Chen Mo tapped the ground with his toes, launching himself three meters into the air and drawing an arc through the sky. Just as one of Falcone's gunmen turned his weapon, webbing already sealed the safety switch.
"This thing has a nasty recoil--bad for your shoulders. Let me hold onto it for you."
With a flick of his wrist, the submachine gun flew up to the ceiling, joining the previous two as neighbors.
Batman launched a head-on assault.
He drove a fist into the ballistic vest of the nearest gunman. The force penetrated the armor, causing the man to collapse like a puppet with its strings cut, his scream catching in his throat.
Chen Mo hung upside down from the second-floor railing, watching Batman lean sideways to avoid a rifle butt thrusting from the right, then grab his opponent's wrist and twist it outward.
Crack. Dislocated joint.
"Tsk, tsk. Looks painful just watching. Bats, are you sure you're a vigilante and not an orthopedic surgeon? I think you could open a bone-setting clinic. The side income would probably be pretty good."
He shot two strands of webbing, catching the rifle barrels of the remaining shooters on the second floor, and yanked upward.
The bullets all riddled the ceiling chandelier, sending sparks flying everywhere. Flipping down to the floor, he kicked off the side of a shelf, using the counterforce to slide sideways. At the same time, he wrapped webbing around a third gunman's ankle, using the momentum to fling the man into the air, leaving him dangling and swinging from a crossbeam.
"Hold on tight! The trapeze show is free tonight. Welcome back next time, though I hope there won't be a next time."
A bald, burly man from Maroni's crew turned the corner behind the stairwell, holding a sawed-off shotgun and pulling the trigger at Batman's back.
Chen Mo's Spider-Sense flared instantly.
Moving faster than the bald man could pull the trigger, a strand of webbing snagged the shotgun barrel, violently jerking it to the left the exact moment the bullet left the chamber.
The steel pellets peppered an empty shelf, blasting the wood into a hazy cloud of white splinters.
Before the bald brute could even react, Batman was already at his flank.
Pressing a hand onto the man's shoulder and driving a knee into his lower back, Batman slammed him face-first onto the ground.
Chen Mo poked his head down, hanging upside down from the ceiling. "Your shooting isn't bad, but you picked the wrong target. Try stationary targets next time; moving targets waste too many bullets. Prices in Gotham went up again recently. Do you have any idea how much a shotgun shell costs? Or does your gang reimburse you for ammo? Though I heard they don't even reimburse the military over there, sigh."
The remaining few gunmen from Falcone's side watched Maroni's men get handled like little chicks by these two harbingers of doom, and the guns in their hands suddenly felt exceptionally heavy.
They exchanged silent glances, calculating escape routes and the disparity in firepower.
A young gunman had just taken half a step back when Chen Mo dropped down right in front of him, sealing his gun barrel with webbing and sticking his hand and gun together in the process.
"Don't be nervous, I won't hit your face. The streetlights are fully booked tonight, so just stay here nicely and wait for the police uncles to come inspect you."
He looked up, scanning the others, and tilted his head. The few gunmen stood in silence for a moment, then placed their weapons on the floor. They didn't speak, nor did they raise their hands.
Just as Chen Mo was about to straighten up, the corner of his eye caught a faint glint of light flashing through a shattered second-floor window.
The reflection of a scope, gone in an instant.
Batman stepped out from the shadows of the stairs, a faint patch of dark red seeping through the bandage on his left shoulder.
The roar of engines echoed from outside; the main force of the False Face Society had arrived. Several modified heavy pickup trucks rammed through a corner of the container blockade, and the first wave of riders roared into the dock area.
Batman vaulted onto a high platform and propped up a confiscated light machine gun. Chen Mo's eyelids jumped.
"Wow, Bats, doesn't this count as a foul? What happened to the 'no killing' rule?"
"Popping tires."
The gunfire erupted, every single round biting precisely into the front rims of the motorcycles. The riders tumbled along with their bikes, wiping out spectacularly, but indeed, no one died.
Moving rapidly across the flank, Chen Mo's hands kept spewing webbing like a loom, completely sealing off all routes for anyone trying to flank them from the side.
"The speed I'm weaving nets could rival a spider demon. Any more of them and I'll have to consider charging a netting fee. The raw web fluid costs money too... talking about this actually makes me a bit hungry."
Before those wearing black masks could even get close to the warehouse doors, they were stuck to the walls, unable to move.
Sniper fire rang out from a crane high up on the docks. The Penguin's sniper opened fire on the False Face Society, hitting the lead rider's shoulder blade and sending him falling from his bike to roll a dozen times on the spot.
Chen Mo crouched on top of a shipping container, watching the False Face Society fall into utter chaos as their commander signaled a retreat. The motorcycles scattered from the perimeter of the docks like a receding tide.
"Attacked from both sides, this business is impossible to run. But that's fine too, saves me from having to patch up that row of nets on the left."
Inside the warehouse, nothing remained but a floor covered in shell casings and a few unlucky bastards who were still groaning.
Falcone's men were tied to the stair railing with webbing, lined up neatly.
Maroni's bald brute was handcuffed to a shelf pillar by Batman, his eyes unfocused, still muttering under his breath but already lacking the strength to struggle.
Chen Mo crouched on the edge of a collapsed shipping container, pulling a bandage out of his pocket to wrap around his wrist.
His wrist joints felt sore and swollen; he had sprayed webbing a bit too aggressively just now.
He looked up to see Batman walking out of the warehouse. "Where to next? You don't look like someone who wants to call it a night and go home!"
Ignoring him, Batman pressed a button on his utility belt. A low engine roar, resembling the growl of a wild beast, echoed from the end of the street. The Batmobile sliced through the heavy fog, stopping steadily right in front of them.
Chen Mo stood up and stretched his shoulders. Once an acquaintance, twice an expert--he flipped himself over and started climbing onto the roof of the car.
"Could you drive just a little bit slower this time?"
Finding a groove to lie down in, Chen Mo continued his non-stop chatter while adjusting his mask.
"When I'm lying on your roof, the wind is really strong. It dries out my face."
"Spider-Man."
Batman's voice came from behind.
Chen Mo's movements froze mid-air. He turned his head and pointed at the tip of his own nose.
"Get down."
Chen Mo let go of the roof's edge and stood beside the car door, tilting his head at Batman.
"You want me to swing over myself? Bats, I don't know the way. You might not believe me, but a big reason I don't go to the city center is actually because I get a bit lost."
He paused, looking at Batman's profile. "What's the deal, you want to go over all by yourself? And then get beaten down halfway through, so I can arrive fashionably late and save you again? I don't really mind, honestly. It's not like I'm the one getting beaten up and hurt anyway."
"..."