The rain was getting heavier.
The Cherokee's wipers swung frantically across the windshield, barely carving out a blurred field of vision in the downpour. Inside the car, the air was thick with the scent of damp earth.
Wilson gripped the steering wheel, his lips slightly pale, though his expression remained steady.
"Straight back to the precinct?"
Jay leaned back in the passenger seat. The wound on his flank had begun to throb again from the tension and the jolting ride. He was about to nod when his gaze caught something outside.
Through the dense curtain of rain and city lights, the sky in one direction glowed with an unnatural, sickly orange hue.
"Wait…" Jay frowned, pointing. "Turn there. Go toward City Hall Plaza."
"The Plaza? Didn't the report say there were mercenaries—"
"Just take a look. We might find something useful."
Wilson clearly didn't understand the logic, but he obeyed, turning the wheel and heading toward the plaza.
As they drew closer, the anomalies in the air became undeniable. The rain began to carry flecks of black ash, and a pungent scent of smoke—the specific, acrid stench of a fresh burn—filled the air.
The orange glow over the plaza grew brighter, accompanied by the distant screams of a crowd and the low, continuous roar of combustion.
"What the hell is it this time…"
When the Cherokee finally turned onto the boulevard leading to the plaza, the sight made both men gasp.
City Hall Plaza, once the symbol of Gotham's prestige and prosperity, now looked like the mouth of hell.
The Royal Gotham Hotel, serving as the gala venue, had its magnificent Baroque facade engulfed in roaring flames. Tongues of fire licked out from multiple windows like tentacles reaching for the night sky. Thick black smoke billowed upward, unyielding even against the heavy rain.
In the square, exquisite sculptures and fountains had been blasted into rubble. Several luxury cars burned along the curb, popping and hissing. Rain, fire, and smoke swirled together into a macabre tableau.
"Holy shit…"
Wilson slammed on the brakes. The car slid slightly on the slick pavement before coming to a halt under the dark shadow of some trees at the edge of the plaza. People were sprinting for their lives, trying to get as far from the heat as possible.
Only two figures remained at the heart of the chaos, locked in a deadly exchange.
One was a silhouette like a black nightmare. Pointed ears, white lenses, a cape snapping violently in the heat—moving like a ghost, using the obstacles in the plaza to close the distance on the other figure.
The opponent radiated a suffocating aura of danger. He wore a heavy, grimy yellow fire-retardant suit with a soft helmet featuring goggles shaped like insectoid compound eyes.
Most notably, a massive fuel tank glinted on his back, connected to a flamethrower that let out a low, predatory growl.
Wilson's eyes went wide behind the glass. He grabbed Jay's arm and shook it. "Look! Look, man! It's the Batman!"
"Why are you so excited?" Jay looked at him, bewildered. "Are you a fan? Last week you told me you worshipped Jackie Chan."
"I can worship two people at once, can't I?" Wilson thought for a second. "At least for this week."
"Well, your idol looks like he's having a rough night…"
The man in the fire suit swung his nozzle, and a thick column of white-gold fire erupted like a dragon's breath toward Batman's position.
At the last possible microsecond, Batman performed a roll to the side. The flames scorched his cape and hit a car wreck behind him, instantly turning it into a massive fireball. The intense heat vaporized the rain, creating a brief, localized fog.
"Hahahaha! Burn! Burn it all!" The freak's voice was distorted and crazed through his mask. "Remember the name Firefly! I am the King of Flame!"
In the firelight, several charred, unrecognizable corpses lay in the puddles, silent witnesses to the tragedy. Wounded survivors crawled through the water, wailing in agony.
It was a gruesome sight.
"Damn it…"
Jay scanned the plaza. Aside from the duel between Batman and Firefly, near a half-collapsed side entrance of the hotel, a group of mercenaries with automatic weapons were roughly shoving several well-dressed but disheveled people into a black van.
Despite their terror and messy hair, Jay recognized a senior member of the City Council and a high-ranking official in charge of the budget audit.
"I knew it…" Jay narrowed his eyes. "A feint to draw the eyes while they kidnap the VIPs. Black Mask plays dirty."
Batman dodged another plume of fire, trying to flank Firefly, but the flamethrower's range was too wide, forcing him back.
"Help him out!"
Jay stepped out of the car, retrieved his rifle, and set it up on the edge of a stone planter. At a distance of less than two hundred meters, his current proficiency made him nearly unerring.
He lined up the shot through the scope. Hitting the fuel tank wasn't hard, but he wasn't sure if the explosion would take out Master Bruce along with the target.
After a thought, he tore a piece of white fabric from the car's seat cover and waved it in the air like a French soldier in WWII.
Batman clearly saw the movement. Without hesitation, he sprinted in the opposite direction. Firefly's dragon-breath followed him, turning his body—and his back—toward Jay.
"Tsk, it's so much easier working with someone who understands tactics."
Despite the rain blurring the lens of the scope, Jay steadied his aim on the bulky fuel tank.
"Bob would've loved a lighter this big. Shame."
BANG!
The bullet flew like a red-hot needle through the rain, hitting the mark with a metallic CLANG. Immediately, the tank began to hiss as a mist-like substance sprayed out. Then, a flash of ignition turned the mist into a roaring backdraft.
Firefly was instantly wreathed in flames like a burning dry tree, but his suit saved him. He managed to stop, reaching back to unbuckle the tank to throw it. But at that moment, Jay worked the bolt and squeezed the trigger again.
Another hole appeared in the tank. A massive amount of fuel poured out, creating a wall of fire on the ground. Jay watched as Firefly, looking distorted through the heat haze, angrily raised his nozzle toward him—but the flame flickered once and died in the rain.
Jay had considered a headshot, but seeing as a bullet to the head did nothing at Blackgate, and more importantly, he didn't want the Dark Knight to get grumpy about him killing people in front of him, he held back.
Batman had already swung back around, leaping through the air to deliver a crushing punch to Firefly's helmet.
"Damn, you really are a tank!"
Master Bruce's suit had some upgrades since their last meeting—more armor plating in key areas—but it clearly wasn't fireproof. The punch landed on the temple of the helmet. Firefly stumbled and collapsed, but Batman's arm caught fire in the process.
"Not good!"
Napalm-like fuel is like a parasite; water won't put it out, and once it touches you, it stays until you're bone.
Just as Jay was worried they'd end up with a "Face-of-Fire Bat" or a "Severely Burned Bat," Batman reached into his utility belt, pulled out a canister, and sprayed a thick white foam over his arm. The fire died instantly.
How the hell do you fit a can that big in that belt?!
Fine, fine. You're Batman. Logic doesn't apply to you.
The river of fire on the ground was being dampened by the downpour, but Jay wasn't about to step in it. He wiped his face with the seat cover and looked toward the mercenaries.
The VIPs were already loaded. He shifted his aim and blew out the front left tire of the van.
"An unnoticed sniper really is OP."
"Dar, stay in the car. Keep the engine running. Watch our six. If anything goes south, get me out of here."
"What are you doing?" Wilson asked nervously.
Jay shed his conspicuous police windbreaker, leaving only his dark knit shirt. Using the burning wreckage and the chaotic crowd as cover, he crouched low and moved silently toward the black van.
He took a wide arc, approaching the corridor from the rear. He ducked behind a soot-stained Roman column and observed.
There were four mercenaries. With the tire blown, they were having to drag the hostages back out of the van. Two stood guard, one had gone to find a new vehicle, and the last was using his rifle butt to encourage the hostages to move faster.
"How am I supposed to play this?"
Jay looked at his Colt 1911. Suddenly, a sharp THWACK sounded beside him—a bat-shaped shuriken was embedded in the wall.
He looked up. Batman was perched in the shadows of the corridor ceiling, only his white eyes visible. He gestured toward the mercenaries.
Copy that. I guess I'm the bait. You really don't like to lose out, do you?
Jay thought for a second, pulled the half-piece of seat cover from his pocket, and wrapped it around his head like a turban. He tied his shirt around his waist, jumped out from behind the pillar, and waved his phone in his left hand, screaming:
"ALLAHU AKBAR!"
The three gunmen flinched instinctively, dropping to the ground in a synchronized prone position before training their guns on him.
But in that split second of distraction, a massive cape descended from above. Three heads slammed into the pavement. Instant unconsciousness.
Holy shit.
Jay and Batman locked eyes. Jay slowly raised a thumb.
Impressive.
——————
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