DC Chapter 16 Heroes are Rising Up

The soft hum of the lab filled the air as Viktor Frost, now in his diamond form, stood in front of the massive display. The cold, blue light from the screens reflected off his crystalline body, casting a sharp glint across the room. His lab coat draped neatly over his now muscular frame, adding a bit of clinical precision to his every movement.

He leaned forward, his fingertips now hardened into the gleaming perfection of diamond, lightly tapping the console. His diamond eyes, glowing faintly with calculation, flickered between the headlines flashing on the screen. The news feed painted a picture of the world reacting to the rise of vigilantes, not just in Gotham, but around the globe.

"Spider-Man and Batman," JARVIS's voice cut through the silence, "are making international headlines. Their recent collaboration against the League of Shadows has triggered a surge in costumed heroes."

Viktor's lips twisted into a sardonic smile. "Of course it has," he murmured to himself. "Heroes, inspiring others to throw on masks and play savior. It's almost predictable, isn't it? They wear their righteousness like armor, hoping to make a difference in a world that doesn't care."

JARVIS, ever efficient, displayed a clip of a man in green tactical gear. He moved with lethal grace, his bow string taut, each arrow finding its mark with deadly accuracy. The caption read: Green Arrow: Modern-Day Robin Hood of Star City.

"Oliver Queen," Viktor said, his voice dripping with quiet amusement. "The poor little rich boy who fancies himself a hero. Playing archer, bringing justice to the streets with a quiver full of ideals." He chuckled, shaking his head. "I remember him... I know what drives him. But his methods are limited. The world doesn't change with arrows."

As the screen shifted, Viktor's expression darkened. Footage of Superman filled the display the man of steel, effortlessly soaring through the skies of Metropolis, catching a falling airplane with ease. His red cape billowed in the wind, and his iconic "S" gleamed brightly on his chest.

"Superman..." Viktor's voice was laced with a mixture of respect and calculated malice. "The ultimate boy scout. All power, all hope... no doubt. But every hero has their weakness." He eyed the small fragment of kryptonite on his desk, its pale green glow a reminder of the cracks in even the most indestructible armor. "And I've already prepared for him."

JARVIS then asked, "Do you know what the 'S' on his chest stands for, sir?"

Viktor smirked, replying, "It stands for 'hope' in Kryptonian, but I think in his case, 'S' stands for 'stupid.'"

JARVIS, unfazed by his master's remark, continued as a global map appeared, highlighting various hotspots of vigilante activity across the world. "It's not just here, sir. Reports indicate a rise in vigilantes globally. In Japan, a high-tech armored figure is dismantling criminal networks in Tokyo. In Brazil, a vigilante known as 'The Jaguar' is said to be defending the Amazon rainforest. And in the Middle East, there are rumors of a man called 'The Djinn,' believed to possess control over the elements."

Viktor's eyes narrowed as he scanned the map. "So, the world's getting crowded with colorful costumes." He leaned back, crossing his arms. "These 'heroes' think they can fix things by putting on masks. As if dressing up in tights changes anything, it not it actually escalates things more." He chuckled softly, his voice turning almost theatrical. "They don't know the world like I do. They're entering a fight that's already rigged, but I'll be sure to stand out more than anyone to earn those delicious points."

He turned to look at the display of Spider-Man, his super hero persona. His very own money maker, well on this case, his points farmer. The sleek black-and-white suit, the web-slinging acrobatics. "And then there's me," he whispered, his smile faint but sharp. "The vigilante of Gotham."

He paused, considering the implications. "But perhaps this is an opportunity." His fingers tapped thoughtfully on the desk. "I now have a better chance to face the coming threats. Sabretooth's healing, Black Widow's skills, and an armor with advanced technological capabilities. In time maybe I can reach the level of gods, perhaps even surpass them."

The room was silent, save for the hum of technology around him. The weight of the world outside felt distant as Viktor stood in his lab, contemplating the path ahead.

Below the Destroyed Wayne Manor – The Batcave

The Batcave hummed with low, constant energy, the sound of countless machines and screens creating an eerie backdrop to the cave's natural stillness. Fluorescent light glowed from the massive central computer, casting long shadows on the cave walls. The unmistakable aroma of machinery and limestone mixed in the cool underground air.

Bruce Wayne, dressed in a tailored dark gray suit, stood in front of the massive supercomputer, his eyes fixed on the wall of monitors. The array of screens displayed various parts of Gotham: the streets, the docks, Wayne Enterprises, and even the city's underground networks. But one particular feed caught his attention. On the screen was Viktor Frost, dressed in a sharp black suit with a pristine white shirt, standing amidst a crowd as he handed out food and supplies to Gotham's homeless. The event seemed innocent enough—charity work, or so it appeared.

Bruce's brow furrowed as he watched Viktor smile and shake hands with the people around him. "He's been doing a lot of this lately," Bruce muttered, his voice carrying a weight of suspicion.

Alfred Pennyworth, standing beside him, his posture immaculate as always, raised an eyebrow. Dressed in his usual butler attire, with white gloves tucked neatly into his coat pocket, Alfred exuded calm confidence. His eyes darted to the screen before he replied with his characteristic dry wit. "Charity work, sir? One might say that's a rather noble pursuit. It seems young Mr. Frost is quite the philanthropist."

Bruce didn't respond immediately, his eyes narrowing further as the scene played out on the monitor. Viktor posed for photos, shaking hands with a local news crew as they captured the moment.

"Publicity," Bruce finally said, his tone cold. "He's not doing this out of the goodness of his heart. It's all for show."

Alfred turned to face Bruce, his expression both knowing and sarcastic. "Isn't that what most billionaires do, Master Wayne? Appearing on the front page with a beaming smile and a donation cheque in hand? At least Mr. Frost maintains a far better image than a certain someone. Let's see," Alfred gestured towards Bruce, "distant, reclusive, avoiding the press like the plague. Parading like some drunk playboy… Oh yes, he's certainly ahead in that regard."

Bruce shot Alfred a sideways glance, unimpressed by the quip. "He's hiding something," he said flatly, ignoring the jab. "The first time I met him, I felt danger coming from him. It's almost predatory not something you can learn even easily even with years of practice. It's a gut feeling, Viktor Frost seems to be a person who doesn't do anything unless there's a reason behind it."

Alfred chuckled lightly. "Ah, paranoia in its finest form. Forgive me, but do you ever suspect that someone might simply want to help? Perhaps he's trying to make Gotham a better place, just like you?"

Bruce didn't respond. He walked to the massive desk in front of the computer and picked up a file, flipping through it. It contained information on Viktor Frost: financial transactions, business deals, news articles. He stopped at one document, a report from Wayne Enterprises' board meeting. Viktor was now the second-largest shareholder in the company, right behind Bruce himself. How was he able to amassed that kind of money even with his tech company is something unthinkable, here it was a clean record of that transaction.

"He's not just playing philanthropist, Alfred. He's consolidating power. First, his massive expansion into real estate, but properties near this bar called The Siren. Now, he's buying up shares in Wayne Enterprises. He's too close."

Alfred poured himself a cup of tea, casually glancing at the computer screen again. "He's a businessman, sir. Isn't that what they do? If you're going to suspect every wealthy individual who happens to be ambitious, you'll be here all day."

Bruce closed the file and leaned against the desk, his fingers tracing the edge thoughtfully. "It's not just that. There's something more. His rise to power, his rapid increase in wealth over the last few years is suspicious. His background shows he came from a poor family, both parents murdered. There's no clear explanation for how he amassed his fortune so quickly, and no trace of it anywhere. What's more, his financial records are too clean, so clean that even the IRS can't find any fault."

Alfred took a sip of his tea. "Could it be that Mr. Frost is simply a very private man? After all, you're not exactly forthcoming about your extracurricular activities either."

Bruce ignored the comment, his mind clearly elsewhere. "There's something about him, Alfred. He's too… perfect. No mistakes, barely any scandal except for that one time with a fling from a matured woman, he has no weaknesses. And then there's Spider-Man."

Alfred paused mid-sip, raising an eyebrow. "Ah, yes. The mysterious web-slinger. What makes you think the two are connected?"

Bruce walked back to the supercomputer and typed in a few commands, pulling up a surveillance clip of Spider-Man swinging through the city. The footage showed the black-and-white figure leaping across rooftops with fluid grace. His suit was sleek, almost armored, and his red compound eyes glowed as he moved.

"Look at him," Bruce said. "Spider-Man appeared in Gotham two years ago the same time Viktor Frost rose in wealth. And Spider-Man's tech… it's not something an ordinary person could just put together."

Alfred stepped closer, his eyes narrowing at the footage. "You think Mr. Frost is Spider-Man? That's quite a leap, even for you Sir. Are you sure it's not because Spider-man found out about your identity that your blindly pointing out fingers now"

Bruce crossed his arms, his expression hard. "No Alfred, it's more than a suspicion. Spider-Man uses tech that's way beyond anything I've seen. Even Lucius has no clue as to how his armor works. And Frost, with his sudden wealth, his resources… his intellect, has access to everything he needs that he might be able create something like that."

Alfred nodded, his face contemplative. "Admittedly, that's quite the theory, sir. But if Mr. Frost were indeed Spider-Man, what's his endgame? Surely a man of his wealth and power has no need to put on a suit and fight crime."

Bruce shook his head. "That's the part I'm trying to understand, one possibility is his shock when his parents were killed. But I'm going to find out."

Alfred chuckled softly. "Ah, detective work at its finest. Do you plan on confronting him directly, or will you wait until you have more evidence?"

"I'll be watching him," Bruce said, his tone dark and certain. "If he's Spider-Man, I'll know soon enough. And if he's not… then I'll find out what he's really after."

The Batcave returned to its usual quiet hum, with only the flicker of monitors casting light on the stone walls. Alfred sipped his tea thoughtfully, while Bruce stood lost in thought, his mind working through every possibility, every angle.

Viktor Frost was a puzzle. And Bruce Wayne would not rest until he solved it.

Back in the streets of Gotham, the night was dense with shadows, the kind that seemed to crawl across the buildings, as if alive. High above the city, a police blimp floated through the cold air, its searchlights lazily scanning the darkened streets below. Inside the cockpit, two officers were on patrol, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of the instruments around them.

Officer Mitchell, a veteran with a thick mustache and heavyset frame, leaned back in his chair, adjusting his cap. "A quiet night for Gotham," he muttered, taking a long sip from his coffee cup. His tone was skeptical. The city was rarely so calm.

Beside him, Officer Franklin, younger and more alert, peered out the window into the night. He furrowed his brow as something caught his attention. "You see that?"

Mitchell sat up slightly, glancing in the direction Franklin was pointing. "What?"

"There!" Franklin's voice was tense. "Something just flew by."

Mitchell squinted, his eyes following the path of the searchlight. For a moment, the beams passed over a massive, dark figure gliding across the rooftops. It was fast, too fast for either of them to get a good look, but its silhouette stood out—large, with unmistakable wings.

"Bat wings?" Franklin whispered.

Mitchell's face hardened. "Could be him. Could be Batman."

The shadow disappeared as quickly as it had come, leaving an unsettling quiet in the blimp. Franklin shook his head, still staring into the night. "Whatever it is… it's big. Bigger than Batman, I'd say."

Mitchell let out a grunt, settling back into his seat, though his eyes remained on the skyline. "Nothing good comes with wings in Gotham."

---

At Phoenix Pharmaceuticals, the night shift was just as dull, but the air was thick with a foreboding tension. A lone security guard, Johnson, walked his usual patrol route around the loading docks. His flashlight beam cut through the darkness, flickering as it passed over crates and empty containers.

He yawned, rubbing his eyes. "Almost done," he muttered to himself, counting down the minutes until his shift ended. But the night had other plans.

A loud screech echoed from above, so sharp and sudden that it froze Johnson in his tracks. His heart raced as he shone his flashlight upward, eyes wide. There, descending from the sky, was a monstrous figure of a giant bat.

Before he could even scream, the creature was upon him. Massive claws tore through his uniform as he was lifted into the air. Johnson's flashlight fell to the ground with a clatter, its beam flickering wildly as he struggled, helpless in the creature's grip. Blood splattered across the concrete as the beast's fangs dug into his shoulder. Then, with terrifying strength, the creature hurled Johnson against the side of the building. His body crumpled, unconscious, as the creature screeched again and disappeared into the night.

---

Inside GCPD headquarters, the tension was palpable. The incident at Phoenix Pharmaceuticals had put the city on edge, and now, inside the smoky, dimly lit bullpen, Commissioner Loeb stood in front of a crowd of officers, his stern face lit by the overhead lights.

Detective Harvey Bullock paced near his desk, chewing on a cigar, clearly agitated. "I'm telling you, it's the Bat!" he barked, slamming his hand on a stack of papers. "That thing's out there terrorizing people, and you're telling me we're just gonna sit here?"

Gordon's face was stone. "We don't have confirmation it was Batman."

Bullock scowled, turning toward Gordon, who stood calmly by his side, arms crossed. "Jim, come on. You know it's him. He's been on a rampage. Who else flies around scaring the hell outta people?"

Gordon shook his head, his tone measured. "This isn't Batman's MO, Harvey. He doesn't kill. What happened to that guard… that was something else. Something… animalistic."

Loeb grunted. "Animal or not, the city's in a panic. The mayor's breathing down my neck, and if Batman's the cause, we're taking him down. I'm authorizing the SWAT team to bring him in."

Bullock grinned as he adjusted his coat. "Finally, we're doing something right."

Harvey Dent, the District Attorney of Gotham City, known for his charismatic and idealistic approach to fighting crime is leaning against a nearby desk, shook his head. "This isn't the answer, Bullock. SWAT against Batman? You're going to have half the city destroyed in the process."

Bullock's grin faded. "You got a better idea, Dent?"

Loeb raised a hand to silence them. "Enough. Bullock, get your team ready. Gordon, keep your eyes on the ground. I want Batman brought in."

Gordon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked at the city map pinned on the wall. "This is a mistake," he muttered.

---

Bruce Wayne sat in the Batcave, his eyes scanning over the news feeds displayed on the massive monitor in front of him. The reports were all the same—headlines screaming about the 'giant bat' terrorizing Gotham, alongside accusations that Batman had finally crossed a line. The latest footage from Phoenix Pharmaceuticals showed a brief, blurry image of the creature, its massive wings outstretched as it flew off into the night.

Alfred approached from behind, holding a cup of tea on a silver tray. "It seems the city has, mistaken a monster for you, sir."

Bruce didn't reply immediately, his eyes narrowing as he analyzed the footage. "This isn't just hysteria, Alfred. Something's out there. Something real."

"And yet," Alfred said, setting the tray down, "the police have decided to declare war on the Batman."

Bruce picked up the Gotham Gazette from the desk. The front page displayed a bold headline: "GCPD Declares Open Hunt on Batman."

"I've been in their crosshairs before," Bruce muttered, setting the paper aside. "But this time it's different. They're afraid."

"And rightfully so," Alfred replied, glancing at the footage still playing on the Batcomputer. "That creature looks like something out of a nightmare."

Bruce's jaw clenched. "I need to the creature before they do. Before anyone else gets hurt."

---

Across Gotham, in a sleek, state-of-the-art laboratory, Viktor Frost stood alone in the center of the room, bathed in the pale glow of multiple screens. His dark, tailored comfy clothes and the stillness in his expression contrasted sharply with the flurry of activity in the world outside. On the largest screen, JARVIS projected live security footage from Phoenix Pharmaceuticals.

"Sir," JARVIS chimed in, "I've detected an unusual event at Phoenix Pharmaceuticals. One of the guards has been injured heavily. The assailant appears to be a large, bat-like creature."

Viktor's eyes narrowed as he watched the footage. "Man-Bat," he murmured, recognizing the creature immediately. "Kirk Langstrom's handiwork. Finally more and more of Batman's gallery are appearing one by one."

JARVIS switched to another camera angle, showing the aftermath of the attack. "The GCPD believes this is the work of Batman, and Detective Bullock is rallying a SWAT team under the assumption that he's responsible."

Viktor smirked. "Let them chase their ghosts. They have no idea what they're dealing with."

He paced slowly in front of the screens, deep in thought. "Langstrom… he's out of control. This could be an opportunity, though. Gotham's in chaos, and chaos is ripe for some points."

JARVIS's voice cut through the silence again. "Shall I continue monitoring the situation, sir?"

"Of course, JARVIS," Viktor replied, his voice a soft purr. "And make sure to alert me if our bat problem gets any worse. I intend hog all the attention and solve this before the Bat's clash."