On the first level of the Batcave beneath Manhattan City Hall, the air had been saturated with high concentrations of fear gas as early as a month ago.
This was a desperate measure born of the current shortage of funds and technology; the Batcave lacked a series of defensive measures, including holographic projections. Fortunately, much like the old Wayne Manor, the mechanisms triggered by moving a book on a shelf or turning the head of a Shakespeare bust had already been installed, disguised by the nearby construction of the Parker Building.
Still, Batman had to guard against the possibility of an intruder. The fear gas served as one of those defensive layers.
The Arkham suit featured an air filtration system, and since Venom Robin didn't need to breathe, the fear gas had absolutely no effect on them. The only time the gas had been cleared was when Batman brought back Professor Morbius—the vampire—and Harry Osborn, the New Goblin.
At all other times, the presence of fear gas was the norm here.
"Robin, I need you to watch Black Widow in the Batcave until I return," Batman said, looking down at Black Widow, who lay collapsed on the floor.
Venom Robin was still in a state of guilt after being caught red-handed "spawning" a secret offspring. He nodded repeatedly. "I promise I'll keep an eye on her."
Batman gave Venom Robin's shoulder a light pat, climbed into the Batmobile, and quickly vanished into the City Hall subway station.
He didn't pause for a moment. There were two reasons he was heading out into the night, even if it meant taking the risk of leaving Black Widow alone with Venom Robin:
First, there was a secret production line in one of the Parker Group's assembly plants that had been prepared long ago. Batman was going there to manufacture a brand-new suit—a skin-tight costume with a red torso, blue legs, and a web pattern covering it from head to toe.
It was Peter Parker's Spider-Man suit.
Second, Batman desperately needed to get to South Brother Island to sleep.
His body was succumbing to a problem he had been secretly dreading since the first day he arrived in this world: the super-strength, physical durability, and heightened senses inherited from Peter Parker...
Almost all of his abilities had vanished.
To deal with Hank Pym—Ant-Man—and to prevent him from being able to penetrate the layers of protection in the Vulcan armor Batman currently wore, Batman had tampered with his own body. He had induced hypersensitivity and injected a certain amount of toxins into his system.
These measures kept his body in a constant state of pain and weakness.
This should have been temporary, but even after the toxins and the various components causing the allergic reactions had cleared his system, Batman's body remained in a state of profound weakness. It wasn't just weakness; it was extreme exhaustion and agonizing pain. His brain throbbed with bouts of vertigo, and every muscle fiber and ligament felt like a rubber band stretched to its limit, ready to snap at any moment.
Inside the Batcave, Batman's expression had remained unchanged. But once he left, even Batman's formidable willpower couldn't stop him from clenching his teeth to keep from groaning in pain.
He knew this was the result of never resting since he had crossed over. His fragmented sleep time here was even shorter than it had been back in Gotham. Peter Parker's body was like a machine that had been running at high intensity for too long without proper maintenance or rest; it was now in a state of severe overload.
In fact, if not for Batman's willpower forcing him to stay upright, he would have blacked out and collapsed in the Batcave just like Black Widow.
"Hold on. Just ten more minutes," Batman hissed through gritted teeth, telling himself he couldn't afford to faint now.
Currently, aside from Tony Stark's Stark Tower, the only place in New York where Batman could safely collapse was South Brother Island. Not even Aunt May's house was an option.
The timer in the Batmobile ticked away. Every second felt like an entire year.
He realized he wasn't just in pain; a series of hallucinations were beginning to manifest before his eyes. These visions were a blur of both Batman's and Peter Parker's lives.
Aunt May... Mary Jane, the girl Peter loved... Alfred... Clark Kent...
By the time Batman snapped out of the hallucinations, the Batmobile had already exited the sewers and come to a stop at his first temporary base of operations—the abandoned shipyard.
Click.
Batman pressed a button inside the car. The canopy of the hovering armored vehicle disassembled and slid open. Batman climbed out, looking at the massive silhouette of the derelict ship looming in the night.
There was no moon tonight. Batman noted that Khonshu seemed to have truly stopped monitoring him as promised. For some time now, the nocturnal weather had returned to normal; currently, the sky was heavy with dark clouds.
He leaned against the car for a moment, gasping for breath. The physical discomfort didn't fade; instead, it intensified. His ears were ringing, his breath tasted like blood, and his eyes burned with exhaustion.
But Batman didn't leave. He stood there silently, his chest heaving.
Splash!
The rain began to pour without warning. Fat droplets fell from the sky, drumming against Batman's Vulcan armor. These raindrops, which even a playful child would ignore, felt like hammers. Each one that struck his suit sent a fresh jolt of pain through him.
Yet, Batman still had no intention of retreating. He began to move, limping away from the Batmobile toward an open space in the shipyard.
With every step, the lack of coordination in his limbs diminished. His gait, his breathing rhythm—everything seemed to shift back toward a state of normalcy. By the time he came to a halt, he had used a willpower far stronger than his pain to force his body to appear functional.
"Come out," Batman said, his voice raspy, addressing the empty shipyard.
Tap. Tap.
Through Batman's voice and the curtain of torrential rain, a burly, rugged-looking man stepped out of the darkness. He wore a black leather trench coat so wide it practically functioned as a cape, and a long, slender blade was strapped to his back.
Even in the pitch-black night where sight was nearly impossible, he wore a pair of sunglasses.
"How did you spot me, Batman?" the man asked, baring a row of white teeth in a half-smile.
Batman didn't answer. Instead, he slowly raised his fists in front of his chest, settling into a combat stance.
"I'm the Daywalker—that's the name those vampires gave me. But I prefer another title: Blade." The newcomer looked at Batman's fists, then at the wings on the back of the Vulcan suit. "A vampire calling himself 'Batman.' Now that's something you don't see every day."
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