Chapter 41: Bruce’s Car

Sipping his coffee, Bruce glanced at the newspaper in his hands.

The headlines were more shocking than the last:

- "Captain America Leaves the Ultimate Alliance"

- "The Metropolis Declares No Further Expansion but Retains Occupied Territories"

- "Asgard Destroyed—Once Gods, Now Corpses"

- "A New Superhuman Organization Emerges in Southeast Asia—What Are Their Intentions?"

The world was changing faster than anyone had anticipated. Even Bruce found it hard to keep up with the relentless flow of events.

Setting the newspaper aside, Bruce gazed deeply out the window.

"A world in chaos."

Even Thomas, who had witnessed his fair share of upheavals, felt a headache coming on.

His world had superhumans, but it was never as chaotic as this one.

Or rather, in his world, most of the superhumans had been wiped out in the war between the Amazons and Atlantis.

But here, it seemed like none of the superhumans wanted to live peacefully. They were either overthrowing their governments or fighting other superhuman factions.

Everything was spiraling toward complete unpredictability.

"Guess how America is going to react next," Bruce mused, shifting his consciousness toward the prison.

Thomas remained silent.

If this world's American government was anything like the one from his world…

He didn't need to say it.

Bruce didn't speak further either.

Then, from a previously quiet cell, a figure moved closer to the bars.

"Clank!"

The sharp sound of metal scraping against the floor echoed.

"They'll use nukes. Eradicate anything that can't be controlled."

The distorted voice spoke again.

As the figure stepped into the dim light, his appearance became clear.

A crimson, blade-like suit of armor covered his body.

A menacing helmet gleamed with an eerie red glow.

And across his chest—a bat symbol, torn open by a streak of lightning.

He was Bruce Wayne.

But not the Bruce Wayne of this world.

He came from the Dark Multiverse.

People called him The Red Death.

"With my help, you can stop everything before it even begins," Red Death's voice wavered slightly.

But Bruce had no intention of engaging. He simply withdrew his consciousness.

"You know! You know!"

"In the end, we'll make the same choice!"

Red Death grew agitated, slamming his hands against the cell bars, shouting at Bruce.

Scarlet lightning crackled around him.

But it was useless.

Within this prison, his powers were confined to his cell.

Bruce turned his gaze back to the outside world, finishing his coffee in one swift motion.

This world was insane.

Its superhumans had long since descended into madness.

Governments were scrambling to mass-produce super soldiers—

But more often than not, they couldn't control the ones they created.

He needed to prepare.

He needed more—more tools to stand against this world's superhumans.

"Just a reminder—if you're planning to get your hands on some new gadgets, you should attend today's high-level meeting first," Thomas' voice echoed in his mind.

Clearly, the Bat residing in Bruce's head was already pushing him in another direction.

Bruce paused mid-step, about to enter the underground bunker.

Right.

He had completely forgotten about that.

Sighing, he turned and headed for the corporate tower.

It didn't take Bruce long. An Aston Martin DBS Superleggera shot out of Kane Manor like an arrow leaving the bow.

When the car pulled up in front of the Kane Group building, a few tabloid photographers eagerly pressed their camera shutters.

At the very least, getting a shot of Wick John Kane would sell more papers to the many women in New York who dreamed of catching this billionaire bachelor's attention.

Who knew how many of them would cut out his pictures from the tabloids and keep them?

"Hey, Jobo, make sure you get a good shot."

That was the first thing Bruce said as he stepped out of the car, addressing the paparazzo snapping away at him.

The photographer grinned. "Don't worry, Mr. Kane. Your pictures are what keep our sales up."

With that, Bruce walked into his building.

But before anyone could take their eyes off him, something even more shocking stole their attention.

Two figures were locked in combat—midair.

Bystanders immediately pulled out their phones to record.

New York had been eerily quiet lately, almost making people forget that this city had once been the epicenter of both super-criminals and superheroes.

But something was off.

Who was this Spider-Man?

The black suit didn't evoke the same feeling as the old Spider-Man.

Still, people were just excited to have a Spider-Man again.

"Hey!"

The Black Spider shot a web that latched onto Prowler's foot, yanking the airborne figure down.

But then he noticed something—the parked car below.

Even though he tried to make a last-second adjustment, he was too late.

"Boom!"

A loud crash drew gasps from the crowd.

And then, people noticed—the wrecked Aston Martin.

If they weren't mistaken, that was Wick John Kane's car—the one he had driven here today.

"Oh, shit!"

Black Spider stared at the totaled vehicle, completely at a loss for words.

"Didn't your mentor ever teach you not to get distracted in a fight?"

Prowler, however, didn't care about the destruction.

His only concern was how to shake off the kid in front of him.

The arrival of Black Spider had seriously interfered with his work.

With a flick of his clawed gauntlet, Prowler slashed straight across the younger hero's chest, tearing through the black suit and leaving behind deep, bloody gashes.

He was about to follow up when—

Gunshots rang out.

A patrol officer had arrived and was opening fire.

But his aim was… awful.

After several missed shots, Prowler dashed forward and closed the distance.

His claws rose—ready to end this meddlesome cop.

But Black Spider was faster.

A web shot out, yanking the officer out of harm's way just in time.

Unfortunately, in that moment—Prowler disappeared from sight.

Bruce, sitting in a corporate meeting, had seen everything through the window.

"So, what do you think of our proposal?"

The executives around him were waiting.

Their gazes were fixed on the playboy sitting by the window, hoping for his input.

To this day, they still didn't fully understand how he ended up running this company.

Bruce finally spoke. "Not bad. But I think there are still some loopholes—like the fact that we no longer have any business in Europe."

His words made the executives fall silent.

They knew exactly why that was the case.

But when it came to superhuman matters…

There was nothing they could do.

(End of Chapter)

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