The leader and his thugs froze as a black-clad figure materialized in their path, his piercing gaze as cold as ice.
The narrow confines of the underground drain left little room to maneuver, so the two frontmost thugs immediately raised their FN P90s and opened fire, bullets hammering into Batman's chest.
But the rounds ricocheted harmlessly off his bulletproof armor, and he continued advancing, his slow, deliberate steps radiating menace.
The five criminals hesitated, fingers easing off their triggers as they watched him close the distance with unnerving calm. They couldn't afford mistakes, they had no idea what his Quirk was.
Thug 2 gritted his teeth. His acid Quirk would be disastrous here eating through the tunnel walls could flood the entire passage or collapse it entirely. He needed to get closer, but Batman's imposing presence kept him rooted in place.
That left the leader, Thug 1, and Thug 3 to face Batman head-on.
"We should've brought extra explosives," Thug 2 muttered under his breath.
"Told you so," Thug 4 shot back.
"Shut up and focus!" the leader snapped.
Thug 3 exchanged a glance with his companions before his body erupted in an ultra-dense exoskeleton, encasing him in jagged, bone-like armor. With a roar, he charged, aiming to test Batman's limits to find a weakness they could exploit.
His fist lashed out, a razor-sharp bone spur erupting mid-swing. Batman sidestepped with ease, dropping a small canister as he moved.
It didn't explode as expected just rolled harmlessly between them. The momentary distraction was enough. Batman's hand dipped into his utility belt, and a sharp *click* echoed through the tunnel.
As he stepped back, his fists rose in a boxer's stance. His gloves gleamed with advanced tech; Sonic Gauntlets, humming with barely restrained energy.
Thug 3 lunged again. Batman ducked beneath the swing and drove a vibrating fist into his elbow. The impact spiderwebbed cracks through the exoskeleton.
"What?!" Thug 3 staggered, his arm locking up from the damage. Desperate, he swung a wild left hook but Batman was already inside his guard. A devastating uppercut rocketed into his jaw.
The exoskeleton mask shattered. Vibrations rattled through his skull, scrambling his senses before darkness swallowed him whole.
The remaining thugs stared in stunned silence. Their strongest fighter downed in seconds. Batman's frigid glare swept over them, a silent promise of what came next.
"That idiot's gotten too cautious," the leader muttered as he stepped forward, shooting a quick glance at Thug 2, a silent signal to be ready.
He shifted into a boxing stance, muscles coiled, eyes locked onto Batman.
Batman studied his opponent every subtle shift in weight, the controlled breathing. This man wasn't just another thug; he was calm, disciplined. Mirroring the stance, Batman prepared himself.
They stood a few meters apart then the leader struck. Sharp jabs sliced through the air. Batman weaved, dodging the first few, but the leader's speed was overwhelming. A fist slipped past his guard, snapping his head back.
Batman retreated a step. The leader advanced, tightening the distance to keep his punches in range. Seizing an opening, Batman snapped a side kick into the leader's ribs, forcing him back with a grunt.
Brushing dust from his jacket, the leader smirked and reset his stance.
This time, they charged at each other but at the last second, the leader feinted, sidestepping. Batman barely registered the movement before Thug 2 lunged, hand outstretched.
Batman twisted, rolling over Thug 3's unconscious body to evade the attack. But he wasn't fast enough a searing pain burned across his left side. He staggered up, glancing down at the singed hole in his suit.
Two against one. His jaw tightened.
Thug 2 dragged Thug 3's limp form aside, clearing the way. Batman exhaled, sweat trickling down his temple. This wasn't just another fight, it was survival.
Then they came at him again, Thug 2 leading, the leader close behind. Batman braced himself.
Unaware that Thug 1 and Thug 4 had already fled, dragging Thug 3 with them.
This was a distraction. A stall tactic.
Thug 2 swung; Batman dodged. But before he could counter, the leader vaulted over his crouching ally, driving a boot toward Batman's chest.
Batman crossed his arms just in time. The impact shuddered through his bones, knocking him back.
The leader and Thug 2 pressed forward, forcing Batman to retreat a few steps.
Dodging their attacks with fluid precision, he maintained his distance almost as if he were waiting for something. Even Thug 2 and the leader noticed it.
Must be some Batman trick, they thought, but they didn't let up, keeping their assault relentless.
Then, as the leader swung a punch toward Batman's face, his body suddenly seized. Blood sprayed from his mouth, and Thug 2 doubled over, coughing violently. Their limbs grew heavy, their strength draining away.
"Finally." Batman exhaled, his posture relaxing.
"What… did you do to us?" the leader choked out, glaring up at the dark figure looming over them. Both men collapsed to their knees, their bodies failing.
"Poison gas," Batman said coldly. "I knew your subordinate would run. But unlike the original Batman… I don't believe in second chances for men like you."
Thug 2 wheezed, his vision blurring. "You're no hero… You're just a killer."
Batman turned away. "You're right."
And then he was gone.
Meanwhile, the same fate befell Thugs 1, 3, and 4; their lifeless bodies slumped where they stood, the lethal toxin already claiming them. The discarded gas canister lay where Batman had dropped it, its faint, sickly scent still clinging to the air. A single breath just one would be enough to kill an ordinary man.
Batman's voice was a low murmur as he vanished into the shadows.
"I'll need to increase the potency next time."
Batman emerged from the drainage system, moving slowly, each step heavy with exhaustion. All he wanted was to rest just for a moment. But there was no time.
His bike waited for him, sleek and silent, exactly where he'd left it. He swung a leg over the seat, the engine humming to life beneath him as he sped toward his hideout an abandoned train station buried deep within the city's forgotten veins.
The ride was a blur of fatigue. His body ached, his mind begged for respite, but every time he blinked, Muscular's sneering face flashed behind his eyelids. The memory stoked the fire in his chest, pushing him forward.
The train tracks stretched endlessly before him, rusted and overgrown. The hideout's gate loomed ahead, its sensors flickering to life as he approached. A quick scan, a muttered password, and the heavy doors slid open with a groan.
Inside, the hideout was a ghost of a station cold, cavernous, untouched by time. He parked the bike, its engine cooling with quiet clicks, then began stripping away the suit piece by piece.
Beneath the armor was not the hardened vigilante the world feared, but a fifteen-year-old boy, Midoriya Izuku. His lean, athletic frame bore the marks of battle, bruises and scrapes where the suit had failed to fully absorb the blows.
His green hair was damp with sweat, his face uncharacteristically bare no freckles, just the sharp determination of someone who had long since stopped being just a kid.
"I should get home soon."
He pulled on his civilian clothes, stuffing his wallet and phone into his pockets.
"Oracle, clean this up for me."
With a press of a button on the bike, its armored plating shifted, transforming into something ordinary unremarkable. A helmet secured over his head, he revved the engine and disappeared into the morning, the weight of the mask still clinging to him long after he'd taken it off.