Now Would Be a Good Time

Siegel's eyes widened, filled with shock as he looked at the fallen teammate behind him. His brain struggled to process the abrupt change in the situation.

No, what happened to my men?

How had everything gone south so quickly? One moment, he was in the middle of a tense standoff, and in the next, his men were lying on the ground, looking lifeless. The reality hit him like a tidal wave, but he couldn't make sense of it. What kind of attack had they just been subjected to?

The rest of the squad, still scattered throughout the abandoned pharmaceutical factory, began to realize something was wrong. Panic spread through the remaining soldiers like wildfire as they saw the first fallen body. Their expressions were identical to students caught off guard when a teacher wakes them mid-nap—utter confusion.

The strange part? None of them had even noticed what happened behind them. The very people who could have seen it all unfold were now lying on the floor, silent and still. The factory hadn't even opened, and already half their men were down without a sound, without a struggle. The inexplicable nature of the situation left them paralyzed with a mixture of fear and disbelief.

Siegel, his neck stiff as a board, turned his head slowly, dread weighing on him like an anchor as his eyes locked onto the black muzzle of Ivan's gun pointed directly at him.

"You... you planted a mole inside our team?" Siegel's voice wavered as his confusion morphed into disbelief, his mind working overtime to catch up.

In that moment, Ivan's entire demeanor changed in Siegel's eyes. Initially, he had dismissed Ivan as just another brute—a man who preferred to solve problems with fists instead of brains. But now, it was as if Ivan had peeled back the curtain, revealing a cunning strategist capable of meticulous deception. The rough exterior was merely a facade to hide the mind of a tactician, one who expertly lured them into an invisible trap.

"Me?" Ivan let out a booming laugh, the sound echoing through the empty factory. "Nah, man. You've got it all wrong. I don't even know who you are." He shrugged, his grip on the gun steady, almost playful. "But if I had to guess..."

A grin spread across Ivan's face, sharp and dangerous. His eyes gleamed with mischievous confidence.

"I'd say you've been 'Batted.'"

The dim lighting in the underground factory did little to reveal what had happened. Ivan himself hadn't seen the whole picture—just the eerie reduction of men happening in real-time. He hadn't seen the silent takedowns, but he didn't need to. A familiar chill ran down his spine, one that told him Batman was here. 

He was always here.

Invisible. Untraceable. Omnipresent. 

"You can't see him. You can't hear him. But believe me, he's always there," Ivan continued, his voice lowering into a near-whisper. "Even in a place like this... even in a hole like this."

"Bat..." Siegel's breath hitched, and the color drained from his face. "You mean the Bat… Batman?!"

Batman's reputation had spread across Riverton City like wildfire. His presence was the shadow that loomed over every underworld figure, from the petty thieves to the seasoned criminals. In the eyes of Riverton's elite, Batman was something far worse than a nuisance. He was an enigma wrapped in fear—a high-tech lunatic in black armor who hunted the guilty.

At this moment, any thoughts Siegel had of resistance evaporated. Even though he knew surrender was his only option, his mind was still plagued with confusion.

"But even if it was him... how did he do this?"

How could someone dismantle half a squad of heavily armed men without making a sound, without leaving a trace?

Ivan chuckled, tapping the side of his gun in amusement. "That's the thing, isn't it? How'd he do it?" Ivan leaned in, his eyes glinting with a mix of mockery and truth. "Because he's Batman."

With that, Ivan nonchalantly approached and raised his arm, pressing the muzzle of his gun squarely against Siegel's temple, his tone growing serious.

"Now, who the hell are you?"

Siegel hesitated, his soldiers stealing nervous glances at one another, the tension in the air palpable. They were waiting, all of them—waiting for their leader to make a decision.

After a long, drawn-out moment, Siegel raised his hand. It wasn't a gesture of defiance. It was the gesture of a man who had come to terms with the reality in front of him—a reality he could no longer fight.

A gesture of surrender.

The soldiers hesitated but, one by one, they lowered their weapons, their resistance draining as they followed their leader's example.

"Smart. I like that," Ivan remarked with a satisfied grin. "People should know when they're outmatched."

"We're not surrendering out of fear," Siegel responded, his voice level and controlled, though a glint of frustration remained in his eyes. "We just want to make it clear: we're not your enemy."

Ivan cocked his head, skepticism dripping from his expression. "That's for me to decide," he replied coolly. "Now, let's start over. Who are you?"

"On paper, we're part of the Grove Group. You've probably heard of us."

Ivan snorted. "Yeah, I know the Grove Group. The Grove heir happens to be one of our allies. Funny, I always wondered why they'd risk their own heir on a mission like this." He paused, his sharp gaze scanning Siegel's team, still tense, still unsure.

"But that doesn't explain why you're suited up like a tactical unit, does it?"

"That's because the Grove Group is just a cover," Siegel explained, choosing his words carefully. "In reality, we belong to a clandestine organization. We specialize in handling… infection outbreaks and other unnatural events."

"Really?" Ivan arched a brow, clearly unconvinced. "You must not be paying attention, because that job's already taken by The Ninth Special Service Division."

"It's the truth," Siegel said, his tone growing more serious. "You're a smart guy, Ivan. You've seen the inconsistencies in your own organization, haven't you? All the mistakes, all the breaches in security—"

Ivan's eyes narrowed.

"Don't you find it suspicious?" Siegel pressed. "Doesn't it make you wonder if there's something more going on than simple incompetence?"

Ivan remained silent, his expression hardening as Siegel's words dug deeper.

"Even now," Siegel continued, "we've been studying these ruins long before you arrived. We've been planning this excavation for months. We found another entrance, mapped out the area using advanced tech. If you'd bothered to look, you would've found it too. But instead, they rushed you in here, unprepared, to do their dirty work for them."

Siegel paused, allowing his words to sink in. "Don't you see? The Ninth Division sent you in to fail."

"So, you're saying someone in the Ninth wants us dead?" Ivan's voice was low, dangerous.

"I'm saying that someone—someone high up—is pulling the strings, and they've been setting you up to fail from the start."

The agents behind Ivan shifted uncomfortably, Siegel's words clearly getting under their skin. The seeds of doubt were taking root, and they didn't like it.

"I'm telling you this because I believe we can work together," Siegel added. "I want—"

Suddenly, Siegel froze, his face turning ashen. His eyes widened in horror, locked on something in the distance.

"What the hell is that?"

One by one, the others turned to look. Glowing eyes stared back at them from the darkness, cold and predatory. A figure emerged from the shadows, and with him came the weight of danger.

Link.

No one understood the level of danger better than Ivan. He had faced Link before. He had barely survived.

But Link had died—he was sure of it. He'd seen it himself.

Yet here he was.

The eyes multiplied. Two more figures emerged from the darkness, flanking Link. Their cold, calculating stares locked onto the group, surrounding them like wolves hunting prey.

Ivan muttered under his breath, his hands shifting into a new set of weapons, his body tense and ready.

"Uh... Bat? If you're out there... and you're planning some grand entrance to save the day—"

His eyes flicked to the figures closing in.

"Now would be a good time."

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