Chapitre 8: Chapter 8
Hours later, Private Eye crouched on a rooftop overlooking Gotham's warehouse district, his eyes scanning for any sign of suspicious activity. The night was quiet, almost too quiet.
Suddenly, his spider-sense tingled. In the distance, a faint orange glow began to illuminate the sky. Another fire.
Private Eye swung into action, using his web-shooters to traverse the cityscape with inhuman speed and agility. As he neared the burning warehouse, he caught sight of several figures fleeing the scene.
Landing silently behind them, Private Eye called out, "Gentlemen, leaving so soon? But the party's just getting started."
The men whirled around, eyes widening at the sight of the noir-inspired vigilante. One of them, clearly the leader, sneered. "Who the hell are you supposed to be?"
"I'm the one asking questions here," Private Eye replied, his voice low and menacing. "Like why you're so interested in burning down Gotham's warehouses."
The leader laughed. "Beat it, freak. This ain't your business."
"Oh, but it is," Private Eye said, stepping forward. "Everything in Gotham is my business."
What followed was a blur of motion. The men attacked en masse, but they were no match for Private Eye's enhanced abilities. He dodged punches with preternatural grace, his own strikes precise and devastating.
In less than a minute, all but the leader were groaning on the ground. Private Eye grabbed the man by his collar, lifting him effortlessly.
"Now, let's try this again. Who are you working for?"
The man's bravado crumbled. "Okay, okay! It's Rupert Thorne! He's buying up the land cheap after the fires. Says he's gonna 'revitalize' the district."
Private Eye's mind raced. Rupert Thorne, one of Gotham's most notorious crime bosses. This was bigger than he'd realized.
A sudden tingling at the base of his skull was all the warning he got. Private Eye leapt back just as a dark shape descended from above, landing between him and the arsonists.
Batman.
The Dark Knight's presence was overwhelming, his cape billowing in the heat from the nearby fire. He turned to Private Eye, his voice a low growl.
"I don't know who you are, but Gotham doesn't need another mask taking the law into their own hands."
Private Eye stood his ground. "With all due respect, Batman, I'm trying to help. These fires-"
"Are now a matter for the GCPD," Batman interrupted. "You're playing a dangerous game, kid. Vigilantism isn't a path you want to go down."
Before Private Eye could respond, the sound of approaching sirens filled the air. Batman turned to the captured arsonists. "We'll finish this discussion later. For now, I suggest you leave. Let the professionals handle this."
Private Eye clenched his fists, torn between the need to prove himself and the wisdom in Batman's words. He knew Batman was right, but the fire burning inside him wasn't just from the nearby blaze. It was a desire for justice, a need to make a difference in a city drowning in crime.
As Batman secured the criminals, Private Eye made one last statement. "This isn't over," he muttered, more to Batman rather than the criminals. He then reluctantly retreated to the rooftops. His mind was buzzing with conflicting emotions. On one hand, meeting Batman – Gotham's premier vigilante – was awe-inspiring. On the other, being dismissed as an amateur stung.
As he swung home through the pre-dawn light, Abel couldn't shake the feeling that his encounter with Batman was just the beginning. He had uncovered a major conspiracy, one that reached into the highest echelons of Gotham's underworld.
But now he faced a dilemma. Should he heed Batman's warning and step back? Or push forward, risking not only his own safety but potentially clashing with the Dark Knight himself?
As Abel slipped back into his bedroom, exhausted but wired, he knew one thing for certain: the balancing act of his double life had just become infinitely more complicated. And somewhere in Gotham, Rupert Thorne was plotting his next move.
The game was far from over. In fact, it was just beginning.
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The Batcave's ambient hum filled the air as Bruce Wayne, cowl pushed back, sat before the massive computer array. His fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up reports, witness statements, and grainy CCTV footage.
"Burning the midnight oil again, sir?" Alfred's voice echoed as he descended the stone steps, a tray of steaming coffee in hand.
Bruce grunted in acknowledgment, his eyes never leaving the screens. "There's a new vigilante in Gotham, Alfred. I need to know everything about him."
Alfred set the coffee down, peering at the displays. "Ah, the mysterious 'Private Eye' I've been hearing about on the news. Bit on the nose with the name, isn't he?"
"Maybe," Bruce murmured, "but there's more to him than just a flashy moniker."
The screens flickered with images of a figure in a long coat and wide-brimmed hat, face obscured by a mask. Witness reports scrolled by, each describing feats of incredible agility and strength.
"He's been busy," Bruce continued. "The Fredericks case, the homeless shelter incident, and now these warehouse fires. He's gathering evidence, exposing corruption... but he's also engaging in direct combat."
Alfred's brow furrowed. "Sounds rather familiar, doesn't it, sir?"
Bruce shot him a look. "The difference is, I've had years of training. He's is a kid, Alfred, I'm sure of it – he's operating without a safety net. He's going to get himself killed."
"Or someone else," a new voice chimed in. Dick Grayson, still in his Nightwing gear, approached the computer. "What do we know about him?"
Bruce leaned back, rubbing his temples. "Not enough. He appeared on the scene about two months ago. His costume suggests some sort of noir detective-themed influence, but his abilities... they're not normal."
"Meta-human?" Dick asked.
"Possibly. The reports describe enhanced strength, agility, and some kind of precognitive sense. He can also adhere to walls."
Dick whistled. "Sounds like a handful. What was he like when you met him?"
Bruce's expression darkened. "Cocky. Idealistic. Reminded me of someone."
Dick grinned. "I'm flattered."
"Don't be," Bruce growled. "He's dangerous. Not because he means to be, but because he doesn't understand the consequences of his actions."
Alfred cleared his throat. "If I may, Master Bruce, isn't that true of all young vigilantes when they start? Perhaps what this 'Private Eye' needs is guidance, not condemnation."
Bruce was silent for a moment, considering. "Maybe. But first, we need to know more. Who he is, where he came from, what his ultimate goals are."
He turned to Dick. "I want you to dig deeper. Use your contacts, see what the word on the street is about this guy. And Tim-" he activated the comms, "-I need you to analyze his movement patterns. See if you can predict where he might show up next."
"On it," Tim's voice crackled through the speakers.
Bruce stood, his imposing figure casting a long shadow. "In the meantime, I'll be paying a visit to our friend Rupert Thorne. If Private Eye's information is correct, Thorne's behind these warehouse fires. And I intend to find out why."
As Bruce pulled on his cowl, Alfred spoke up. "And what of Private Eye himself, sir? What will you do when you inevitably cross paths again?"
Batman paused, his back to the others. "That depends on him, Alfred. If he can be reasoned with, guided... then maybe he has a place in this fight. But if not..." He let the implication hang in the air.
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Dick said softly.
Batman nodded once, then strode towards the Batmobile. As the engine roared to life, his mind was already racing, analyzing every angle of this new development in Gotham's never-ending war on crime.
Private Eye was an unknown variable in an already chaotic equation. And if there was one thing Batman couldn't abide, it was unknowns in his city.
As the Batmobile tore out of the cave, one thing was certain: the next encounter between the Dark Knight and Gotham's newest vigilante would be pivotal. For both of them.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone