Chapter 15: Wayne's Acting Skills
Wayne rubbed his head, still struggling to accept the two-hour sleep cycle.
"So, you are the same?" Wayne asked Thomas in his head after drinking a glass of water.
"I cannot do that. I need at least a solid block of sleep," Thomas replied directly.
There were key differences between Thomas and Bruce. Thomas, for one, was less concerned with the Wayne Corporation, having effectively abandoned it after the defining tragedy in the alley. Moreover, Thomas habitually used lethal force and was consequently less skilled in unarmed combat than Bruce, which meant his natural physical condition wasn't as extreme.
"However, I suggest you use this time to train. I don't know how Bruce did it, but based on your current physical state, if you don't control your diet and exercise well, your body will not be able to maintain this extreme conditioning," Thomas advised.
"Do you have any recommended exercises and recipes?" Wayne was bored and receptive to the guidance. The conversation with the older man at least provided a structure for maintaining his fitness.
"Jogging, a 32-mile (51.5-kilometer) long-distance run, and yoga. You'll also need to train your fighting skills at night," Thomas listed. He paused, then looked around. "You will need a huge training facility and appropriate housing."
"I know," Wayne said, feeling a touch helpless. If he wanted a place suitable for training and a Batcave, he would have to spend the next half-month scouring the city's underground, hoping to acquire enough wealth to sustain it. But now, all he had to do was wait for Kingpin's inevitable blunder, then use his superior technology to transfer everything to himself. This was the easiest and least harmful path.
As for Kingpin's fate, Wayne didn't care. After the events in the movie, Fisk was arrested by Miles Morales anyway. Wayne just needed to act before the police and the Spiders got to him.
"As for the recipe, we'll talk about that once you have money," Thomas concluded, refusing to recommend ingredients Wayne couldn't reliably obtain.
"Do you have to be so blunt?"
Wayne, now in a tracksuit, was ready for a run. It was the most suitable exercise he could perform publicly. Few people would be running at this hour. Although masked heroes had somewhat reduced the number of ordinary criminals in New York, the ones remaining were no longer petty thugs with pistols. Now, every criminal who remained in the city possessed some kind of specialized skill.
Stepping out, Wayne stretched his limbs, preparing to achieve his peak state. He felt an urge to see what other strange beings were operating in New York, but with Spider-Man dead and his presence unsettling the villains, the super-criminals were likely staying home.
He had to admit, Spider-Man was loved by everyone—heroes and villains alike.
Wayne's movement, though quiet, soon attracted the attention of a certain Spider.
"Running late at night?"
Spider-Man Noir, perched in the shadows, watched Wayne. Since arriving, Noir had taken it upon himself to monitor the area around Aunt May's house, dedicated to protecting the dead hero's family.
Noir's black-and-white figure was almost invisible in the gloom. But anyone who saw him would likely faint from shock.
Noir shot a web line in the direction Wayne was running, intending to follow discreetly and determine the man's identity. If he was a villain, Noir would deal with him. If he was a hero, Noir would simply avoid a confrontation. The safety level of New York seemed to have plummeted since the 1930s; a Spider-Man had died here.
Noir had followed Wayne for several miles, noting that the man's sustained speed was far beyond normal human capability. This reinforced Noir's suspicion that Wayne was a bad guy. He just lacked the substantive proof.
Wayne, breathing steadily, enjoyed the run while paying attention to the persistent little shadow behind him. Noir's stealth skills were impressive, perfectly complemented by his monochrome camouflage.
Suddenly, the Shadow Spider, who had just fired a web and was about to swing ahead of Wayne, was struck by a powerful, disorienting sensation. He involuntarily split into several agonizing projections. The severe pain made him lose control and fall.
THUD!
Even if Wayne had wanted to pretend he hadn't heard the sound, it was impossible.
"Hello? Are you okay?" Wayne turned, calling into the dark alley. "Do you need help?"
Wayne walked cautiously into the alley.
It wasn't until Wayne reached him that the Shadow Spider recovered, jumping up from the ground in a fluid carp-like motion. He quickly patted the dust off his coat and confidently tipped the brim of his fedora.
"It's nothing. I'm fine."
"You... you're Spider-Man!" Wayne exclaimed, his voice laced with surprise and a hint of fear. "Didn't they say you were dead? And you're dressed... like this?"
As he spoke, Wayne subtly shifted his weight backward, acting intimidated by the sight of the spectral figure.
The performance Wayne delivered could have won him an Oscar.
(End of Chapter)
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