Starting With Batman

The so-called "goods" were, in fact, human beings—men, women, and even children. Their expressions were blank, their faces devoid of emotion, and their eyes, once full of life, were now dull and lifeless as if all the hope had been drained from their souls.

Samuel felt a wave of terror surge through him, his stomach churning with nausea. He instinctively took two steps back, unable to tear his gaze away from the horrific sight.

He turned to look at his companion standing beside him, hoping for some kind of reassurance, some indication that what he was seeing wasn't real.

Sean, his companion and one of his closest allies in the gang, stood there nonchalantly. Sean was a tough, imposing figure, dressed in a shiny black vest with a silver skull pendant hanging from his neck. His tall, muscular frame and the cold, hard look in his eyes made it clear that he was not someone to be trifled with.

"Those are... our goods?" Samuel asked, his voice trembling with disbelief.

"Yeah." Sean exhaled a puff of smoke, a twisted grin spreading across his face, revealing teeth stained yellow and black from years of neglect. "They'll fetch a good price, don't you think?"

Sean's tone was so casual, so disturbingly indifferent as if the people crammed into the container were nothing more than merchandise—objects to be bought and sold, their lives reduced to mere currency.

Samuel's chest tightened, and his breathing grew shallow. A voice inside him screamed for him to do something, to say something, but he pushed it down, struggling to keep his composure.

Don't cause trouble, don't cause trouble, he repeated to himself like a mantra.

He was just a small-time player in a world much larger and more dangerous than he had ever imagined. He was a nobody, with no power and no influence. There wasn't much he could do, and he knew it. All he wanted was to complete his first mission without incident, to leave a good impression on Big D, the gang leader who had taken a chance on him.

Samuel forced himself to look away from the haunting, vacant stares of the people in the container as if those eyes were burning into him, searing his soul with their silent, desperate pleas.

"Sean..." Samuel stammered, desperately searching for a distraction, anything to take his mind off the horror unfolding before him. "How many times have you done this kind of mission? I mean... dealing with cargo like this?"

But there was no reply.

Samuel turned his head, expecting to see Sean beside him, but the big man had vanished without a trace.

He froze, his heart pounding in his chest as a sudden, overwhelming sense of dread washed over him. It was as if his instincts were screaming at him, warning him that something was terribly, horribly wrong.

Then, the walkie-talkie crackled to life, the voice on the other end filled with confusion and concern.

"Did anyone see where Antwon went?"

"This is Hojo. Jojo is gone."

Samuel's mind raced as he struggled to process what he was hearing. He fumbled with the walkie-talkie, his hands shaking as he brought it to his mouth. "This... this is Samuel. I can't see Sean anymore..."

It was only then that the gang members began to realize the gravity of their situation. Five of them had disappeared without a sound, without anyone noticing.

"We're being targeted." Big D's voice came through the walkie-talkie, sharp and commanding. "Assemble! Everyone gather here!"

The gang members immediately stopped what they were doing and began moving toward Big D's position, their movements hurried and frantic.

Samuel followed suit, his feet moving on autopilot as he forced himself to focus on the task at hand. But as he walked, he couldn't help but glance back at the container, catching another glimpse of the people trapped inside.

Their eyes, those helpless, haunting eyes, seemed to follow him, pleading with him, begging him to do something, anything to help them.

The voice inside him grew louder, more insistent, harder to ignore. But he shoved it down, burying it deep inside as he forced himself to follow orders, to walk toward Big D and the others.

The gangsters converged on the central location, each of them abandoning their tasks to regroup. They moved quickly, their faces grim, their bodies tense with fear and uncertainty.

But none of them noticed the shadowy figure perched silently atop one of the containers, watching their every move with cold, calculating precision.

The gang members believed that sticking together would keep them safe. They thought that as long as they stayed in a group, they wouldn't be picked off one by one. It was a strategy straight out of a horror movie—those who wandered off alone were always the first to die, so sticking together was the safest bet.

But Charlie, watching the scene unfold from behind his computer screen, couldn't help but chuckle at their naïveté.

If the gang had spread out, Charlie would have had to carefully plan Daredevil's attacks, ensuring that the hero didn't get caught in the crossfire while taking down his targets. It would have required careful timing, strategic positioning, and a lot of patience.

But now that the gangsters were all moving in the same direction, they had unwittingly handed him the perfect opportunity.

The red-clad demon moved swiftly, dashing forward with the agility of a panther. He flipped off the top of the container and delivered a powerful, acrobatic kick to the head of a nearby gangster, sending him crashing to the ground, unconscious.

The man walking ahead spun around, panic in his eyes, and fired his gun wildly, not even bothering to aim. But by the time he turned, Daredevil had already evaded the bullets, the rounds ricocheting harmlessly off the metal walls of the container, sparking in the darkness.

The panicked gangster rushed to check on his fallen comrade, his gun still pointed in the direction Daredevil had disappeared. His finger hovered over the trigger, ready to fire at the first sign of movement.

But he never got the chance.

The red demon appeared from the opposite direction, emerging from the shadows like a wraith. The man's eyes widened in terror, and he tried to swing his gun around, but it was too late. Daredevil's alloy short stick connected with his face, the force of the blow sending him reeling, his vision fading to black as he crumpled to the ground.

Another gangster heard the commotion and called out, changing direction to investigate. But he didn't realize that as soon as he and his companions turned, Daredevil had already landed behind them. The hero moved silently, swiftly, and without hesitation, knocking out the last man with a swift, backhanded strike.

Because Daredevil's fighting style is similar to Batman's, Charlie quickly adapts to controlling him. The general strategy for playing these stealthy, assassin-type characters was straightforward: avoid direct confrontation, prioritize taking down the most dangerous enemies first, and use the shadows to your advantage. With Daredevil's radar sense providing a near-omniscient view of the battlefield, Charlie was able to stay one step ahead of the gangsters, picking them off one by one without ever being seen.

Of course, this mission was relatively simple, a daily task to test out the new hero's abilities. In terms of raw power, Daredevil wasn't on the same level as Batman, and his skills were better suited for scouting and reconnaissance rather than direct combat. Batman was the better choice for a straight-up fight.

But when it came to taking down these low-level thugs, Daredevil was more than capable.

As the gang's numbers dwindled, only a few remained, including Samuel, who had managed to regroup with Big D and the others.

Big D's face was a mask of anger and fear, his eyes darting around as he tried to assess the situation. His usually intimidating presence—his swollen face, his gold earrings, and his fierce scowl—seemed to have lost its edge.

He realized that his men were outmatched, that they were unlikely to survive this encounter. And what made it worse was that they hadn't even caught a glimpse of their attacker. Big D suspected it might be Batman, or one of the other vigilantes who had been causing trouble in the city. But whoever it was, he knew they were in over their heads.

After all, they were just small-time criminals, bullies who preyed on the weak. They weren't equipped to deal with someone like this, someone who operated on a completely different level.

Big D glanced at the container nearby, his mind racing. He knew that this shipment was valuable and that losing it would be a significant blow. But in the end, money could be replaced—his life couldn't. If he made it out of this alive, he could always rebuild, always find another way to make money. But if he didn't...

He made a quick decision, turning to Samuel, who was standing beside him, trembling with fear. "You, come here. Go start the car for me. The rest of you, stay behind and cover us..."

Smash.

No one was prepared for what happened next.

Samuel, the young man Big D had just singled out, walked up to him slowly, almost mechanically. His movements were deliberate, almost as if he were in a trance. Then, without warning, he picked up a brick from the ground.

Big D didn't realize what was happening until it was too late. The brick came crashing down on his head with a sickening thud, and the world went dark. His vision blurred, stars filled his eyes, and then everything faded to black as he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

The other gang members stood there, paralyzed with shock, unable to comprehend what they had just witnessed.

They vaguely remembered that Samuel was a newcomer, someone Big D had recently taken under his wing. None of them even knew his name.

For a moment, no one moved, too stunned to react. They watched in horrified silence as Samuel climbed on top of Big D's body, his eyes wild and unfocused. He raised the bloodstained brick in his hand and brought it down on Big D's head again and again.

Once. Twice. Three times...

With each impact, the brick became more soaked with blood, turning a deep, viscous red. Big D's head was reduced to a grotesque pulp, his skull shattered, and his brain matter splattered across the ground in a gruesome display. Each time the brick came down, bits of bone and tissue were sent flying, like a stone being dropped into a pool of thick, sticky mud.

Then they heard the laughter.

Samuel, still perched on the mutilated corpse, began to laugh. It started as a low chuckle, but it quickly grew louder, more maniacal, until it echoed through the night air. His entire body convulsed with hysteria, his laughter twisted and unnatural, sending chills down the spines of everyone who heard it.

…

Charlie had quickly and efficiently taken out most of the gangsters in the dock area. Now, only Big D and a few of his men remained.

But when Daredevil leaped off the container and landed on the pier, Charlie was met with a scene he hadn't anticipated—

—Several gangsters lay dead in a pool of blood, their bodies mangled and broken. The head of the most unfortunate one was a bloody, unrecognizable mess, reduced to little more than a smear on the ground.

A young man stood nearby, his lips smeared with sticky blood as if he had applied it like lipstick. He held a blood-soaked brick in his hand, and as he turned to face Daredevil, he grinned, his eyes burning with madness.

He let out a wild, unhinged laugh and charged at Daredevil with reckless abandon.

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