Chapter 10: Vigilantes on the Hunt.

The moon hung low over Gotham, casting long shadows across the city's narrow alleyways and towering skyscrapers. A cold wind swept through the streets, carrying with it a sense of dread that clung to the air. Beneath the city's surface, in dimly lit rooms filled with the scent of smoke and sweat, the crime families of Gotham sat in fear.

Angelo Beretti, capo of the Bertinelli Crime Family, leaned back in a leather chair inside his luxurious penthouse. Despite his age, he remained a formidable presence, with sharp brown eyes that betrayed decades of ruthlessness. Dressed in a tailored black suit with a blood-red tie, Beretti puffed on a cigar, his thick black hair slicked back, the smoke curling in front of his face as he spoke with his most trusted lieutenants. The air was tense, a constant reminder that something was coming.

"Word on the street," Beretti began, his voice gravelly, "is that Spider-Man's been picking off the families. Galante, Panessa... even Cassamento's been hit. We're next if we don't act."

The thugs in the room exchanged nervous glances. They had heard the stories, the whispers of Spider-Man. A vigilante whose name has turned into something of a bogeyman, his exploits have been exaggerated to levels which to the point where people don't know what is the truth any more but one this is true his very brutal. Some had seen the bodies left hanging in webs, others had heard the terrified last breaths of those unlucky enough to survive his onslaught. No one knew where he came from or when he would strike, but everyone knew what followed: a bloody, merciless hunt, a Spider picking its prey one by one.

J.A.R.V.I.S. whispered in Spider-Man's ear through the earpiece embedded in his mask. "Sir, we have a visual on the Beretti penthouse. Three floors of armed guards. Approximately twenty-five men. Scanners also detect a secret exit beneath the building, likely for Beretti's escape. Shall I seal it?"

Perched atop a nearby building, Spider-Man crouched low, his black-and-white armored suit blending into the night. His red spider emblem glowed faintly, and the deep crimson light of his Ark Reactor pulsed with energy beneath the plating. His eyes, sharp and insect-like, scanned the building through his mask, processing every detail J.A.R.V.I.S. fed him. He flexed his fingers, feeling the hum of power in his shocker gauntlets, and the metallic spider legs attached to his back twitched in anticipation.

"Seal it," Spider-Man replied, his voice cold and methodical. "Let's make sure they have no way out."

In the next instant, he leaped from the rooftop, the mechanical legs on his back unfurling silently as he use his repulsor tech to fly through the air. The wind rushed past him as he descended, a phantom in the night, heading straight for Beretti's penthouse.

Inside the building, Beretti's men stood watch at every window, their eyes scanning the darkened streets below, unaware that Spider-Man was already among them. He crashed through the skylight, a blur of motion as his spider legs shot out, impaling one guard and dragging another through the shattered glass, all they could hear are screams of the frightened guards who have been drag and disappeared who knows where and before anyone could react. The room exploded into chaos.

"He's here!" one of the guards yelled, scrambling for his weapon, but it was too late. Spider-Man moved with ruthless efficiency, swooping down from the air, sending guards flying with precise sonic blasts from his gauntlets. The thugs barely had time to aim before they were yanked off their feet by thick webs and thrown into walls.

"J.A.R.V.I.S., disable their comms," Spider-Man ordered as he flung another thug into a marble pillar, the sickening crunch of bone echoing through the room.

"Comms disabled, sir. Reinforcements will be blind."

Beretti stood frozen in the corner, his cigar hanging loosely from his lips as he watched his men fall one by one. Spider-Man landed in front of him, the mechanical legs folding back into his suit.

"You're next, Beretti," Spider-Man growled, his voice distorted through the suit's modulator.

Beretti's face twisted into a sneer as he reached for his pistol, but Spider-Man was faster. With a flick of his wrist, he fired a web that disarmed Beretti instantly, the gun clattering to the floor. Beretti backed away, but there was nowhere to go.

"I'm not like the others," Beretti spat, trying to maintain his bravado. "You can't touch me. I have connections! Money!"

"Connections and money won't save you tonight," Spider-Man interrupted, grabbing Beretti by the collar and lifting him off the ground with ease. His strength in this suit was far beyond human, the dark energy from the Ark Reactor amplifying every movement. Beretti's eyes widened in terror.

"You and your family have ruled Gotham long enough," Spider-Man said, his voice low and menacing. "But the city isn't afraid of you anymore."

He tossed Beretti aside like a ragdoll, letting him crash into the floor. The capo struggled to get up, but Spider-Man was already moving, webbing him to the ground in thick layers of silken threads. He left Beretti cocooned, hanging in midair like so many others before him.

"J.A.R.V.I.S. track Cassamento. It's time to pay him a visit."

"Sir Cassamento's enforcers, are moving a shipment through the East End. A convoy of three armored vehicles. "

Spider-Man shot a web and swung through the shattered window, launching himself into the air. "Let's give them a welcoming party."

---

The convoy snaked through the industrial district of Gotham, the rumble of engines loud in the still night. Santo Cassamento's men sat inside the vehicles, tense, knowing that Spider-Man could be anywhere. They had heard what happened to Beretti's men, to the Galante family, but they didn't know how to stop it.

Suddenly, without warning, the lead vehicle exploded in a burst of fire and smoke. A homing missile, launched from somewhere above, had hit its mark. The remaining two vehicles swerved wildly, but they didn't get far. Spider-Man descended from the rooftops as he fired repulsor beams into the second car, sending it crashing into a nearby building.

The final car sped away, but Spider-Man was already in pursuit. He swung from the nearest lamp post, landing on top of the car with a metallic thud. The driver panicked, swerving to shake him off, but Spider-Man's mechanical legs pierced through the roof, tearing the vehicle apart from the inside. Within seconds, he had webbed up the remaining thugs, leaving them hanging like squirming insects from the nearest light post.

Cassamento, trapped inside the now-immobile car, stared out in horror as Spider-Man ripped the door clean off its hinges.

Spider-Man tightened his grip on Santo Cassamento, pulling the mob boss out of the debris like a predator dragging its prey from a trap. The older man struggled, his once-imposing frame now trembling under the weight of fear and the cold presence of his captor. Cassamento's once neatly pressed suit was torn, dirtied by the assault of the Vigilante, his combed black hair now disheveled and wild.

"Let's talk," Spider-Man said, his voice calm but laced with menace as his glowing red eyes focused on the mobster. He slammed Cassamento against a nearby vehicle, his mechanical legs bracing them both with ease. The impact left the mobster winded, struggling for breath.

Cassamento's eyes darted around in desperation, but there was no one left to help him. His guards had already been neutralized, wrapped in webs and cocooned in the shadows like insects. The road now looked like an urban war zone, with cracked roads, overturned vehicles, and scorch marks from repulsor blasts.

"I… I can pay you!" Cassamento stammered, trying to find a way out of this nightmare. "Double! Triple! Whatever you want! Just let me go, please!"

Spider-Man's mask betrayed no emotion as he leaned closer, his voice a whisper. "You think I'm after your money? No, Cassamento. This is about control, about sending a message to the scum that's poisoned this city for too long."

Cassamento's breathing grew shallow, his body tense as Spider-Man's words hit him with chilling clarity. The crime families of Gotham had ruled for decades, unchallenged, but now… they were the prey.

"Please," Cassamento gasped, desperation choking his words. "I-I have connections, information… you don't need to kill me!"

Spider-Man tilted his head slightly, his glowing eyes narrowing. "You're right, Santo. I don't need to kill you. But you and your friends the Beretti, Panessa, Inzerillo families you're all finished."

Cassamento's heart sank as Spider-Man yanked him forward, dragging him across the hard concrete road with little effort. The mobster could feel the bruises forming, the ache in his ribs spreading with every harsh movement. They passed the fallen bodies of his men, each of them wrapped in thick, webbed cocoons hanging like grotesque ornaments from the post and buildings.

Spider-Man's mechanical legs retracted with a hiss as they approached a nearby building. He fired a web at Cassamento's wrists, binding them together before hoisting him up. The mob boss dangled helplessly in the air, his eyes wide with terror.

"Let's gather the rest of your friends shall we?" Spider-Man said flatly.

Cassamento's pleas were cut off as Spider-Man shot out of the building, swinging high into the fog-drenched Gotham skyline with Cassamento in tow. The mobster screamed as they soared through the air, the cold wind biting at his skin. Below them, the East End sprawled out in all its grimy, decrepit glory a city that had long been ruled by men like him, now crumbling before his very eyes.

---

Minutes later, Spider-Man landed silently in a dark alley across from the Gotham Police Headquarters. The building stood as a looming, stone fortress, its entrance lit by the glow of streetlights. Spider-Man looked around, watching the people gather at a spectacle, before swinging to the front steps.

There, already a few suspended above the entrance, hung up cocooned bodies of Gotham's most notorious crime lords. Tomaso Panessa, Enrico Inzerillo, and now Santo Cassamento will be added to the display. Each of them was tightly wrapped in Spider-Man's webs, their faces pale with fear. Alongside their trapped bodies were bundles of documents. Detailed evidence of their criminal activities as well as the locations of evidence for drug smuggling, human trafficking, bribery, murder-for-hire, everything that had stained Gotham for years were all meticulously identified.

Spider-Man lowered Cassamento next to the others, leaving him hanging in the air like the rest. With a final pull, he secured the web, ensuring none of them could escape. He look down where the police and fire-fighters have gathered trying to come to this ridiculous height to bring the captive criminals down.

J.A.R.V.I.S. spoke in his ear. "Evidence files have been successfully transferred to Captain Gordon and select trusted members of the Gotham Police Department. I've also sent copies to Ms. Vicki Vale, as well as other reporters who could assist in exposing the extent of their crimes."

Spider-Man nodded, his eyes still on the scene before him. "Good. Let the people know how dirty the city is."

He stood there for a moment, surveying his work. The image of Gotham's most powerful crime lords hanging in disgrace before the police headquarters was a statement, a symbol of the new order Spider-Man intended to bring.

"This'll send shockwaves," J.A.R.V.I.S. remarked. "The crime families won't recover from this."

Spider-Man's voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. "It will keep them here for a while, but nothing will change. Some people will pull strings and have them release in a few months."

With a final glance at the scene, Spider-Man fired a web into the night sky and disappeared, leaving the city to witness the temporary fall of its criminal empire.

---

At the same time the streets were abuzz with shock and speculation. News cameras surrounded the police headquarters, capturing the surreal sight of Gotham's most feared crime lords suspended in their webs. Reporters clamored for answers as officers and rescuers worked to cut down the cocooned mobsters. Vicki Vale stood at the center of it all, her sharp eyes gleaming as she held up the stacks of incriminating documents.

"We've seen something like this before, but this… this is on another level!" Vale said, speaking into her microphone. "Tonight, Gotham's most powerful crime families were delivered to the police headquarters, wrapped in webs and with evidence of their criminal operations. More information and evidence on this matter has been shown to the public and I dare say no one will be able to cover this anymore. The mastermind behind this… appears to be none other than the vigilante known as Spider-Man."

Inside the police station, Detective Jim Gordon stood in his office, staring at the files spread out on his desk. He rubbed his temples, trying to process the sheer scope of the information. Years of unsolved cases, dead witnesses, and crooked cops all tied to the crime families now hanging outside his building.

His phone rang, and he picked it up without taking his eyes off the files. "Gordon."

"Jim, it's Vicki Vale," her voice came through, sharp and urgent. "You've seen what's happening out there, right? What's your take on Spider-Man's message? And what's the next step for the GCPD?"

Gordon sighed. "It's clear Spider-Man is targeting Gotham's organized crime… but this is bigger than any of us anticipated. He's done in one night what we've been trying to do for decades."

Vicki's voice softened. "And are you okay with that? This vigilante justice?"

Gordon looked out the window at the dangling crime lords, a cold resolve settling over him. "Sometimes… you need someone outside the law to remind the rest of us how it's done."

As he hung up, Gordon knew the city would never be the same again. The criminal underworld had been shaken to its core, and he could feel it. Spider-Man was just getting started.

While at the same time, on the other side of Gotham. The night was thick with the smell of saltwater and gasoline as crates were loaded onto trucks at Gotham's docks. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a faint silver sheen over the row of containers stacked along the waterfront. Beneath the rusted support of the old docks and the maze of stacked boxes, Falcone's men worked in the shadows, unaware of the hunter lurking above them.

Inside those crates were hundreds of plush toys, innocent-looking teddy bears and bunnies. But each one was stuffed with Gotham's most lucrative commodity: drugs. A perfect cover, thought Falcone, his lips twisting into a smirk as he lit a cigar inside his black, armored car, parked nearby.

"Keep those crates moving! We got a deadline!" one of the thugs yelled, his voice sharp in the cold air.

But then, without warning, a distant, terrified scream echoed through the night.

The men stopped. Some exchanged glances, uneasy, their hands instinctively gripping the firearms slung over their shoulders. There had been rumors about Spider-Man who had been hunting down criminals across Gotham. Was he here now? Their eyes scanned the darkness above the crates, and fear began to tighten in their chests.

Another scream followed, but this time, closer. A man vanished into the shadows without a sound.

"It's him, isn't it?!" one of the thugs stammered, gripping his gun tighter.

"Shut up!" another barked, trying to sound tough, but his voice wavered. "Spider-Man should be on the other side of town, I heard the other families got hit."

But what they saw next was no spider.

Like a phantom, a dark figure emerged from the shadows, crouched on top of a container. His cape billowed slightly in the night breeze, casting an even larger silhouette of bat's wings, unfurling over its prey. His suit, black as the void, shimmered slightly under the dim lights of the dock. His mask had the pointed ears of a bat, and his eyes sharp, unfeeling and cold.

Before the men could react, he dropped into their midst like a storm, the weight of his landing shattering the crate beneath him.

He moved like a force of nature. His fists flew in controlled, precise arcs, landing punches with brutal efficiency. One thug raised his gun, but before he could fire, the unknown assailant grabbed the barrel, pulling it up and disarming the man. A swift punch to the jaw sent the man crashing into a stack of crates, unconscious. Another rushed at him with a crowbar, but the man in a cape easily dodged the swing, using the momentum to hurl the thug into the side of a truck.

Panic broke out. Men scrambled in every direction, but there was no escaping him.

One by one, he took them down, his movements swift and fluid. He ducked under a punch, grabbed the man's arm, and twisted it behind his back, throwing him to the ground. Another came at him from behind with a knife, but the man in the cowl spun, disarming the attacker with a sharp kick to the wrist before sending him flying with a powerful knee to the ribs.

In minutes, the scene was chaos. Bodies lay scattered across the docks, groaning in pain, weapons abandoned, and the sound of terrified breathing filled the air.

But the real terror had yet to come.

Inside his car, Falcone was growing more and more agitated. He had heard the screams of his men, the sound of fists breaking bones, but what he feared most was the silence that followed. His hand shook as he loaded a shotgun. "What the hell was that?" he muttered to himself, his cigar long forgotten on the dashboard. "That sure as hell ain't Spider-Man, it would have been louder."

Before he could react, the roof of his car crumpled inwards with a deafening screech. Shattered glass rained down as two black gauntlets crash the sunroof, breaking it with ease. Falcone barely had time to raise his gun before a shadow descended upon him.

The unknown man in black hauled Falcone out of the car with a single hand, slamming him against the side of the vehicle. The mob boss groaned, his vision spinning, but before he could make sense of what was happening, he found himself face to face with someone unknown, "Who are you?".

"I'm Batman," the Dark Knight growled, his voice low and menacing. And with that, he delivered a headbutt so swift and forceful that Falcone's world went black, his body going limp in Batman's grasp.

Just then, out of the corner of his eye, Batman saw movement a homeless man, disheveled and dirty, watching from a nearby alley. The man was hunched over, clutching an old can of soup he had been warming over a small fire in an old oil drum. His eyes widened in disbelief at what he had just witnessed.

Batman recognized the man. It was the same homeless man he had encountered earlier in his journey back when he had first returned to Gotham. He had given the man his coat as a gesture of kindness, and now, it seemed fate had brought them together again.

As Batman turned toward him, he gave the man a nod, his cape billowing around him like the wings of a great predator. "Nice coat," he said, his voice softer but still carrying that unmistakable edge.

The homeless man blinked, too shocked to speak. But he managed to nod, clutching the coat around him tighter as Batman turned away.

"Th-thanks," the man finally stammered, his voice barely a whisper as he watched the Caped Crusader hoist Falcone over his shoulder and disappear into the night sky. The sound of the wind howled as Batman ascended into the darkness, leaving behind only the faint rustling of his cape and the memory of what had just transpired.

The docks lay still, scattered with the remnants of Falcone's operation, men groaning in pain, shattered crates, and abandoned trucks. But the nightmare that had swept through them would be spoken of in hushed tones for years to come, a warning to Gotham's criminals: A new player is in town and no criminal can hide from the Batman.