Chapter 11 – Because I Am Batman

"Done."

"If only I had arrived six months earlier..."

Aron slapped his thigh, frustrated.

That was the moment Tony Stark discovered the new element and solved the palladium poisoning problem.

He missed the second biggest chance in the Marvel universe for quick and serious cash.

(The first, of course, was saving Tony from the cave.)

"Wait..."

"I forgot something."

Suddenly he remembered.

The plot of Iron Man 3 was triggered by events from Avengers 1. After he dropped the nuke into the wormhole, Tony developed PTSD, which opened the door for Killian, the Extremis virus, and the rest of the madness.

"And all that, and I focused only on the damn cliffside villa."

He went through all of Iron Man 3 in his head and realized he didn't care about Tony, Pepper, or AIM.

Just the wrecked villa with the ocean view.

But it was too late. Done.

So how do other transmigrators make money?

If you exclude Stark's golden chances, there's only one option left, black guys robbing other black guys. And Kingpin, of course.

Aron scratched his chin. Maybe find that local boss and borrow some money "nicely."

BOOM!

While he was thinking, the street shook. Explosion.

Then screeching tires, gunfire, screams.

"What now!?"

He looked around; all the guests in the restaurant were already crouched under tables. Instant reaction. Almost trained.

An armored money truck thundered past the restaurant window.

Black smoke from the blown-out doors. Bundles of dollars flying through the street like confetti.

"Okay, this is a real-time robbery."

Sirens in the distance. Helicopter above the city.

Aron nodded. "Now we're talking. Hell's Kitchen deserves its name."

He stood up.

"Hey, you! Are you crazy!? Get down!" shouted a woman from the kitchen.

Aron just smiled at her and stepped outside.

At that moment, the wind brought him a dollar bill that still smelled of smoke and gunpowder.

He caught it mid-air.

"Another hundred. Nice start."

He didn't care about the others grabbing money off the asphalt. His gaze was fixed on the direction the truck had gone.

As he walked, he pulled a small magic book from his pocket, the manual he borrowed from Wong.

"Tracking magic... might come in handy."

Holding the bill in his hand, he drew a symbol in the air and quietly muttered a spell.

As the Ancient One said, most magic is just a framework. The energy you put into it is what makes it work.

He finished.

The bill flared in his hand, wrapped in a sinister red flame.

When it turned to ash, a fiery arrow appeared above it. Visible only to him, pulsating and pointing a clear direction.

"Works the first time. Finally, something's going according to plan."

Satisfied, he closed the book: "Basic Practical Magic for Beginners."

He followed the arrow.

—

Across town.

A police helicopter hovered above the entrance to a tunnel.

"We lost the target! The money vehicle entered D21! Requesting ground support!"

Below, silence. No truck, no trace.

When the patrol arrived, only an abandoned armored truck stood inside.

Empty.

No vehicles anywhere. Money gone.

"Classic."

"This is some real Hollywood crap."

In front of the tunnel, Aron stood behind the yellow police tape, watching the chaos unfold.

This was the real deal.

European-American world, Marvel world, you don't get scenes like this every day.

Hollywood in real-time.

"But seriously... how is it possible this happens in broad daylight and not a single hero shows up?" he muttered to himself.

Without hesitation, he followed the magical arrow that still hovered before him.

It led him through the city to a rundown sewer on the outskirts.

When he arrived, he saw a group of people coming out of a manhole covered in mud and a nasty smell. They were hauling two large suitcases wrapped in waterproof tarps.

"Ugh…"

"Shit, smells like hell!"

"Quiet, we survived. Now quietly, continuing with the plan. Luka, check the ship. If it's still there, we move immediately."

"Understood!"

It was clear they were a professional crew. No panic, just fast task division and routine evacuation.

Aron watched them from a distance, unnoticed, as they moved toward the shore.

When they opened the suitcase and checked the money, he knew, it was over. Now the second round begins.

Time for... a superhero.

"I advise you to put down your weapons and surrender without resistance!"

Someone beat him to it.

A man in a red costume appeared, wielding two short sticks and small horns on his head.

Daredevil.

"Wait a minute... what is this blind guy doing out here in the daytime? Isn't he a night shift kind of guy?" Aron frowned.

The robbers didn't wait a second; they immediately attacked Daredevil.

Bad idea.

After a few blows, all were on the ground. Dazed, tied up, ready for the police.

Daredevil was finishing the job when his ears twitched.

Something was off.

He turned toward the source of a quiet but unusual sound.

Short stick raised.

"Your dead blind ears work better than I thought," Aron muttered and stepped out of the shadow.

"I've been following these guys the whole time. And you showed up at the last moment to take the credit, huh?"

His gaze slid toward the suitcases full of cash.

Daredevil tightened his grip on his weapons.

The pulse coming from that unknown figure was... wrong. Heartbeat, weight in the air, scent, none of it human.

This was not a man.

This was a predator.

This was the devil.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Me?"

Aron smiled.

"I am Batman."

Daredevil froze.

Lowered his sticks.

"Seriously? Batman?"

"Batman, you do know you're in the wrong universe, right? Ever heard of DC Comics?"

"..."

"I mean... how would you know that being blind?"