Missing

Detective Ivan's injuries had healed to about seventy percent, his vision now sharp enough to assess the aftermath of the battle. His eyes scanned the scene, focusing on Link, who lay motionless, completely immobilized by the combination of Spider-Man's webbing and the quick-expanding gel. Ivan took a deep breath, finally convinced that the fight was over, and that Link was no longer a threat. Only then did he allow himself to relax, casually pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

He was preparing to exchange a few words with Batman—maybe a thank-you for once again saving their hides—but when he turned around, Batman was already gone.

Of course he was. It's Batman, after all.

The few seconds it took for Ivan to confirm Link was neutralized were all the time Batman needed to disappear into the shadows, leaving without a word, as usual.

The agents, still recovering from the intensity of the fight, began to stir. Slowly but surely, they came to terms with what had just happened: they had been saved, again, by the Dark Knight. It was a scene they had grown accustomed to—being swept off their feet by Batman's efficiency, only to be left standing, bewildered, as he vanished without a trace.

This time, however, something was different. Rather than frustration or anger at being upstaged, there was a collective sense of acceptance. The agents had long realized that Batman operated on a different level. Overthinking it only led to confusion. Gotham's police force had long been shaped by Batman's methods, and now, this special task force—colloquially known as the "madhouse"—was starting to fall into the same rhythm.

In fact, if things continued the way they were going, the madhouse might just install their own bat signal on the deck of their mothership. That way, whenever things went sideways, they wouldn't need to scramble or panic. They'd just turn on the signal and let Batman do his thing. Problem solved. No more worries about being outnumbered or outgunned by infected individuals or phantoms.

Truth be told, Charlie found nothing wrong with that idea. It would save him the hassle of having to find ways to gain experience points every day. Instead, he could just give the madhouse their own bat signal. Anytime they ran into trouble, they could shine it in the sky, and Charlie could skip the lengthy preparation phase, jump right into the action, and let Batman handle the heavy lifting. It was practical, efficient, and saved everyone a lot of time.

It reminded Charlie of the defense teams in Ultraman—paper-thin defenders who always seemed to be in over their heads, trying to fight off giant monsters with meager firepower. In the end, rather than wasting time and resources sending out more planes and troops, they'd just summon Ultraman, who would swoop in and handle the situation with minimal effort. Simple, direct, and highly effective.

Charlie figured that once his experience level was maxed out, and his system's skill pool was full, he'd be capable of handling anything—even the chaos in the madhouse. When that day came, he wouldn't just be cleaning up after others; he'd be the one doing the saving, with a full arsenal of abilities and strategies at his disposal.

Quoting one of Iron Man's most iconic lines: "I've successfully privatized world peace."

What's that? You don't want peace? Fine. Maybe a chat with Superman about life would change your mind.

Back in the present, the action team made contact with the response team stationed above ground. Only then did they realize something shocking: while they had been fighting below, Batman had already freed all the hostages. As the agents crossed the hall, retracing their steps through the battlefield, they ventured deeper into the underground facility, soon finding the door to the hostage room ajar. Nearby, the remains of three phantoms lay strewn across the ground.

The sight left the agents in a stunned silence.

Had they really been fighting at the front lines, struggling to hold the enemy at bay, while Batman had not only rescued the hostages but also taken down three key enemies? The realization hit hard. While they had been preoccupied with the chaos up front, Batman and his companion had slipped through enemy lines, completed the mission, and returned to the fight—taking out the strongest foe on the battlefield—before leaving without so much as a word.

It was a sobering moment for the agents.

Reflecting on the sequence of events, they began to piece it together: after ensuring the hostages were safe and the primary objectives were completed, Batman had calmly reentered the fray, taken out the most dangerous enemy, and disappeared as quickly as he had arrived.

And now, as the agents stood there, they couldn't help but wonder what their role in this mission had really been.

At first, they had believed themselves to be soldiers of justice, sharp blades ready to cut down evil. But the reality of the situation was starting to feel more like they had been cooks—preparing the battlefield for Batman to swoop in and clean up. By the end, they weren't sharp blades, nor were they cooks; they were simply spectators. Their primary function had been to cheer from the sidelines as Batman worked his magic, and to make sure that when Batman went full throttle, there was at least someone there to bear witness to his deeds.

Detective Ivan noticed one of the younger agents, looking frustrated and defeated, staring at the ground. With a casual smile, Ivan approached, cigarette dangling from his lips, and patted the young agent on the shoulder.

"Don't let it get to you, kid," Ivan said, exhaling smoke. "There's going to be a lot more days like this. You'll get used to it."

The younger agent looked up at Ivan, his face a mixture of confusion and reluctant acceptance. He had no words, but his silence spoke volumes.

Meanwhile, the question of what exactly Link was remained unanswered. Was he an infected person, or was he something more? No one knew for sure, and there was still a lingering uncertainty about whether or not phantoms had the same explosive tendencies as the infected. Regardless, protocol demanded that Link be taken back for interrogation.

Charlie had briefly considered trying to crack open the minds of these Nine Division professionals, hoping to extract valuable intel. But the truth was, he didn't have much faith in the madhouse's security system. He had a feeling that if they weren't careful, Link would find a way to escape.

Not that it would be too much of a problem if he did.

Friday had already assured Charlie that she could hack into the madhouse's system, keeping constant surveillance on the prisoner. She'd even keep tabs on any information they managed to extract from Link's accomplices.

Even if Link somehow managed to break out, it would only lead to one thing: more experience points for Charlie when he inevitably captured him again.

Later, when the hostages began to provide their statements, they revealed a crucial piece of information.

"Five? Are you sure you counted correctly?" Melanie asked with a frown. She was one of the hostages who had been rescued earlier and was now sitting by the Secret Service vehicle. Despite her current situation, where she still had to be escorted back to the mothership for questioning due to her earlier involvement, she remained focused and sharp.

"Yes, ma'am," a young agent confirmed. "Five phantoms in total. Four were taken down by Batman and his companion, and one was handled by the action team…"

His voice faltered near the end of his sentence, the embarrassment of their limited contribution seeping through. He hadn't wanted to admit it, but with so many agents on the scene, only one of the enemies had been taken down by their team. The rest had been Batman's doing.

But Melanie wasn't interested in who took down whom. Her concern lay elsewhere, and she quickly looked over at Ivan.

"One's missing," she said bluntly, her tone sharp.

Ivan blinked in confusion. "What do you mean, missing?"

"There were six of them," Melanie explained. "You've only accounted for five. One's still out there… a shapeshifter."

---

Elsewhere

Charlie leaned back in his gaming chair, stretching after a long, exhausting day. He could feel the tension in his muscles easing up, but the satisfaction of a job well done lingered.

"Not a bad day's work, wouldn't you say?" he remarked, glancing at Friday.

"I think you performed exceptionally well, sir," Friday replied with her usual calm smile.

"No, it was your support that made it all possible," Charlie countered, grinning.

"I disagree, sir. Your quick decision-making and tactical skills were the key."

"No way. Your strategic planning and advice kept everything running smoothly."

The light-hearted banter continued for a few more moments, back and forth, as they both praised each other's efforts.

Despite the heavy lifting he'd done today—using the powers of Captain America and Spider-Man, especially Spider-Man, whose abilities drained his energy bar fast—Charlie still felt a strange rush of energy. His body was tired, but his mind was wide awake. It was that strange feeling where every fiber of your being knows you need rest, but your brain just refuses to power down.

"Your physical condition isn't optimal," Friday warned. "I recommend you get some sleep, sir."

"One more round," Charlie muttered. He was still buzzing with energy and excitement. Maybe he'd swing through the city one more time as Spider-Man, see if he could find one more unlucky bad guy before calling it a night.

"Excessive fatigue and overwork can lead to long-term health complications, including circulatory issues, endocrine imbalances, insomnia, memory loss, irritability, and more," Friday rattled off in her usual monotone. "Additionally, it can increase the risk of hypertension, diabetes, and—"

"Alright, alright, I give up," Charlie sighed, rolling his eyes.

Friday chuckled softly. "I'm only concerned for your well-being, sir. But, of course, the decision is yours."

Charlie couldn't help but admit that she was right. As much as he wanted to keep playing, it wasn't healthy to push himself to the limit every time. There was such a thing as moderation.

As he exited the game, a familiar flashing effect lit up his screen, catching his eye. The sight made his heart race with excitement—it was an upgrade notification.

He'd leveled up again!

It seemed that taking down so many bosses in one night had granted him a substantial amount of experience. Charlie hadn't expected to level up again so soon, especially since his last upgrade hadn't been that long ago.

Then again, the flood of experience points from that time Riverton's F4 gang had fed him hundreds of enemies at once probably played a part. That group of clowns had delivered themselves straight into his hands, and even ended up behind bars in the process. That wave of experience points had been significant.

With the upgrade came his favorite part: the skill draw.

He was surprised to find that even the skill lottery system had been updated.

As Charlie read through the new description, his eyes widened in disbelief.

"The new skill extraction system has been unlocked. Players can now draw skills from multiple heroes simultaneously, acquiring up to five different hero abilities at one time."

Charlie's heart raced as he absorbed the implications of this new mechanic.

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[If you don't get a chapter tomorrow, Its because of a hurricane!]

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