Starting With Batman

A Wig?

Felix squinted, his mind racing to make sense of what he was seeing. The strands of long, black hair that had so eerily concealed the figure's face now lay limp on the floor. He leaned closer, the faint light reflecting off the synthetic fibers confirming his suspicion. It was indeed a wig; the messy black hair that had added to the unsettling presence of the "woman" in white was nothing more than a disguise.

His gaze snapped back to the figure in front of him, who was slowly rising from the debris-strewn floor. Felix's pulse quickened as he took in the full sight of the supposed "female ghost." The figure stood, and only then did Felix notice the details that had eluded him in the chaos.

This wasn't a ghost, nor was it a woman.

It was a man clad in a white lace nightdress, the delicate fabric starkly contrasting with the harshness of his surroundings. The nightdress, clearly intended for a woman, hung awkwardly on his frame, the lace frills giving the whole scene a bizarre, almost surreal quality. The wig had once brought the illusion—transforming this man into a spectral figure that could easily pass for a ghost in the dim, flickering light.

But without the wig, the truth was laid bare. His face was unnaturally pale, as if all blood had drained from it, leaving only a sickly, pallid complexion. His features, no longer hidden beneath the tangle of fake hair, were sharp and gaunt. Shadows clung to the hollows of his cheeks, making his eyes appear sunken and hauntingly dark. The contrast between his deathly pale skin and the blood smeared on the kitchen knife he held only heightened the eerie atmosphere.

Felix's mind raced to reconcile what he was seeing. The thought struck him—this wasn't just any man. The unhealthy pallor, the nightdress, the bloody knife... it was all part of a disturbing and elaborate ruse. But why? And then it clicked.

So it turned out to be a man in women's clothing? Felix thought, a mix of astonishment and disbelief flashing across his face. His thoughts twisted further. Has the world's strange tendencies spread even to the afterlife? Are even the dead now dressing up in women's clothes?

But no, this wasn't a ghost. It couldn't be.

His training with the SSevice Division had taught him that most so-called paranormal events—those whispered-about hauntings and ghost sightings—were more often than not linked to infected individuals. The infection had a way of warping reality, making the impossible seem real. Felix remembered the information he'd gathered before heading into this mission, and a theory began to form in his mind.

The man standing before him could very well be Ethan. Reports had said that Ethan had been declared dead, a casualty of a tragic accident. But perhaps that diagnosis had been premature. Maybe the infection had placed him in a state so close to death that the doctors had been fooled. And now, the infection had somehow revived him, pulling him back from the brink. That would explain the disappearance of his body.

With this realization, Felix felt a rush of clarity. If this wasn't a haunting or an infected person, he knew exactly how to proceed. After all, this was what he was trained for—handling the infected was his job, his specialty.

Ethan, now standing without his wig, seemed to regain some semblance of awareness. He looked down at himself as if seeing his body for the first time. His gaze was vacant, almost as if he were a stranger in his own skin. Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet Felix's and then looked over to Batman, who stood poised for action. There was a moment of silence, broken only by the faint sound of Ethan's ragged breathing.

"You have to stop her," Ethan said suddenly, his voice weak, trembling. The sound of it was barely above a whisper, as if he were forcing the words out. "Emma... I don't know why, but she's not herself anymore."

Felix's brows furrowed in confusion. "Emma?" he repeated, trying to piece together the fragmented information Ethan was providing.

"It wasn't her who came back to life," Ethan continued, his voice cracking with emotion. "It's something else. But no one believed me. Dr. Li... he's already been hurt. You have to stop her from hurting others..."

Felix stood still, processing what Ethan was saying. Though he was new to fieldwork, Felix was quick-witted and had an instinctive grasp of the situation. Images and details from the case flickered through his mind like the rapid cuts of a film reel, each piece slowly falling into place.

There had been an accident in the snowy mountains ten days ago—both lovers had been declared dead. The girl had been cremated; the boy's body had mysteriously disappeared. Ethan's strange reports to the FBI, his appearance now as a knife-wielding figure in women's clothing, the dismembered body parts stuffed into a refrigerator...

"You mean to stop Emma?" Felix asked, trying to keep his voice steady. "But how? She's long dead."

"I told you, but you don't believe me," Ethan replied, shaking his head as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. "She's not dead. She's been here these past days, with me. But she's not normal—she's becoming something... something evil and terrifying..."

Felix's eyes narrowed as he considered Ethan's words. There was desperation in his voice, a deep-seated fear that chilled Felix to his core. But there was also something off, something Felix couldn't quite put his finger on.

"In that case, where is she now?" Felix pressed, his voice sharper. "If she's really in this apartment, why hasn't she shown herself?"

Ethan's response was immediate—he choked on his words, his expression blank and unreadable. He seemed to struggle with something, a battle raging within him that Felix could only guess at.

"She's dead. She was cremated last week, and deep down, you know it," Felix said, his tone softening, trying to reach the person still hiding somewhere within Ethan's fractured psyche. "But you can't, or maybe you won't, accept that fact.

So you imagine she's not really dead. You imagine that she came back to life and is still the woman you love. But there are times when you can hold on to your imagination, so you convince yourself she's the one becoming strange, becoming crazy, and hurting others. But in reality, it was you who did those things."

Standing nearby, Charlie watched the exchange with growing unease. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to come together in his mind, and he found himself recalling a similar plotline from an old movie he'd seen years ago. It was almost uncanny how the situation mirrored that story.

Ethan's head drooped lower, his face now hidden entirely in shadow, his features obscured by darkness. He looked defeated, a man who had been stripped of everything—hope, sanity, and maybe even his humanity.

Is this really happening? Charlie wondered, a mix of skepticism and fascination. He hadn't expected Felix to be so insightful, so perceptive. Of course, given that his expectations for his teammates hadn't been particularly high, it wasn't a surprise that Felix had exceeded them.

So far, the agents of the service Division had reminded Charlie of the Gotham City Police Department—capable, yes, and able to handle cases on their own, but still a step below Batman. They had their moments, but they weren't the main act. In fact, they often seemed to adopt a deferential attitude whenever Batman was around, slipping into a "follow the leader" mentality.

Felix seemed to be growing more confident with every second. Seeing Ethan lower his head and offer no resistance only reinforced Felix's belief that his deductions were correct.

"We all lose people we care about, and I know how hard that can be," Felix said, his voice soothing, almost tender. "But life goes on, and sometimes... sometimes accidents happen.

The dead are gone, and we have to learn to move forward. She wouldn't want you to be stuck in the past because of her... and she certainly wouldn't want you to do something wrong in her name, would she?"

Ethan's body began to tremble, the shaking subtle at first but growing more pronounced with each passing moment. He hunched over, his face buried in his hands as he began to sob.

"... I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice thick with sorrow.

"It's okay. It's not your fault," Felix replied, exhaling a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "We're going to get you the help you need."

Felix allowed himself a small smile. He had been trained extensively on how to handle infected individuals, and he knew that sometimes, all it took was helping them see the truth to pull them back from the brink. Similar cases had come up in his training—cases where the infected weren't fully aware of their actions but could be brought back to reality if guided correctly.

Of course, the fundamental rule with infected individuals remained unchanged. If their infection level exceeded 50%, they were considered beyond saving, even if they regained some semblance of consciousness. And if it went over 80%, the infected person was effectively dead on a biological level.

Given Ethan's case—a man who had seemingly come back from the dead—it was likely his infection rate was far beyond 80%.

Even so, the mission was clear.

Ethan was dead. The dead should stay dead, buried safely in the ground where they couldn't harm anyone else. Whether he wanted to or not, Ethan posed a danger, a risk of spreading the infection to others.

Ethan closed his eyes and slowly knelt on the floor, his head bowed, his body language that of a man who had lost everything. He muttered "sorry" under his breath, the words barely audible, as if he had completely surrendered.

Now, it was just a matter of sending the dead back to their grave, wrapping up this mission, and making a cool exit—maybe by jumping out of the window.

Felix could already see the experience stacking up, a successful mission in the bag.

But just as these thoughts flickered through his mind, Charlie's sharp eyes caught something—a flashing attack warning symbol on the side of the screen.

His pupils dilated, and instinct, honed through countless hours of practice, took over. His fingers moved on their own, clicking the right mouse button in a reflexive motion.

Batman shifted his body just in time, deftly dodging a punch that seemed to come out of nowhere, the blow barely missing its mark. But even someone with Batman's experience couldn't predict the follow-up. A powerful kick landed squarely on his chest, sending him skidding across the floor, his armor scraping against the rough surface.

As Batman regained his balance, a figure emerged from the shadows, revealing a sinister, smiling face.

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