Chapter 7: The Spider Leaving
"Are you going to stay here, or are we leaving together?"
Wayne paid no attention to the raging fire consuming the building behind them. He knew the limits of the incendiary bomb he had used. As long as the drug factory downstairs was indeed empty, as the thug had claimed, the fire would cause no fatalities, only the destruction of the contraband.
"To be honest, I'm a little unclear on where we're going next," Spider-Man said casually to Wayne.
"Find a suitable location and settle our current identities." Wayne spoke as he started walking toward the fire escape.
"Okay, you're the boss. I'll follow your lead." Spider-Man didn't want to expend any more brain power on strategy. The intensity of today's work had exceeded his standard.
"Wait, you mean setting up false identification?" A few steps later, Spider-Man finally processed the implications of Wayne's words. Setting up a current identity? That sounded suspiciously like fraud.
"That's a crime, man." Spider-Man suddenly jumped in front of the Bat, blocking his path, his voice now serious.
Wayne squinted at the hero. "We have always been criminals, haven't we?"
"How can you say that? With this kind of power, shouldn't we assume responsibility? Isn't our mission to stop these guys from committing crimes?" Spider-Man was agitated. He passionately disagreed with the Bat's dark statement. He knew that if he hadn't embraced the truth of "with great power comes great responsibility" after getting his powers, he would have lost Uncle Ben for nothing.
"Are you a policeman?" Wayne asked indifferently.
Spider-Man shook his head. "No, I'm not."
"Are you an enforcer of the law?"
"No."
"Then what do you think you're doing?" Wayne didn't wait for an answer. He disappeared again, using the grapple gun to swing down the fire escape.
Spider-Man stood alone, wanting to stop Wayne, but the Bat's words had genuinely shocked him. He needed silence now to process the blunt, cynical honesty. It was best not to follow the Bat immediately.
He needed time to compose a solid, definitive rebuttal before finding the "stinky Bat" again.
Shooting out a web line, Spider-Man swung away, seeking a place to cool down.
He didn't see Wayne emerge from the bottom of the fire escape, calmly watching Spider-Man depart.
"What you just said was a big blow to that loudmouth," Thomas commented in Wayne's mind.
"Aren't we always criminals?" Wayne saw no flaw in his own logic. "Besides, if words like that can shatter a mature Spider-Man, then he doesn't deserve the title." The last phrase was spoken with a chilling ruthlessness.
"By the way, what exactly is a Spider-Man? You seem familiar with this world, but only to a limited extent," Thomas asked. Before this, Thomas had often wondered what Wayne had experienced. He was dressed as Batman, yet he knew things about a world Thomas had never seen.
"You can think of this as a replica of the heroic universe," Wayne said.
He jumped from the bottom step of the fire escape. The cloak unfurled just before his feet hit the ground, slowing his descent. Thomas scoffed at the term "heroic universe." In his reality, it was a lunatic's paradise where super-powered beings waged endless war. He was no hero. He was a murderer, just as Wayne had said: a criminal.
"In the eyes of some people in this universe, your approach might be quite in line with his concept," Wayne said, preempting Thomas's thoughts.
"Is that so?"
"He's just more extreme." Wayne walked toward a parked car.
Fortunately, Wayne found a set of casual clothes inside the vehicle, allowing him to discard his bloodied battle suit. As a form of apology for taking the clothes, Wayne left behind a roll of bills.
Taking off the cowl, Wayne used the rearview mirror to examine his face. He understood why the Joker in the comics had such a high appraisal of the Bat's appearance. Even to a lunatic, it was near perfect. The chiseled features and perfect symmetry, especially those melancholy blue eyes, were stunning. No one could look into them easily.
"The face is fine," Wayne summarized. He started changing his clothes.
The only drawback was that the original owner of the suit must have been a man who ate too many hamburgers. Even on Wayne's perfectly sculpted physique, the clothes were too baggy. However, they were perfect as a transition disguise.
He found a travel backpack in the compartment, which allowed him to swap his current, conspicuously wrapped loot bundle for something less suspicious. He put on a baseball cap and buttoned the oversized hoodie over his face.
Wayne was ready to leave.
A man in ill-fitting clothes walking down the street was unremarkable in New York. There were too many homeless and struggling people to notice one more.
He hailed a passing yellow taxi.
"New York University," Wayne said, slipping into the back seat without waiting for the driver to speak.
"No problem," the driver responded, putting the car in gear. "But I'm warning you now: if you can't pay the fare, I'll beat you up." The driver glanced in the rearview mirror at Wayne's ill-fitting clothes and assumed he was another unreliable person.
Wayne ignored the threat and picked up the discarded newspaper from the back seat, beginning to absorb everything he could about the current state of the world. To establish a believable identity, he needed to understand this universe completely.
"Okay, looks like you're a quiet one." Seeing Wayne made no effort to speak, the taxi driver returned to his own thoughts. He almost hoped Wayne couldn't pay so he could vent his frustrations.
There was no conversation. When the taxi finally arrived near NYU, the driver turned back to collect his fare, only to find the back seat empty.
All that remained was a hundred-dollar bill on the seat and the faint scent of ozone.
"Oh, my God," the driver stared blankly at the unexpected payment.
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