge leer.
"Greetings, as you see, I'm the Joker. You're probably unfamiliar with since the idiot doesn't dare tread the staged lilight, lacks creativity, and is a complete bovine."
"But, you surely recognize Batman, right? Maybe you've seen... Oh, there probably wasn't much chance of him appearing in your lives, but I'm here to tell you, he may have taken a nasty fall into so garbage bin in an alley in the slums."
"The risk was him in the past. I'd wager one in ten of you could do better than he did. You can hardly believe such a man could be a superhero."
"It doesn't suit him, of course, he didn't deserve it then." The Joker extended one hand and gestured in a downward move, the epito of derision and mockery.
At a crossroads, pedestrians around a church all halted, looking up at the big screen. And amongst them, Bruce Wayne.
His eyes widened, subsequently contorted in anger. He heard murmurs from the people around him and their companions asking, "Who is Batman?"
Bruce harbored no hope for Batman's popularity, because he knew full well that the Joker was right. His so-called debut was rely chasing a gang mber, and in the end, he escaped him. Without any fa, he couldn't save anyone.
But now wasn't the case, thought Bruce, now endowed with Spider-Man's powers.
"'Things have changed,' he must think." The Joker uttered Bruce's thoughts as though he had mind-reading powers. He laughed maliciously.
"This naive fool thinks with his newfound power, he could leap off a 20-story building unscathed, flick cars aside with a slap, and surely qualify as a superhero."
"You don't, Bruce, you don't." The Joker shook his head slowly, eyes glaring fiercely, eyebrows tilted downward, looking straight at the cara and roaring:
"You don't! You're not Batman. You're not any kind of superhero. You're a foolish, arrogant, and delusional coward! You cannot save anyone, and you can never avenge your parents!"
Both fists clenched tightly in rage, Bruce saw the big screen's picture change. A man wrapped in a trench coat and glasses, seemingly in his thirties and rather frail, was suspended hundreds of ters high in the air.
To Bruce, he seed like a writer, judging from the pen poking out of his pocket.
Switching the scene back, the Joker addressed all: "His na is Fate Andkin, you've probably forgotten him. But maybe you rember, when you were just a boy, and your parents were brutally murdered. At your most helpless, reporters broke through the police blockade, shoving their mics and caras into your face."
"They wanted a confession for your cri, one that truly belonged to you. It was your stubborn defiance that led to your parents' death. They wanted you to admit, they required you to admit. Because if all the bla was put on a child, everyone else could be absolved."
"They begged you, they forced you, hoping their professional pressure would make you break down in tears, admitting what they wanted you to say in your delirium."
"They weren't the only ones to treat you this way, you must rember." The Joker's eyes glead inexplicably as he continued, "You didn't give them the answer they wanted, all their bla-shifting plots ended up pointless. So, for the following decade, they kept silent about you. The entire news dia industry closed its doors to you."
"They do have information from the detectives investigating. They do have clues related to the murder of your parents. But, because you're steadfast and not willing to play the pitiful, weak victim they expect, they refuse to give you any shred of information."
"There are exceptions to that, aren't there?"
The focus shifted back to the reporter dangling from the crane. Yet, Joker's voice kept echoing. Bruce paused for a mont as if he rembered sothing, then sprinted frantically to the building with a horrified expression, rushing against the flow of people.
He had a vague idea of the location of Obvious Building. It was supposed to be the last completed building in the nearby business district. But a few months ago, the building's investor was assassinated and the company's poor managent forced several construction halts, so it was nearly on the verge of being auctioned off.
Information swirled in Bruce's mind, but none seed useful. In the midst of his thoughts, he caught Joker's words.
"People often say, when God closes a door, he opens a window. The dia may have slamd all doors on you, but a sliver of light leaks through a crack in the wall."
"Ten years ago, an unknown rookie reporter risked his life to investigate the theatre and the alley where the cri took place. He followed an assassination case of a series of Gotham's politicians and business people."
"Yes, he had already been tailing Mr. and Mrs. Wayne before they went to the theatre that night. After the incident, he beca the only reporter willing to offer you so clues."
"It's a sha, though, that he was a nobody back then. Under the heavy siege of reporters, policen, and dark forces behind the scenes, he didn't have the strength to get close to you. He could only provide so clues anonymously."
"That's right, it was 'Mr. Bert' written on the piece of paper back then. He was the mysterious person who ignited your thirst for vengeance. He was the guide who gave you a glimr of hope for your revenge."
Now standing at the foot of the building, Bruce knew Spider Man could easily scamper up walls, but he had never climbed such a tall structure, causing a twinge of apprehension.
Upon hearing Joker's words, however, Bruce did not hesitate anymore. He ascended the wall at full speed. Although clumsy in his maneuvers and not particularly fast, 40 floors aren't that high. By the ti Joker finishes speaking, Bruce has climbed over 30 floors.
With increasing practice, he hastens up speed. His sprint across the last 10 floors feels like soaring through the air. A flip, then he lands firmly on the 44th floor.
Only then does he realize that the crane isn't atop the building but on the ground beside it, hidden from view due to an obstructed standpoint.
Though distanced about 20 ters from the 44th floor, the building seems unfinished with hollow floors inside, suggesting that the actual distance from the base is about 30 ters.
This results in Bruce being unable to leap from the edge of the building directly to Andrewkin about 20 ters away. The area with flooring doesn't allow for sufficient running distance. He is not even confident enough to land just at the edge, not calculating the parabola trajectory.
The crane consists of an inclined tal long rod as Bruce describes it. The nearest point of it to the edge of the 44th floor is about 4-5 ters.
Not too far, Bruce takes a deep breath and positions himself on the edge of the roof. His only option now is to jump from the 44th floor onto the crane's rod, then climb along the rod to the top and haul the rope.
Luckily, jumping a distance of 5 ters is way simpler than a height of 20. Almost no running space is necessary. Just a stationary long jump would allow him to reach the rod of the crane.
But all of this is managed from the 44th floor.
As Bruce examines the plumting sight from the rooftop, the sumr breeze tousles his hair. The buildings on the ground converge to a thin line, almost imperceptible. His heart thumps against his ribcage from the fear inflicted by the height.
Plumting leads to certain death. Certainly!
How about swinging over there with Spider Silk? Bruce considers firing Spider Silk first, then making the leap. That way, even if he falls, he can grasp the Spider Silk and climb back up.
Without hesitation, he proceeds with his plan. He reaches out his hand, equipped with the Spider Silk Launcher, and with a whoosh, a thread of Spider Silk sticks to the cylindrical crossbar supporting the crane.
Okay, now to jump. Bruce swallows, the image of crashing into a dumpster while chasing after the mob mbers flashing before his eyes.
No, no, he won't fall this ti. With Spider Man's agility, a 5-ter distance requires nothing but a light hop. Plus, he has Spider Silk as his failsafe, so how could he fall?
He isn't the sa person anymore. Bruce tries to remind himself but his eyes can't help but drift to the Spider Silk sticking to the fine cylindrical crossbar.
Could it stick tightly on a curved surface? Is the Spider Silk sturdy enough? Could the tallic paint peel off? Would his arm dislocate while swinging?
He glimpses at Andrewkin. Andrewkin's terrified eyes deeply pierce Bruce's heart, bringing back mories of the ti when he looked at everyone with the sa fright after his parents' death. Yet, no one was willing to help him, except Andrewkin.
After taking a deep breath, he starts his countdown, three, two, one, jump!
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