Starting With Batman

It was the first time Charlie had ever encountered such a mark on the map. The symbol was not only larger than usual, but its ominous bright red color was impossible to ignore. It radiated a sense of foreboding, as if screaming to the players that this event was no ordinary occurrence. The color of death was a stark contrast to the typical symbols he was used to, making this one stand out like a beacon in the dark.

From his extensive gaming experience, Charlie knew that in most games, the more conspicuous something was, the more critical it tended to be. It was usually a sign of the main plot or an essential event. However, considering the alien nature of the game he found himself in now, Charlie couldn't quite convince himself that this was the case. The game he was playing didn't follow traditional rules; it was more unpredictable, more dangerous.

His recent experiences had taught him a valuable lesson: the appearance of exclamation marks on the map might not be system-generated. Instead, they seemed to be tied to the hero character he was currently controlling—Batman. The marks appeared not because the game recognized something important, but because the character he was guiding sensed something of significance.

Perhaps Batman had spotted something while gliding through the air, or maybe he had picked up a signal over the radio. It could even be a gut feeling, an instinct that something was off. Whatever the reason, it was clear that when Batman perceived a potential threat or clue, a mark would appear on the map, urging Charlie to investigate.

Given the uniqueness of this mark, Charlie knew he couldn't ignore it. The prospect of uncovering something new and potentially dangerous was too intriguing to pass up. He quickly uploaded the DNA information for comparison, allowing the system to analyze any possible matches. Then, with a swift command, he manipulated Batman to raise his claw gun. The device shot out, anchoring itself to the edge of a nearby building. Batman's cloak spread wide like the wings of a bat, and with a silent leap, he disappeared into the shadows, merging seamlessly with the night.

The marked location wasn't far, and it didn't take long for Batman to reach it. The rooftops provided ample cover as he glided silently through the city, his form rising and falling with the natural rhythm of the urban landscape. The city below was a patchwork of light and shadow, with the occasional flicker of neon signs and the steady hum of distant traffic filling the air.

When Batman finally arrived, Charlie activated detective mode, scanning the area for any signs of life. The scan confirmed what he had suspected—it was a blind spot for surveillance, an area hidden from the prying eyes of cameras. He manipulated Batman to descend into the shadow on the top floor of a nearby building, blending into the darkness like a ghost. From this vantage point, he could observe the situation below without being detected.

The building in question was old, its once-vibrant paint now a faded memory, peeling away in large, unsightly patches. It was clear that the structure had seen better days; time had taken its toll on the once-proud edifice. The walls were cracked, and the windows were either boarded up or shattered, creating an eerie, abandoned atmosphere. The only sign of life was the collection of cars parked haphazardly near the entrance. A group of soldiers in black combat uniforms surrounded the building, their weapons gleaming under the dim streetlights. They were heavily armed, their faces hidden behind tactical masks, and their movements were precise, disciplined.

Switching to Batman's first-person detective mode, Charlie zoomed in on the scene, letting the camera focus on the details. He scanned the faces of the soldiers, analyzing their gear and posture. That's when he noticed something familiar—Melanie was among them. Her face, partially obscured by her helmet, bore an unmistakable determination.

Is there a party hosted by Special Service Lunatic Asylum? Charlie mused.

The thought crossed his mind, but the situation seemed too serious for it to be a simple gathering. He quickly realized that figuring out what was going on wouldn't be too difficult. After all, now he—or rather, Batman—had a special service pass. As long as the information was stored in the Riverton branch's database, he could access it.

Charlie activated the computer mounted on Batman's wrist, the interface lighting up with a soft blue glow. He entered the necessary queries, his fingers moving quickly across the holographic keys. Within seconds, the system provided the information he sought.

It turned out that the asylum had organized an event today. Based on reports from "ordinary people," they had identified an infected individual within the area. What made this case particularly concerning was the high level of infection detected. The infection wasn't just a mild case; it was severe, potentially deadly. Tonight was the scheduled capture operation to neutralize the threat.

[TL Note - Are you guys alright with calling the Division, mental asylum, or names of a similar nature... it's more of a joke on Charlie's behalf]

The realization hit Charlie like a cold wave. This wasn't just a routine operation; it was something far more dangerous. The Special Service team was dealing with an infected individual whose condition was advanced, making the situation far more volatile. The thought of encountering such a powerful infected sent a shiver down his spine.

This served as a stark reminder that despite the chaos and inefficiency that sometimes plagued the Service Division, they were still doing their job. They were out there, confronting dangers that most people couldn't even comprehend. While Charlie had often been the one to swoop in, claiming experience points and leaving the cleanup to the professionals, he couldn't deny the crucial role they played in maintaining some semblance of order.

The capture plan they had in place was not a simple one. They weren't just sending agents in to search room by room, as that would be both inefficient and extremely dangerous. The infection level inside the building was akin to something out of a horror film—a place where evil lurked in every shadow, and danger was never far away. Entering such a location directly would be a death sentence for most.

Instead, they used a different approach. A large amount of tear gas was released into the building, its noxious fumes forcing the infected out into the open. The plan worked almost immediately. A woman with wild, disheveled hair burst through a window, her eyes blazing with a primal fury. She charged into the open space with a speed and aggression that took the soldiers by surprise. But they were ready for her.

As soon as she appeared, powerful concussion bombs were deployed, exploding with a deafening roar. The woman's hearing and vision were instantly compromised, her senses overwhelmed by the sudden assault. She stumbled, her feet unsteady as she tried to regain her balance, but the ground seemed to shift beneath her, and she fell hard onto the cold, unforgiving pavement.

Despite the force of the concussion bombs, Charlie knew these weapons had limited effects on the infected. Their resilience was remarkable, and it wouldn't be long before she recovered. But the mobile team wasn't about to give her that chance.

The moment she stopped moving, a hail of bullets rained down on her. The sound was deafening, like the roar of an unstoppable force. The bullets tore through her flesh, each impact sending shockwaves through her body. Blood sprayed in all directions, painting the ground in a grotesque pattern. The sheer power of the onslaught forced her to the ground, where she continued to twitch, her body convulsing under the relentless assault. Bullet casings fell like metallic rain, clattering to the ground with a rhythmic, almost eerie sound.

The infected were known for their extraordinary physical strength and resilience, but even they had limits. This woman was no exception. Her body, now twisted and broken, was a grotesque parody of its former self. Her bones were shattered, her limbs mangled beyond recognition. Her legs, once strong and agile, were now twisted like grotesque pretzels. She was barely recognizable as a human being.

Yet, despite the horrific damage, she continued to crawl. Her movements were slow and agonizing, but there was a tenacity in her that was both terrifying and pitiable. She clawed at the ground, dragging her ruined body forward with an iron will that refused to surrender.

"No, you can't… no one can take her, I won't allow…"

The words were barely audible, a raspy whisper that seemed to come from deep within her shattered body. Others might not have noticed, but from his high perch, Charlie heard it clearly. The sentence struck him with a sense of déjà vu. It was the same reaction that Ferb had exhibited earlier, the same desperate resolve.

But the infected woman's strength was waning. With one last, pitiful effort, she collapsed, her body finally giving out. She lay there, motionless, a tragic figure in a pool of her own blood.

The threat had been neutralized, and the situation seemed under control. The Service Division agents began their cleanup operation, moving in to contain the scene and assess the degree of infection. Unlike the earlier encounter at the coffee shop, where the infected individual's condition had been less severe, this woman was beyond saving. Her fate had been sealed the moment she stepped out of that building.

To Charlie, it seemed like a perfect ending. The danger had been dealt with, the infected neutralized, and the area secured. But something still felt off. Why had such a prominent red mark appeared on the map for what turned out to be a relatively straightforward capture operation?

Was it because it was rare for the Secret Service Lunatic Asylum to mobilize so many agents? The thought nagged at him, but before he could delve deeper into it, something else caught his attention.

...

Nixon, a member of the mobile team, stood at attention, his body tense and alert. The target had been captured, but Nixon knew better than to relax. In the Service Division, letting your guard down was a mistake that could easily cost you your life. Their enemies often defied logic and reason, and even in the aftermath of a battle, the unexpected could strike at any moment.

The team's surroundings were still thick with tension. The air was heavy with the lingering scent of tear gas and the metallic tang of blood. The ground was littered with spent bullet casings, and the once-intact building now bore the scars of the intense firefight. Dust and debris filled the air, creating a hazy atmosphere that made it hard to see clearly.

As Nixon scanned the area, his gaze inadvertently fell upon Melanie, the operation leader. She was standing with her back to him, directing the cleanup with her usual composed demeanor. But something was off. Greg's eyes widened in horror as he noticed a pair of decaying hands, almost skeletal, emerging from the darkness behind her. The hands seemed to materialize out of nowhere, as if conjured by the shadows themselves.

A moment later, a head followed—a grotesque, rotting visage that barely resembled anything human. The skin was peeling away, revealing patches of bone underneath, and the eyes, or what was left of them, glowed with a sickly green light. The head rested on Melanie's shoulder, tilting slightly as if whispering into her ear. The decaying mouth moved, but no sound came out, only a ghastly mimicry of speech.

Nixon's heart pounded in his chest, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead. He reacted instinctively, raising his gun and pointing it directly at the horrifying apparition. But just as he was about to shout a warning, the figure vanished. It didn't disappear gradually or slip back into the shadows—it was just gone, as if it had never been there.

Melanie turned around at the sound of Greg's gun being raised, her expression a mixture of confusion and concern. The other agents also noticed and immediately tensed up, their weapons at the ready.

"Greg, what are you doing?" Melanie's voice was icy, cutting through the tension like a knife.

Greg hesitated, lowering his gun but unable to find the words to explain what he had just seen. His mind raced, trying to make sense of it. Had it been a hallucination? A trick of the light? But it had felt so real, so tangible.

"I... I thought I saw..." His voice trailed off as he realized how ridiculous it would sound. There was nothing behind Melanie now, just empty space.

Melanie's frown deepened, and she seemed to be weighing his response. In the Service Division, even the strongest agents could be infected under the right circumstances, and hallucinations were one of the more common early symptoms.

"Are you feeling alright?" she asked, her tone more measured now. "You didn't get exposed to anything, did you?"

Greg opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, their communication devices crackled to life with urgent voices.

"Team leader! We've got an infected!"

The sudden shout through the earpieces sent a shockwave through the team. Melanie immediately turned towards the source of the alarm. Emerging from the shadows at the edge of their perimeter was another infected, this one almost on top of the agents before anyone had realized it. The creature was terrifyingly close, its twisted form lunging at the nearest agent, its jaws snapping with a hunger that seemed insatiable.

The team's formation broke apart in an instant. Some agents fired their weapons at the infected while others were forced into close-quarters combat, knives drawn as they fought off the feral onslaught. The infected's eyes burned with a frenzied light, its movements fast and erratic, making it difficult to land a killing blow.

Melanie's mind raced. They had thoroughly scouted the area before beginning the operation; every resident had been evacuated, and no one was supposed to be around except for their primary target. Where had these additional infected come from? How had they avoided detection?

But there was no time for questions now. "Third group, use C formation!" she barked, her voice cutting through the chaos. "Everyone else, provide support!"

Even as the orders left her mouth, another distress call crackled through the comms.

"Infected! Group Five requests immediate support!"

Melanie turned to see another group of infected appearing from yet another direction, this time taking down an agent who was struggling to keep his attacker at bay. The infected pinned him to the ground, snarling as it tried to tear into him. The scene was one of sheer madness, and the agents were now fighting on multiple fronts, the ambush throwing their carefully laid plans into disarray.

Ambushed! There was no doubt about it now. Somehow, their movements had been anticipated, their actions countered. But by whom? And why had they allowed the operation to proceed until now?

As the battle raged on, Melanie made a quick decision. Stabilizing the situation was her top priority. "All units—"

Before she could finish, the ground beneath them began to tremble violently. The sudden quake caught everyone off guard, and the agents struggled to maintain their footing. Buildings around them groaned under the strain, cracks spiderwebbing across their surfaces as they threatened to collapse.

The tremors intensified, and the ground started to split open. Huge cracks snaked across the landscape, widening rapidly as sections of the street began to sink into the earth. Smoke and dust filled the air, obscuring vision and choking the agents as they tried to regain control of the situation.

From within the widening cracks, something massive and otherworldly began to emerge. Thick, pulsating tentacles, each as wide as a tree trunk, slithered out of the earth, wrapping themselves around the surrounding buildings with crushing force. The ground buckled as these monstrous appendages reinserted themselves into the earth, anchoring whatever lay beneath.

The agents watched in horror as a gigantic, nightmarish entity slowly forced its way out of the ground.

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