Just dance

Ganking Batman was a monumental undertaking. Although Hades put on a brave face, dismissing the flashy masked vigilantes as nothing more than gaudy nuisances, the reality was far more complex. Deep down, he knew that this wasn't just another turf war. These vigilantes, especially Batman, represented an unpredictable threat that had the potential to unravel everything the gangs had built in Riverton City.

The urgency behind Hades' plan was spurred by a recent and humiliating event where a section of territory under his gang's control was attacked in broad daylight. The audacity of the attack had left him fuming, and the need for retaliation burned within him. This wasn't just about striking back; it was about sending a message to the vigilantes and to the other gangs—nobody challenges Hades and walks away unscathed. Even if the retaliation didn't completely neutralize the threat, it was essential to resist, to show that they weren't cowards who would allow their enemies to strike without consequence. After all, even a cornered toad will jump if poked hard enough.

But in the back of his mind, Hades knew that the ultimate victory would be to kill or, even better, capture one of these vigilantes alive. Such a victory would be invaluable, allowing them to unmask the enemy and potentially uncover the shadowy organization backing them. By following the trail back to its source, they might learn the true nature of the threat they were facing.

There's a saying in the underworld: "The unknown is what truly terrifies people." This was the crux of the problem—the criminals of Riverton City had no idea who or what they were up against. These vigilantes appeared from nowhere, disrupting their operations with surgical precision, and then vanished just as quickly. They were like phantoms, impossible to predict or counter. But if Hades and his allies could unmask these so-called heroes and strip away their mystique, they could drag them into a battle on the criminals' terms—a battle they were confident they could win.

However, it wasn't as if they could simply ring up Batman and invite him over for a showdown. These vigilantes were elusive, operating like ghosts in the night. Tracking them down was next to impossible. Yet, one thing was clear from observing their patterns: they had a knack for appearing at crime scenes just in time to thwart illegal activities. This gave Hades and his associates an idea—why not stage a crime and draw them out?

So, Hades summoned his most trusted lieutenant, Fern Smith, a hulking brute known for his loyalty and toughness. Fern was a man who had survived countless battles and had the scars to prove it.

"Fern, I have an important task for you," Hades said, his voice carrying a weight that made it clear this was no ordinary mission.

Fern thumped his chest with a meaty fist and declared, "Whatever you need, boss. I'm your man."

Hades nodded, satisfied with Fern's eagerness. "Good. I need you to take a beating."

Fern froze for a moment, his mind struggling to process what he'd just heard. "Uh, sorry, boss? Did you just say you need me to get beaten up?"

Hades sighed, as if he were explaining something to a child. "Yes, Fern. We're going to set up a trap, and to make it convincing, someone has to play the bait. That someone is you."

Fern's face fell as he realized what was being asked of him. "But boss, what if I get beaten to death?"

Hades waved his hand dismissively, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Don't worry, Fern. If you die, I'll take good care of your wife and kids. Your wife is quite the beauty, you know? I'll make sure she's well looked after."

Fern's expression twisted in a mix of horror and disbelief. @#%&...

Despite his misgivings, Fern had no choice but to go along with the plan. The major gangs of Riverton were nothing if not efficient when they decided to act in unison. That very night, they selected a location in one of the city's most chaotic and lawless districts—a place with a high likelihood of drawing vigilante attention.

But simply setting up a fight wasn't enough. The bosses knew that to make the ruse convincing, they needed to add a layer of authenticity. So, they decided that Fern wouldn't just be beaten; he'd be verbally assaulted as well. The thugs involved in the operation were instructed to hurl insults along with their punches, to make the whole scene as believable as possible.

"Don't just punch and kick," Hades had instructed over the phone. "You need to curse him out, make it look real."

So, as the fight began, one of the thugs, a wiry man with a nasty streak, threw a punch at Ivan and shouted, "You SOB! You still haven't paid me back the money you borrowed for hookers!"

Another thug, a burly man with a mean look, chimed in, "You SOB! I wouldn't have lent you the money if I knew you wouldn't pay it back! What, you think I can't afford to collect?"

A third thug, not wanting to be left out, added, "You SOB! Last time we went out together, you tried to steal the girl I had my eye on. Are you out of your mind?"

Meanwhile, Fern, who was on the receiving end of all this abuse, gritted his teeth and cursed internally. He knew these guys were taking advantage of the situation to settle personal grudges. They were venting their frustrations under the guise of following orders. Fern swore to himself that once this ordeal was over, he'd make sure to repay these bastards in kind.

The act continued well into the night. Fern was pummeled and kicked, his body aching from the relentless assault. But as dawn approached, there was still no sign of Batman or any other vigilante. The thugs, growing tired and frustrated, began to wonder if the plan had failed.

"Maybe Batman isn't coming tonight," one of the thugs suggested, his voice weary. "Should we call it quits?"

After some discussion with the higher-ups, they reluctantly agreed. "Alright, let's wrap it up for tonight."

Fern, who was bruised and swollen, breathed a sigh of relief when he heard this. But just as he was about to let out a groan of pain, the next sentence made him spit out another mouthful of blood.

"Let's continue tomorrow night."

Fern: @#!%

At that moment, everything became clear to him. The idiot Hades had set him up from the beginning. He hadn't cared about Batman or the plan; he was just using this as an excuse to get rid of Fern and move in on his wife!

And so, the next night, Fern endured yet another round of brutal beatings.

By this point, Fern swore that he had never in his life longed for Batman's arrival as much as he did now. The mere thought of Batman used to send chills down his spine; the caped crusader was like a ghost, always lurking in the shadows, ready to strike fear into the hearts of criminals. But after two nights of being relentlessly beaten, Fern found himself praying for Batman to show up and end his suffering. Yet, it seemed as though the Dark Knight had vanished from the face of the earth, leaving Ivan to endure another night of torture.

It was enough to drive anyone mad.

Finally, on the third night, Fern's torment was about to come to an end.

They started even earlier that day, not even waiting for nightfall. By now, Fern was a seasoned pro at playing the victim. He approached the "director" of the operation, asking where he should lie down, then stretched out his legs, closed his eyes, and mentally prepared himself for another round of beatings. He was already resigned to his fate.

But as they say, when things reach their breaking point, they often turn around. Just when Fern thought his luck had hit rock bottom, fate threw him a lifeline. He had barely taken a few punches when something unexpected happened.

One of the thugs, who had been enjoying himself, kicking Fern and hurling insults, suddenly felt a strange weight on his ankle. Before he could react, a powerful force yanked him off his feet and sent him flying across the alley, crashing into a high platform not far away.

After two days of relentless torment, the thugs, who had been on the verge of exhaustion, suddenly snapped to attention. The energy in the air shifted, and they all knew what it meant.

Finally, the bat was here!

They watched in stunned silence as a slender figure in red and blue tights performed an acrobatic flip, twisting through the air with a 720-degree spin that would have left Olympic judges speechless and had Newton rolling over in his grave. The figure landed gracefully in front of them, striking a pose that was equal parts casual and confident.

"I hope I didn't interrupt your little gathering," the newcomer quipped, his voice light but tinged with sarcasm.

Spider-Man had arrived, landing in a classic superhero pose before standing upright.

"Although I agree that combining leggings with a leather jacket is a bit of a fashion disaster," he said, glancing at Fern, who was still lying on the ground, battered and bruised. "But that's no reason to go this far, right? Really, it's not."

He looked around at the assembled thugs, a playful smirk visible through the mask. "Why don't we all just calm down and talk this out instead of resorting to violence… Hmm?"

As soon as Spider-Man landed, the thugs stopped their assault. They quickly scrambled to help Fern to his feet, though their motives were far from altruistic.

At the same time, more gang members emerged from the shadows, surrounding Spider-Man from all sides.

The sheer number of thugs was staggering, and the sight of countless guns suddenly being trained on Spider-Man's position was enough to make anyone's blood run cold. It was as if an entire army had been mobilized against him.

This was the location carefully chosen by the four major gangs. They had prepared an arsenal of high-grade weapons and manpower in advance, creating a near-perfect trap. The area was covered from every angle, leaving no escape. Even the best bulletproof gear would be useless against such a concentrated barrage of firepower.

For the four gangs, organizing such a massive operation within the city, with military-grade equipment and so many men, was a colossal feat. It had cost them a small fortune, but they knew it was a necessary investment.

But that investment also meant something else—they were determined to win, no matter the cost.

"Ahhh," Spider-Man's mask-eye lenses narrowed slightly, making it look as if he was really squinting in confusion. "It looks like I've walked right into an ambush~"

"Fire!" The order came from the front lines, Hades snarling with venomous intent, "Kill that freak."

The sound of dozens of triggers being pulled simultaneously echoed through the night, the noise like a chorus of death.

The gangsters selected for this mission were the cream of the crop, even by underworld standards. Many had real combat experience, having seen their share of bloodshed. While they couldn't be compared to professional soldiers, they were far from inexperienced.

But even for these hardened criminals, the sight of so many guns firing in unison was a shock. The continuous roar of gunfire was like rolling thunder, the sound so loud that it felt as though their eardrums might burst. The overwhelming firepower created a storm of bullets that instantly swallowed Spider-Man's slender figure.

The thugs pulled their triggers with unrelenting force, reloading as soon as their magazines were empty, and switching out overheated barrels with spares. There was no regard for cost; this operation had been well-supplied. The bullets poured down on Spider-Man's small frame as if they were endless, an unstoppable tide of metal.

"Ghost… Ghost…" Matthews, who was stationed on a high observation deck with a pair of binoculars, turned pale as he reported what he was seeing. "This is impossible…"

"What's going on? What did you see?" Ian asked urgently, his voice filled with concern.

Matthews lowered the binoculars, his expression a mix of disbelief and shock at the absurdity of what he was witnessing.

"That freak in the spandex… he's dancing in the middle of the gunfire…"

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