Chapitre 9: Chapter 9: Gotham’s Prince have returned.
The night air over Gotham was heavy with the scent of rain, the clouds above swollen and brooding, ready to unleash their fury on the already soaked streets. Although crime rate has gone down due to Viktor, but this is Gotham where crime never ends, so his here prowling the night patrolling, earning those fame points he desperately needed, clad in his menacing Spider-Man guise, perched on the edge of a towering crane at the docks, looking out over the labyrinthine network of warehouses and shipping containers below. His mask's compound eyes glowed faintly in the darkness, reflecting the scattered lights from the distant ships and the few flickering lamps that lined the docks. It was quiet tonight, too quiet, though he could feel the tension in the air—something was about to break.
Then, J.A.R.V.I.S.'s voice cut through the silence.
"Sir, I have just received an update: Bruce Wayne has entered Gotham and is currently en route to Wayne Manor."
Viktor responded with a glint of interest. "So Gotham's Prince is back, that reminds me. How are the acquisitions of Wayne Enterprises' shares progressing?"
J.A.R.V.I.S. replied promptly, "We're encountering some difficulties, sir. Even with system manipulation and siphoning funds from unmarked accounts all over the world, I've only managed to secure around 2%. But once the company has gone public the rate would definitely increase more."
Viktor, hearing this, was unsurprised. Acquiring shares in Wayne Enterprises had only become possible due to some shares being sold because Bruce Wayne was declared dead by Richard Earle, a greedy man who sought the fortune of the Wayne Family, who's doing his best to have Wayne Enterprises, Inc. go public. He knew it was a stroke of fortune to have obtained even that much. "Keep at it, J.A.R.V.I.S.," Viktor said calmly. "It won't be long before the company go public due to a certain man, once it does we can convert those shares into legal assets."
"Understood, sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. replied. "Should I proceed with replacing the mansion's security system with the new Nuero Bots?" Nuero bots, are newly made robots drones controlled by J.A.R.V.I.S. They were made with the combination of Ultron Drones and Doom Bots with bits of technology from the Chiatuari and Dark Elf. Covered in synthetic rubber skin the only way to spot them is their rigid movements and glowing red eyes which are covered by Sunglasses.
"Sure, go ahead", Viktor's lips curled into a smile beneath his mask. His breath escaped in a short chuckle, a mixture of amusement and anticipation. "So, it begins," he whispered to himself, his voice low, barely audible in the wind. "The Bat will rise, and with him, Gotham will become a battlefield for the criminally insane and monsters." His eyes flickered with the faint glow of his suit's HUD as J.A.R.V.I.S. continued feeding him information. "First Wayne, then the others will follow... heroes, villains... the world is about to get a whole lot more interesting."
But tonight, his attention was on something more immediate. Down below, hidden in the shadows between the rusting shipping containers and grimy warehouses, a new power struggle was brewing. The Falcone crime family had seized control of the docks, encroaching on Golden Dragon territory, and the air buzzed with danger. Viktor's sensors picked up heat signatures of armed men, mercenaries and thugs are preparing for what was clearly a human trafficking deal. One of Falcone's Thug was making a bold move, and Viktor had no intention of letting it stand.
He activated his web shooters, swinging silently down toward the scene.
---
On the ground, the docks were a bleak, desolate expanse. Rows of shipping containers stood like silent sentinels, their towering forms casting long, deep shadows. The air smelled of saltwater, oil, and something far more sinister. Lurking in the dim light were Falcone's men, moving with a brutal efficiency as they corralled a group of terrified captives into a truck. Women and children, their eyes wide with fear, were shoved forward by the barrel of a gun, their pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears.
Falcone's thugs were clad in dark, utilitarian clothing, leather jackets, cargo pants, and boots meant for stomping. Tattoos peeked out from under their sleeves and necklines, symbols of loyalty to the criminal underworld. One of the men, a tall, broad-shouldered enforcer with a scar running down the side of his face, barked orders to the others, his voice harsh and unforgiving. His name was Vito, a lieutenant in Falcone's crew, and he was the one running the operation tonight.
"Get 'em in the truck and let's move! We ain't got all night!" Vito's voice echoed through the docks, the harsh sound of his commands punctuated by the metallic clank of the truck's door slamming shut.
Hidden in the shadows, Spider-Man watched, his dark eyes gleaming. His armored suit absorbed the faint light, making him almost invisible, a phantom lurking in the darkness. He could hear the muffled cries of the captives and the crude laughter of the thugs.
But then, something else caught his attention.
Further down the docks, a squad of Gotham PD officers had arrived, a rare sight in these parts of the city. These weren't the corrupt, bought-off cops that littered Gotham's ranks; these men looked determined, ready for a fight. They moved cautiously, weapons drawn, sticking to the shadows as they approached the deal. One of the officers, a man in his late 30s named Officer Darryl Kent, whispered to his partner, a younger cop named Johnny Martinez.
"This is big, man," Kent muttered, sweat beading on his brow. He had short-cropped hair and a thick, muscular frame, wearing the standard GCPD uniform, bulletproof vest snug over his chest, his face etched with both fear and resolve. His hand gripped the Glock 22 in his holster tightly.
Martinez, his rookie partner, nodded, his dark hair slicked back, but his hands trembled slightly on his service weapon. He was new to the force, eager but nervous, his uniform still crisp, the badge on his chest gleaming under the flickering dock lights.
"You think we'll see him tonight?" Martinez asked, his voice a hushed whisper, the question hanging in the air like a bad omen.
Kent smirked, glancing at the sky. "Who? The Spider? Maybe. If we're lucky, he'll show up before things get ugly."
At that moment, gunfire erupted, a hail of bullets whizzing past them from the direction of Falcone's men. Kent cursed under his breath as he ducked behind a container, pulling Martinez with him. "Damn it! They spotted us!"
The thugs had opened fire, pinning down the officers in a storm of lead. Bullets ricocheted off the metal containers, sparking bright in the darkness. The officers returned fire, but they were outnumbered, and their cover was rapidly being shredded by the heavy gunfire. One of the officers, a veteran named Sam Black, took a bullet to the leg and fell with a grunt, blood staining the ground beneath him.
It was chaos.
But then, from the shadows, he appeared.
Spider-Man swooped in, a blur under the moonlight. His mechanical spider legs extended from his back, fanning out like the wings of a demon. Red energy pulsed through the veins of his suit, casting an eerie glow in the darkness as an energy shield projected from the legs. He landed gracefully between the cops and the hail of gunfire, the shield absorbing the bullets with ease. The shots slammed into his armor and energy shields, bouncing off harmlessly, each impact echoing with a deep, resonant thud.
Officer Kent looked up in awe as the mechanical spider legs shielded them. "Holy—"
"Stay down!" Spider-Man's voice was cold, authoritative. His compound eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation. His AI-enhanced awareness pinpointed every thug, every threat.
And then, without warning, he moved.
With a flick of his wrist, Spider-Man shot webs at two of the gunmen perched on top of the containers. The webs hit their marks, yanking them down with a sickening thud. He spun mid-air, his mechanical spider-legs retracting as he somersaulted toward the next group of thugs, his black-and-white armored suit flashing in the dim light.
The thugs opened fire, but Spider-Man was faster. He moved with inhuman speed, dodging bullets, his body twisting and turning in ways that seemed impossible. The jagged red spider symbols on his suit glowed with an ominous light as he dispatched the thugs one by one. The mechanical spider legs unfold from his back, impaling a thug's rifle and snapping it like a twig. Another leg lashed out, sweeping a thug off his feet before slamming him into a container with bone-crushing force.
"Did you see that?!" Martinez shouted, ducking behind Kent. "That... that was insane!"
Kent nodded, his eyes wide with disbelief. "Yeah, man... I saw. Those legs... those freakin' spider legs they look alive."
Spider-Man finished off the last of the thugs, smashing the butt of a gun into the face of a thug trying to reload. With the thugs disarmed and unconscious, he turned his attention back to the police officers. The fallen officer, Martinez, was lying on the ground, bleeding from his leg. Without hesitation, Spider-Man knelt beside him.
"You'll live," he said, his voice flat as he sprayed a web over the wound, applying pressure and sealing it. "Get him to a hospital."
Kent nodded, still in shock, as he grabbed his radio. "Officer down! We need medics at the docks!"
Spider-Man stood, as he scanned the docks, ensuring no threats remained. He nodded once to the officers, then shot a web toward the top of a nearby crane, disappearing into the night as swiftly as he had arrived.
The cops were left in stunned silence for a moment, the chaos of the docks fading into a surreal calm. Even though they knew a SWAT team had been dispatched sometime ago with orders to hunt down Spider-Man, they couldn't help but feel relieved that he didn't seem to care. Despite everything, he still stepped in to help them when they needed it most.
Martinez shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe that just happened. Did you see how the bullets bounced off him? Like they were nothing."
Kent exhaled slowly, holstering his gun. "Yeah, I saw. That suit... it's like something out of a sci-fi movie. Guy's bulletproof, got mechanical legs, laser beams, the whole damn arsenal."
Martinez scratched his head. "You think those rumors are true? The ones about him being some kind of angel of vengeance or something?"
Kent snorted, shaking his head. "Angel of vengeance, pfff please. Nah, man. More like an alien. Probably sent here from another planet or something, like Goku from that Dragon Ball Z show."
Martinez laughed nervously. "Yeah, maybe. Whatever he is... we're lucky he's on our side."
They both stared out into the night, the distant sirens of incoming backup echoing through the darkened docks. The Spider-Man had come and gone like a storm, leaving behind only chaos and silence.
But in Gotham, the storm had only just begun.
The courthouse stood in the center of Gotham's downtown, its aging façade draped in shadow under the cloudy evening sky. The atmosphere outside was thick with tension as the press gathered like a swarm, anticipating Joe Chill's release. Beyond the main entrance, Bruce Wayne and Rachel Dawes walked quietly toward the parking lot, their faces marked with weariness and frustration after the intense courtroom session.
Bruce looks like a striking young man, he looks like a young Ben Affleck mix with Christian Bale, dark brown hair which is almost black and brown eyes and beside her is a very lovely lady who looks like a young Katy Holmes.
The cold air stung as they stepped outside, the wind carrying the distant sounds of city life: sirens, honking horns, and the murmur of people living in the depths of Gotham's chaos.
Standing off to the side, away from the flashing cameras and shouting reporters, was Viktor Forst. In the flesh, his blonde hair caught the faint glow of the sun, as his piercing blue eyes observed the unfolding events with keen interest. He was dressed sharply in a tailored beige suit, the crispness of the fabric contrasting with the darkness around him. He watched as Bruce and Rachel exchanged words, though they were too far to hear. His expression remained neutral, though behind his eyes was a glint of calculation, observing them quietly.
Two men stood beside Viktor, their dark suits and broad frames marking them as bodyguards, in truth their the upgraded Neuro Bots, mixing two technology together covered in synthetic rubber skin, being controlled by J.A.R.V.I.S., Both were silent, their eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of danger. The scene felt tense, as if the very air crackled with anticipation. Viktor's attention, however, remained on Bruce, intrigued by the young billionaire's reaction to Chill's release. Bruce's movements were deliberate, but Viktor could see the storm brewing inside him. A conflict that mirrored Gotham's own turmoil.
As Bruce and Rachel were talking about Joe's release, a blonde reporter surged forward, her voice cutting through the cacophony of noise. "Falcone says hi!" The shot rang out, piercing the air, and Joe Chill crumpled to the ground. The scene erupted into chaos as police wrestled the woman to the ground, cameras flashed, and the crowd screamed and scattered. Bruce stood frozen, staring at the body of the man who had haunted his nightmares, and for a moment, everything seemed to move in slow motion.
Viktor remained still, his gaze sharp and unwavering. His bodyguards, reacting to the gunshot, moved slightly forward, but Viktor raised a hand, signaling them to remain in place. He was here not to get involve, but to watch.
As the frenzy continued, a local reporter spotted Viktor standing quietly on the sidelines. Recognizing him, the reporter hurried over, camera crew in tow. "Mr. Forst, can we get a moment of your time?" The reporter's face was flushed from the excitement of the scene, his voice hurried yet eager.
Viktor turned, his expression shifting into one of polite curiosity. He offered a slight nod, his posture relaxed yet authoritative. "Aren't you more interested to what just happened?" he said smoothly, his voice calm amid the chaos. "What would you like to discuss?"
The reporter, clearly thrilled to have caught Viktor in such a moment, wasted no time. "It might sound cold but a lot of reporter are already covering that, but what do you make of today's events? Joe Chill's release... and now this?" The reporter gestured toward the scene, where police were trying to restore order.
Viktor took a brief glance toward Chill's body, then back at the reporter. "It's unfortunate, really," he began, his tone measured, almost clinical. "The system is flawed, and Gotham is a city that often pays the price for its failures. This... is just another consequence."
As Viktor spoke, Bruce noticed him from across the parking lot. His brow furrowed as he watched the interview unfold. "Who is that?" he asked, his voice low, almost to himself.
Rachel, standing beside him, glanced in the direction Bruce was looking. "That's Viktor Forst," she said quietly. "He's the newest multi-millionaire in Gotham, runs a tech empire. People talk about him a lot these days."
Bruce hearing this says, "I've been really gone for a long time huh? What else is new?"
Well there's been talk, rumors, about a vigilante. They call him Spider-Man." Rachel replied.
"Spider-Man?" Bruce asked, his tone skeptical.
"Yeah," Rachel confirmed. "No one knows much about him, but Gotham's streets have been buzzing. People say he's... different. Some think he's here to help, others aren't so sure."
Bruce's gaze lingered on Viktor, who continued speaking calmly with the reporter. There was something about him, something off, almost calculating, as if every move was premeditated, every word carefully chosen also the way he moves that is not a movement of someone who runs a tech company. He can fight he can feel it, his sense honed during his time with the Leage of Shadows and he knew the man is dangerous. As Rachel started the car, Bruce remained silent, lost in thought.
"I better keep an eye on him," Bruce muttered under his breath as they drove away, his mind already spinning with questions about the mysterious figure watching from the shadows.
Sometime later, Bruce Wayne stood in the sleek, modern office of Lucius Fox at Wayne Enterprises, the soft hum of technology filling the air. The room was lined with cutting-edge prototypes and high-tech gadgets, each more advanced than the last, but Bruce's eyes were focused on one thing an armored like bodysuit. Its design was simple, yet formidable, with armored plating and a streamlined form. The material had a grayish finish, something he could definitely use.
Lucius Fox, a distinguished man with salt-and-pepper hair and a calm, confident demeanor, stood beside him. He wore a tailored grey suit, with his trademark glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. He studied Bruce, knowing the young Wayne wasn't just here for idle curiosity.
"This suit," Lucius began, gesturing toward the armor, "was originally designed for advanced infantry. It's got a reinforced Nomex weave, heat resistance, tear resistant. Lightweight, but tough. Cost about three hundred grand per unit."
Bruce ran a hand over the smooth, tactical suit. "Seems unwise for the military to pass on."
Lucius smiled knowingly. "They think that giving a soldier 300k equipment is too expensive, even with their life on the line."
Bruce knowing about how the military treated their soldiers didn't comment about it but he ask some more question with regards to it. "And the protection?"
"It'll stop a knife. Maybe even small arms fire, depending on the range."
Bruce nodded appreciatively. "I'll take it."
Lucius Fox curious ask, "What will you use it for?"
Bruce smiled and said, "for Spelunking"
Lucius chuckled. "Cave exploration? Well Sir, I'll have it sent down to the usual location."
As they finished, Lucius motioned for Bruce to follow him further into the development area. They walked through the lab, past engineers working on prototypes, until they arrived at a massive, camouflaged vehicle, half-hidden under a tarp. Lucius pulled the cover off, revealing the Tumbler. An all-terrain behemoth designed for military operations.
"Now, this is something I'm really proud of," Lucius said, eyes gleaming. "Bridging vehicle. Built to jump over rivers, withstand rocket fire, and go about 120 miles per hour on a straightaway."
Bruce walked around the vehicle, taking in its jagged, tank-like design. It was black, bulky, and intimidating, yet nimble-looking for something so massive.
"And this is just sitting down here in Applied Sciences Department?" Bruce asked, a hint of disbelief in his voice.
Lucius shrugged. "Didn't fit the Army's idea of 'practical.' But I thought it might be your style."
Bruce's mind raced, envisioning the streets of Gotham, the tight alleys, the narrow roads. He could see the Tumbler roaring down them, evading cops, smashing through barriers.
"Does it comes in black?" Bruce said with a quiet determination.
---
Back at Wayne Manor, the air was cool and damp as Bruce descended into the depths of the cave beneath the estate. His flashlight beam cut through the darkness, illuminating the jagged rock formations and the constant trickle of water that echoed off the cave walls. Alfred Pennyworth followed closely behind, his steps measured, his expression dubious. He wore his usual dark suit and tie, though it was ill-suited for the subterranean landscape.
"Not exactly the most inviting of places, Master Wayne," Alfred remarked, his voice laced with sarcasm.
Bruce ignored the comment, too focused on the work ahead. He had set up a rudimentary workshop, tables strewn with tools, a small forge for crafting, and a prototype cowl resting on a stand. The cowl itself is a black mask meant to shield his identity, thought it was still in its early stages, and its flimsy design showed. Bruce held it in his hands, testing its flexibility, feeling the material give too easily.
Alfred stood with his arms crossed, watching Bruce's struggle with the mask. "If you're going to be running around Gotham in this," he said, gesturing to the cowl, "it's going to need to be a bit more durable."
Bruce frowned, turning the mask over in his hands. "It's a prototype. I'm still working on it."
Alfred sighed, then reached over and gave the mask a solid slap, causing it to crack and crumble in Bruce's hands. He raised an eyebrow at Bruce's stunned expression.
"See? Too brittle," Alfred said matter-of-factly. "You might want to just order it, I heard China make better products done this."
Bruce glared at him, but deep down he knew Alfred was right. He tossed the ruined cowl aside and turned toward the forge, where he had been shaping pieces of metal for another project. Grabbing a heated sheet, he began hammering it into shape, each strike deliberate, as if pouring his frustration into the metal. The outline of a bat slowly emerged, sharp edges and pointed wings. It was meant to be a throwing weapon, small, silent and deadly.
Alfred watched him work with a curious gaze. "A bat, sir?" he asked, his tone full of amusement. "Rather underwhelming, isn't it?"
Bruce paused for a moment, wiping sweat from his brow. "Bats frighten me when I was a kid," he admitted, his voice steady. "It's time Gotham criminals shared my dread." He glanced at Alfred, then added with a smirk, "And it seems some people in Gotham are afraid of spiders, too."
Alfred raised an eyebrow, clearly understanding the veiled reference to the new vigilante called Spider-Man that had been making waves in Gotham's underworld. "Afraid of spiders, are they?" he mused, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, to be fair Master Bruce, spiders are more frightening than Bats, especially one that flies."
Bruce chuckled, but his mind was focused. He knew what he had to do. With the suit, the weapons, the cave, and the Tumbler, he was getting closer to becoming what Gotham needed. A symbol of fear, one that could fight the darkness and corruption swallowing his city whole.
Alfred, ever the voice of reason, sighed. "Just promise me one thing, Master Wayne, if you're going to be parading around like a giant bat, try not to break anything else too valuable."
Bruce shot him a glance. "Like what?"
Alfred smiled, a mischievous yet unmistakable concerned twinkle in his eye. "Yourself, sir."
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone