Steroids

Many years ago.

A gap was chiseled into the eternal darkness. From within, a single beam of light sliced through the black void, piercing the silent abyss like a blade cutting through the fabric of time.

There was a dull thud as the heavy stone slab, centuries old, shifted and was pulled away from the outside. Dust filled the air as the light struck ancient stone steps, bathing them in a glow they hadn't seen in millennia. The silence that had reigned in the chamber for ages was shattered by the clinking sounds of armor and heavy footsteps. A group of figures, clad in full combat gear and gas masks, entered the forgotten space. Their flashlights cut through the shadows, casting long beams into the depths, illuminating what had been sealed away for so long.

The team immediately began conducting tests—air quality, structural integrity, and the presence of any biological dangers. They moved with military precision, checking for lethal gases, unstable structures, and other hazards that could turn their mission into a death sentence.

After completing the initial tests, one of the team leaders pressed his earpiece, his voice crackling through the static. "This is Link. The area is secure. No issues. Let the archaeologists proceed."

These weren't just any soldiers; they were elite special agents, part of a highly secretive organization. Their job was to be the first ones in, to clear the path for those who would follow—the scientists, the researchers, the ones who needed protection. The agents were trained for this, prepared for the unknown dangers that lurked in such ancient places.

The team activated a compact sonar device designed specifically for exploring ancient ruins and tombs. This small, unassuming box had the power to demystify what had taken centuries to conceal. With it, they could map out the entire underground structure, identifying traps, hidden chambers, and labyrinthine corridors that the original builders had worked so hard to hide.

A low hum vibrated through the chamber as the sonar waves expanded outward, creeping into every nook and cranny of the ruins.

It was as if the tomb had given up its secrets willingly. The invisible power of technology rendered the darkness irrelevant, forcing the hidden palace to reveal its true form.

As the structure was mapped out on their screens, abstract lines and geometric patterns formed a massive and complex space, much larger than anyone had anticipated. Several agents, seasoned though they were, gasped audibly at the sight.

The image on the sonar screen defied logic. Even the most experienced among them, who had seen their share of ancient ruins and forgotten cities, were stunned by the enormity and complexity of what lay beneath their feet.

"It's... massive," someone whispered, the awe in their voice unmistakable.

"And it's... complex," another agent added, scanning the screen in disbelief. "I've never seen anything like this. It doesn't match any architectural style from any known civilization."

"It doesn't even look like human work," someone else murmured, their voice thick with unease.

"That's because it's not," came Link's calm, authoritative voice.

"Captain?" one of the agents asked, puzzled. "What do you mean by that?"

Link didn't respond. In fact, they realized he had retreated back toward the entrance at some point, his figure now half-hidden in the shadows. His back was turned to them, and without a word, he removed the heavy pack from his shoulders and tossed it into the center of the group.

The growing tension in the room was palpable. Some of the agents began to exchange uneasy glances, sensing that something was very wrong.

"Captain, what are you doing?" one of them asked, concern creeping into their voice.

Then, they saw it. Link was holding a small, sleek device in his hand. It was metallic black, with a single red button glinting ominously on its surface. 

Every eye in the room was glued to the device, the air thick with confusion and rising dread.

Before anyone could react, Link pressed the button.

Boom!

In an instant, fire engulfed the chamber, consuming everything in its path. The roar of the explosion drowned out any screams, and the once-secure tomb turned into a death trap.

---

Years later. Present day.

Boom!

The deafening explosion shattered the quiet of the night. A shockwave tore through the Sloan Technology building, blasting out windows and sending debris raining down onto the street below. Flames exploded from the upper floors, lighting up the dark sky as half of the building was consumed in fire. From a distance, it looked like a blazing beacon, hundreds of meters tall, casting an orange glow over the surrounding city.

Standing on the rooftop of a building across the street, a man held a pair of binoculars, his attention fixed on the burning wreckage. His expression was one of satisfaction, his gaze unblinking as he watched the inferno grow, the fire licking at the sky like the tongue of a hungry beast.

He remained there for several minutes, his eyes scanning the upper floors of the Sloan building. There were no signs of movement—no survivors. No Batman.

He pulled out his phone, still watching as flames devoured the building's remains. His voice was calm, self-assured. "Yeah, I've been watching. No one made it out. Batman is finished."

He spoke a few more words, his tone casual, then pocketed the phone. Turning to leave, he stopped abruptly, his blood running cold.

In the shadows, standing perfectly still, was Batman.

The Dark Knight had been there all along, silently watching, patiently waiting. He had even given the man the courtesy of finishing his phone call before revealing his presence.

"Fuck!" The man's face twisted in shock and fear. His hand flew to his side, reaching for his gun, but before he could draw, a bat-shaped projectile zipped through the air, striking the gun and sending it clattering to the ground.

Desperate, the man lunged forward, throwing a punch with all the strength and speed he could muster. But his movements were wild, uncoordinated. To Batman, they were easy to predict and just as easy to avoid.

Infected, Batman noted clinically as he sidestepped the blow. The man had some enhancements, but not enough.

Batman shifted his weight and pivoted just as the man threw a second punch. The attack missed again, and this time, Batman moved diagonally, forcing the man to stumble forward.

The attacker growled in frustration and attempted to spin into a backhanded strike. But before he could complete the motion, Batman's outstretched boot met his shin, tripping him. The man fell forward with an awkward yelp, crashing to the ground face-first in a graceless heap.

Before the man could even think of getting up, Batman acted. With a flick of his wrist, a string of multi-ball traps flew from his hand, wrapping around the man's arms and legs, binding him tightly. The man wriggled and flailed on the ground like a fish out of water, but no matter how much he struggled, he couldn't break free.

In a nearby alley, the sound of an engine roared to life. A white sedan peeled out of the shadows, tires screeching as it drifted onto the main road. The car sped off, weaving through traffic as the driver floored the accelerator. They were making their escape.

Inside the car, two men sat, both tense. The driver gripped the wheel, his knuckles white as he tried to control the vehicle at high speed. He pulled out his phone, dialing a number as they raced away from Sloan Technology.

"We've been made," he spat into the phone. "Batman caught the Observer. He's done for. We're getting out of here now—"

He broke off mid-sentence, something catching his eye. From the corner of his vision, he noticed people on the sidewalks. They had all stopped, their heads turned upward, their faces frozen in expressions of shock and confusion. Several of them pointed, their eyes wide as they stared at something behind the car.

Even the man in the passenger seat leaned out of the window, craning his neck to see what was happening. "What the hell is that?" he exclaimed, his voice filled with panic.

The driver, against his better judgment, glanced in the rearview mirror—and what he saw made his heart stop.

Swinging through the air, gracefully and impossibly fast, was a figure. It was dressed in red and blue, a blur of motion as it leaped between buildings, using thin strands of webbing to propel itself forward.

With every swing, the figure gained more speed, arcing high above the street before plummeting downward with the force of gravity, accelerating with an unnatural momentum. It was like watching a human-shaped missile, hurtling through the sky with the precision of a hawk diving for prey.

The sight was surreal, almost otherworldly. It was as if reality had been warped, and they were being pursued by something from a sci-fi movie.

The driver's breath hitched in his throat, his hands trembling on the wheel. He snapped his gaze back to the road, trying to regain control of his racing heart.

"Why are you just sitting there?" he screamed at his passenger. "Shoot him!"

The man in the passenger seat fumbled for his gun, his hands shaking as he loaded the clip. Squinting through the window, he tried to aim at the figure rapidly closing in on them. But the target was moving too fast, swinging between buildings in an unpredictable, almost dance-like rhythm. Hitting something moving that fast was nearly impossible.

In the end, the man could only fire blindly, sending a spray of bullets into the air. But Spider-Man's spider-sense kicked in, and every single shot missed its mark. The bullets flew harmlessly into the night sky as Spider-Man continued his pursuit, unfazed and uninjured.

The driver, barely holding the wheel steady, realized his phone was still connected. The person on the other end was shouting for an update.

"I don't know what the hell is happening!" the driver yelled, his voice frantic. "We're being chased by some circus freak—like Tarzan on steroids! He's swinging faster than we can drive!"

There was a pause on the other end, and then a confused response.

"What? Yes, I'm awake! I know what I'm seeing!"

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