บท 273: I'll Handle This
"Gentlemen."
The early morning light pierced through the thin curtains, casting a warm glow on the bed where Charlie Cooper lay, tangled in the comforter, his face half-buried in the pillow. He squinted, blinking against the brightness, and groaned as he saw the familiar holographic face of Friday hovering nearby with her usual faint smile.
"Friday," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "What time is it?"
"Seven-thirty sharp," she replied, her voice crisp yet cheerful.
Charlie pushed himself up, yawning as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. "And, remind me—how late did I crash last night?"
"Four a.m., sir. Three and a half hours of sleep," she answered, a playful glint in her eyes. "As per your request."
Charlie chuckled, still groggy but faintly amused. He had nearly forgotten that he'd asked her to track his sleeping patterns down to the minute, hoping to shave off time to use elsewhere. After months of intense training, he'd pushed his body to the point where he could function on just a few hours of sleep, and Friday knew just how to gauge his limits. Her calculations gave him just the right amount of time to recharge, leaving him ready to go with little more than a few hours of rest.
By now, sleeping three or four hours a night felt surprisingly normal. The conditioning he'd undergone made sure his body adapted quickly to the short bursts of recovery, something he never would've believed possible a year ago. He grinned slightly, thinking of the nights he'd spent gaming until dawn, only to wake up groggy and exhausted. Now, even the thought of a full eight hours seemed like a luxury.
With a quick shower and a change of clothes, he headed into the kitchen, where Friday had already pulled up his morning updates. Every morning, during his brief breakfast break, she would run him through the latest news, letting him sift through the carefully curated priorities. With his workload and responsibilities growing, he'd created a system with Friday's help to make sure only the most pressing issues demanded his immediate attention.
Today's updates were, as always, a mixed bag. He scrolled past a few humorous texts from his college group chat—the usual jokes about his "mysterious absence," with Walter Freeman leading the charge in suggesting he'd run off with a wealthy benefactor. Then there were reports from the hero network: details on the previous night's successful patrols, a couple of drone scans from Venderani's surveillance network, and—strangely enough—a promotion notice from his supervisor, Tara Lane.
Charlie paused, reading over the message twice. Somehow, he was up for a promotion. He hadn't actively pursued anything within the Ninth Special Service Division, figuring that his background work was far from glamorous or noteworthy. But evidently, his meticulous documentation and efficiency had caught the attention of his supervisors.
Curious—and slightly skeptical—Charlie dialed Tara's number. She picked up on the first ring, clearly amused.
"Charlie Cooper, the rising star himself," she greeted, her voice laced with humor. "Congratulations! I told you hard work doesn't go unnoticed."
Charlie raised an eyebrow. "Thanks, but… this feels a bit sudden. I mean, I'm only just getting started. I wouldn't want to take on a role I'm not ready for."
She laughed, clearly taken aback by his hesitance. "You're really going to turn this down? Look, promotions like this don't just appear out of thin air. It's a chance to grow—and if you pass it up now, it might not come around again."
Charlie thought it over, his mind racing. A part of him had to admit it was an impressive opportunity. But deep down, he felt a pull to stay focused on his own journey, building his skills independently. The idea of stepping into an official role, with its expectations and demands, seemed like it might steer him off course.
"I appreciate it, but I think I still have a lot to learn," he said finally. "I want to make sure I'm fully prepared before I take on anything that big."
There was a pause, and he could almost picture her shaking her head in disbelief. "You're one of a kind, Charlie. Just remember, you're turning down more than just a title. Opportunities like this don't always come back."
They ended the call with Tara still sounding amused but accepting his decision. Charlie stared at the screen for a moment, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction. He didn't need the added prestige—his goals felt more important than climbing a ladder.
"Friday," he said thoughtfully. "Let's lower the standards on our report submissions, just a bit. Oh, and if there are deadlines, let's leave things closer to the wire."
"Understood, sir," Friday replied, sounding vaguely amused.
As he continued with breakfast, Friday chimed in with the day's most urgent update: a high-priority message for Batman.
---
Thunder City, Tixon Prison
The sound of footsteps echoed through the high-security corridor as Detective Ivan Petrov led a group of tense guards, all of them armed and wary. Ivan, with a cigarette hanging from his lips, kept a calm demeanor, even as the guards exchanged glances and tightened their grips on their weapons. It wasn't every day that they had to deal with an escaped death-row prisoner, much less one as notorious as Aslan Khalifa.
A shadow detached itself from the wall nearby. The guards barely had time to react before realizing it was Batman, who had somehow entered without so much as a sound.
"Batman? But... how?" The head guard stared, his eyes wide with a mix of surprise and awe.
"It's all right," Ivan said, waving them down. "I called him in myself. Trust me, he's exactly who we need right now."
The guard's eyes darted between Ivan and Batman. "But... I thought Batman only operated in Riverton. This... this feels surreal."
Batman's expression didn't change. He looked at Ivan with a calm intensity, waiting for an explanation.
"Glad you came," Ivan said, pulling out a tablet and handing it to Batman. "I know it's a bit out of your usual territory, but we've got a situation on our hands. A real bad one."
Batman glanced at the tablet, watching as grainy surveillance footage played out. A man with wild eyes and a deranged smile, his face covered in blood, moved through a hallway littered with bodies. He recognized the signature darkness clinging to the man—the unmistakable aura of a Phantom.
"This man, Aslan Khalifa, was supposed to be executed today. He's a total psychopath, and now he's got one of those things—a Phantom. Nineteen people are dead, including our warden and the guard captain."
The guard next to Ivan nodded. "Khalifa didn't just kill them. He... mutilated them. Ripped the captain's spine clean out. It's... it's something I'll never forget."
Batman's jaw tightened slightly. He looked back at the footage, his eyes narrowing.
"Any leads?" he asked, his voice low.
Ivan shook his head. "Not yet. All we know is he's out there, and he's as dangerous as ever. The Phantom... it's like something is stirring up the worst of the worst, bringing these creatures into our world to cause chaos."
Batman straightened, his presence a still, unshakable force among the shaken guards. "Then he'll be stopped. I'll handle this."
Ivan nodded, feeling a strange comfort in Batman's resolve.
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