It was almost night in Gotham City. The sun had set twenty minutes ago, leaving behind that particular twilight Gotham specialized in—the kind of half-light that made shadows deeper and threats harder to see coming.
Wearing a cheap, forty-dollar polyester black robe from a costume shop, Jude rode his bicycle through the city streets. It looked normal, but with the modification he could hit seventy kilometers per hour on flat ground easily.
Lately, Jude had realized that not all master-level system skills were created equal. Some plateaued. Others, like Advanced Climbing Mastery, possessed terrifying growth potential. As he traveled across Gotham—scaling walls and finding routes that shouldn't exist—his familiarity with the skill sharpened. The calculations happened faster. The impossible became routine.
Suddenly, a pitch-black feather drifted down from the twilight sky, followed by the cry of a crow. Not a random caw, but a specific pattern. A message.
Through his Nature Language Proficiency, Jude had tapped into the invisible, ancient elemental networks of the city's wildlife. He caught the feather mid-air and listened to the crow's warning.
A large gathering. Men with guns. Anger. Imminent violence.
"Are there a large number of people carrying guns on the streets?" Jude muttered, translating the warning. His nerves tightened. A large-scale gathering meant a gang war, and bullets didn't care who they hit.
Jude turned the handlebars hard and pedaled with everything he had. The electric motor whined, accelerating far faster than any bicycle should. He aimed for a six-story apartment complex with a fire escape, hit the ramp at forty kilometers per hour, and launched into the air.
He flew from the rooftop in a long, silhouetted arc against the darkening sky like a demented stunt performer, landing on the next concrete roof with a solid thump of rubber. He didn't stop. He just kept pedaling, building speed, and launched again. Defying physics. Defying common sense.
Meanwhile, another black figure patrolled the sky.
Batman glided between buildings, his cape spread wide to catch the air currents. His enhanced optics scanned the restless streets below.
He was deeply worried. Over the past few days, a significant number of murders had been prevented before the knife fell or the trigger was pulled. But the methods used by this new vigilante were... concerning.
The media had already dubbed him "The Bike Stripper." News anchor Frank had reported on it with barely concealed glee: the suspects were invariably stripped of all their clothing and hung from streetlights or balconies, their discarded clothes displayed outward like trophies. It caused no physical harm, but the psychological impact was devastating. It was humiliating and highly effective, but it crossed a line Batman tried very hard to avoid.
Tonight, Alfred had warned him of a massive armed gathering in the East District—Falcone soldiers versus local independents.
Batman rushed to the scene, and exactly as he expected, he spotted the bicyclist. Jumping between rooftops with impossible agility, a cheap black robe fluttering behind him like a cape, wearing a distorted, Halloween-store ghost mask.
Batman accelerated the Batcycle, its engine roaring as he closed the distance. When the bicycle landed on the next rooftop, Batman was already there, blocking the most obvious escape route.
"No matter who you are or what you want to do, don't go any further," Batman warned, his voice modulated into a low, threatening growl. "Go back. This is not a game. You might die down there."
The response made Batman's pupils contract sharply.
"If you could cover everything, I certainly wouldn't show up."
The vigilante didn't disguise his voice. He dropped the distortion entirely, deliberately revealing his identity.
Jude Sharp.
Batman knew the new GCPD officer was the one who'd given the life-saving candy to Chuck Brown, but he hadn't expected the kid to be the perverted vigilante stringing up naked criminals.
When Jude spoke again, he switched to a shrill, distorted horror-movie pitch. "Nearly a hundred cases have occurred in recent days. Fifty or sixty of them ended with Batman's belated arrival. You're stretched thin. Isolated. Overwhelmed." The assessment was painfully accurate. "If I don't stop this large-scale gunfight, can you guarantee no citizens will be caught in the crossfire? Can you promise you'll save everyone?"
Batman remained silent. He couldn't make that promise. The clash between the Joker and the Riddler wasn't a crime wave; it was a war. The math didn't work. One man couldn't be everywhere.
"There are two murders happening elsewhere in the city right now," Jude's distorted voice continued. "I have animal friends who can help with those. But you still have to stop this shooting first, right?"
Animal friends. Batman's mind clicked. Victims had recently reported hearing bizarrely loud birds singing right before their attackers suffered severe, instantaneous frostbite, causing the thugs to become sluggish and weak. Batman had suspected Mr. Freeze, but now he understood. It was Jude's work. How many powers did this man have?
At that exact moment, the piercing cry of an eagle echoed overhead. Two massive eagles descended from the darkness, carrying ceramic flowerpots in their talons. They dropped the pots carefully into Jude's waiting hands.
Batman analyzed the contents: two strange, ice-blue peas. That shade of blue didn't exist in Earth's nature. Having studied botany extensively to combat Poison Ivy, Batman knew these weren't on any terrestrial list.
Jude casually stuffed the flowerpots under his loose black robe, making them vanish completely, then miraculously produced two identical pots holding the exact same ice-blue peas.
"Go, go," Jude addressed the eagles. "This is the pea that was buffed at noon." He lowered his voice slightly. "The ice pea shooter with the 'I didn't kill anyone' skill. The night is still long, my friends."
He tossed the pots back to the eagles, followed by two candies into their open beaks. The massive birds swallowed, gave a cry of satisfaction, and vanished into the night.
Trained eagles. Alien plants. Magical candies. The scene belonged in a fantasy epic, not Gotham City.
"You can use your identity as a police officer to uphold justice, Jude," Batman tried a softer, persuasive approach. "You have legitimate authority. Daytime is your working time. Why do this at night?"
"During the day?" Jude laughed bitterly through the distortion. "I wouldn't dare work this blatantly as a cop. Criminals can tolerate a righteous police commissioner with high morals. That's expected. But a legal killer with exceptional combat power operating in broad daylight with a badge? The police station would be bombed within a week."
Batman knew he was right. Operating with this level of impunity as a cop would get the entire precinct slaughtered.
"So I save people during the day, and I beat them up at night," Jude concluded. "Clean separation. Nobody connects Officer Sharp to The Bike Stripper."
Below them, the situation had reached a boiling point. Sixty armed men. Falcones and independents. Shouting. Loading weapons. A massacre was seconds away from spilling into civilian living rooms.
Batman made a decision. He could waste time fighting a vigilante who was actually helping, or he could coordinate.
"I can cooperate with you," Batman said. "But you have to act according to a plan. We need to control the situation."
"It's a deal," Jude replied instantly. "But not today. You don't know how I fight yet, and we don't have time to coordinate tactics." He gestured to the armed mob below. "Today, we play freely. I'll control the overall situation and keep casualties to zero. You do your usual thing."
Batman considered it. It went against every protocol he had, but Jude was right. They were out of time.
The Bat nodded once in agreement. Then, he added one critical, non-negotiable condition.
"Don't kill anyone."