Chen Mo circled that black, iron beast three times.
The tires were as high as his waist, the armor was thick enough to stop a rocket, and the engine rumbled like a caged predator lowing in the dark.
He reached out and traced the carbon fiber patterns along the seams of the car door. A cold, aloof smoothness radiated beneath his fingertips.
The look of love in someone's eyes cannot be hidden.
The look of love for a car cannot be hidden either.
If he could just own a Spider-Mobile of his own, Chen Mo would gladly drive luxury cars and live in a mansion.
"Hey, buddy, the passenger seat on this thing looks pretty spacious."
Batman was already walking toward the driver's side. His cape whipped in the night wind, but he didn't stop.
"How about a lift?" Chen Mo tapped the spider emblem on his chest. "We're in the same line of work."
Batman pulled open the car door.
The engine roared to life, and a wave of sound exploded across the empty street like a prehistoric beast getting its tail stepped on.
Chen Mo took a half-step back.
"Silence means consent."
A strand of web snapped onto the rear spoiler.
His entire body was yanked into the air. He flipped over, using both hands and feet to scramble onto the roof, clinging to it like a barnacle on the back of a whale.
The car shot forward.
The wind blasted into his mouth like someone shoving a leaf blower down his throat.
Chen Mo wanted to say something--maybe criticize the car's suspension system or ask Batman what octane fuel he usually used. But the moment he opened his mouth, the wind whipped his lips so hard they flapped painfully against his teeth.
He buried his face behind his arms and started doing the math in his head.
At current gas prices, how much does this car burn per kilometer?
Conservatively speaking, enough to feed me for three days.
That's four days now.
The traffic light we just blew past? Another three days.
Great, a whole week is gone.
Is this what the world of the rich is like?
Even the exhaust fumes smell like burning greenbacks.
Alright, he was starting to feel a little resentful of the wealthy.
Fierce gunfire echoed ahead.
Bullets rained down on the car body, clinking and clattering like heavy rainfall.
Chen Mo ducked his neck, feeling like an ant riding on a tin can while someone pounded on the outside with a spoon.
Batman leapt right out of the speeding vehicle.
To be precise, the door flew open, a dark shadow launched from the driver's seat, executed a flawless tactical roll in mid-air, and leveled three thugs the moment his feet hit the pavement.
Every punch connected solidly. His movements were so clean they looked measured with a ruler.
Yep, incredibly badass and a total show-off.
It seemed there wasn't a major supervillain waiting for the little Spider to team up with the Bat to defeat.
There were only small-time thugs here.
Chen Mo jumped down from the roof and landed next to a brick wall that had partially collapsed.
A man was pinned under the rubble at the corner, his thigh trapped beneath a precast concrete slab, howling in the crude, vulgar slang native to Gotham.
Chen Mo lifted the half-ton slab with one hand, while his other hand shot out a web, wrapping it a few times around the man's wound and tying it off.
"Don't move. This stuff works better than a bandage, trust me, I have practical experience."
The man sucked in a breath of cold air from the pain.
"Though when you rip it off, it might give you a permanent hair removal treatment in the process."
The man rolled his eyes and fainted.
Chen Mo dragged him to a safe zone and continued to weave through the battlefield.
He moved casualties, stopped bleeding, and used his webbing to stick smoking explosives into deserted corners. His movements were crisp and efficient, as if he had done this ten thousand times before.
Not far away, Batman slammed a burly man who was attempting a flank maneuver onto the ground. The heavy thud of the man's back hitting the pavement made Chen Mo wince from twenty meters away.
Batman looked up.
Chen Mo was just hoisting an unconscious civilian onto his shoulders.
The two locked eyes through the chaotic firelight for a brief second.
Neither spoke.
The Bat didn't speak because he hated talking.
The Spider didn't speak because he thought the guy across from him looked cool being so cold, so he wanted to act cold too and strike a cool pose.
Batman turned, his cape cutting a sharp arc through the air as he charged toward the next hot zone.
Chen Mo shot out a web line, swinging himself behind a barricade on the opposite side, scooping up a dazed old man along the way.
An unspoken understanding was formed just like that.
No tactical hand gestures, no comm channels, no "three o'clock high" or "I'll cut off their rear."
Batman broke things; Chen Mo cleared the people. Batman created a mess; Chen Mo handled the cleanup.
One was responsible for the violence, the other for the aftermath. Neither consulted the other, yet neither got in the other's way.
Chen Mo dragged out three more casualties and took a moment to glance over at Batman.
Batman was hauling a guy in a sharp suit up toward a second-floor balcony.
The man's arms and legs flailed wildly, his tie was twisted all the way to the back of his head, and he mumbled incoherently.
With one hand, Batman dangled him over the balcony railing, half the man's body suspended in mid-air.
Chen Mo hung upside down from the ceiling, lowering himself slowly until he was at eye level with the guy.
"Hey."
The man let out a shriek.
"Don't be so tense," Chen Mo swayed slightly like a human pendulum. "Look, you have two choices. One, stay at this altitude and enjoy Gotham's night view. Two, chat with us about what your boss has been up to lately."
As he spoke, he used his webbing to snag a scattered ammunition magazine from the ground, casually flicking it toward Batman in the distance, who looked like he might be short on ammo--even though he absolutely didn't need it.
Batman caught the magazine, didn't look at it, and threw it aside.
Fine, don't need it then.
"For instance," Chen Mo leaned closer to the poor bastard, "is Roman planning some big party? A 'Gotham Masked Masquerade' or something? I take it he didn't invite you to host?"
The minor thug looked at Chen Mo, then looked back at the straight, seven-to-eight-meter drop right beneath him. His lips began to tremble.
Batman's arm remained rock-solid.
"I'll talk! I'll talk!"
The collar around the thug's neck tightened a bit more.
"The old industrial district! The abandoned mask factory! Roman stockpiled a cache of weapons, they're blowing up Wayne Tower tomorrow night! I swear I'm telling the truth! I saw them packing at least thirty rockets into crates with my own eyes that day, I was the one logging them! Warehouse Four! Warehouse Four! Seriously!"
Chen Mo let out a whistle.
"See, isn't this much better? Saves time and effort, everyone's happy. Remember to buy some throat lozenges when you go back, your voice is completely cracked."
Batman violently threw the man back onto the balcony. The minor thug hit the ground like a sack of potatoes, curling into a ball and shivering uncontrollably.
Batman turned and walked away.
Chen Mo flipped down from the ceiling and quickly caught up with him.
"So."
Batman didn't stop.
"Going together?"
Batman kept walking.
"The old industrial district, the mask factory, Warehouse Four. That's no small piece of intel, right?"
Batman stopped.
Thinking the man was about to say something, Chen Mo quickly rubbed his hands together.
Batman spoke, his voice dropping very low: "Clean up here."
"What?"
"The police arrive in three minutes."
"Hold on," Chen Mo pointed at his own chest. "You're telling me to stay behind and clean up your battlefield?"
Batman had already taken three steps forward.
"You possess excellent restraint."
"What kind of garbage reason is that? Is that even the point?"
Batman didn't say another word.
He raised his hand and pressed a remote control on his gauntlet. The Batmobile parked at the corner let out a low, rumbling startup sound, like an awakened iron beast.
Chen Mo stood frozen in place, watching that pitch-black silhouette merge into the night.
Then he looked at the Batmobile, then at Batman.
Then back at the Batmobile.
"Must be nice having great gear," Chen Mo gritted his teeth in annoyance. "Don't use your GPS if you're so tough."
No one responded. Only the streetlights buzzed overhead.
Chen Mo took a deep breath and turned to face the absolute mess covering the ground.
Dozens of mobsters lay scattered across the ruins. Some were groaning, some were cursing, and one was spitting at a fellow thug next to him.
After shooting a web to seal the mouth of the guy spitting on his partner, Chen Mo got to work.
One punch per person, he knocked out the ones who were still shouting profanities. Then, using his webbing, he tied everyone up in a neat row, perfectly organized like canned goods on a supermarket shelf.
To ensure they wouldn't burden Commissioner Gordon's ears when they woke up, Chen Mo stuffed a wad of webbing into each of their mouths.
A large thug who hadn't completely passed out struggled to spit it out.
"Don't bother," Chen Mo crouched in front of him. "I tweaked the formula--extra sticky edition. It'll dissolve on its own in about two hours. Of course, it might take three, depending mostly on the humidity."
Chen Mo stood up, clapped the dust off his hands, and surveyed his masterpiece.
Dozens of burly men were bound tight, their toes hovering off the ground, hanging in a neat row beneath the sign of a cafe's exterior wall.
From a distance, they looked like a row of white cocoons.
Up close, it looked like performance art.
Chen Mo pulled a crumpled sticky note from his pocket, leaned against the wall to scribble a few lines, and slapped it onto the most prominent spot.
On it was a crudely drawn, matchbox-sized Batmobile with a round, chubby little spider riding on the roof, smiling with a full row of teeth. Next to it was a line of text:
"No need to thank me, just call me the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. The gentleman who never lets anyone ride shotgun has already left. I'm taking his share of the credit too."
The sound of sirens echoed in the distance.
Chen Mo shot out a strand of web and swung himself onto the rooftop across the street.
Crouching at the edge of the terrace, he watched Commissioner Gordon step out of a police car with a squad of officers. The commissioner froze for a full two seconds, took off his glasses to wipe them, put them back on, and finally let out a heavy sigh--a sigh Chen Mo could hear from half a block away.
Chen Mo chuckled, slapped the dust off his pants, and turned to vanish into the night.
He was already writing the headline for tomorrow's report in his head.
Shocking! Why is Batman Driving Alone at Night? Empty Passenger Seat Suspected to be Due to Rising Gas Prices.
The roof of that car was so hard, he wasn't riding on it next time.
Not even if it killed him.
Chen Mo rubbed his calves, which were still trembling slightly, and swung toward the next rooftop.
What a joke! Just because you tell me not to go means I won't?