"Overdrive mode activated."
The calm, mechanical voice echoed inside Batman's armor, and in the blink of an eye, the world around him transformed. To Batman, time seemed to slow down to a crawl, like watching a movie in slow motion. Sparks of electricity danced across his suit, illuminating the dark warehouse as every movement around him appeared sluggish. The armored figure, who had been moving with incredible speed and precision, was now reduced to almost laughable slowness. Their punches, once fast enough to blur, now appeared clumsy, like a puppet moving underwater.
Overdrive mode wasn't just a speed boost—it was Batman's answer to the legendary powers of The Flash, the Justice League's fastest hero. The Flash's speed was unparalleled, a symbol of his godlike abilities. Stories about him were everywhere—how he evacuated an entire city in the split-second before a nuclear bomb detonated or outran cosmic entities faster than the speed of light. While Batman's suit couldn't replicate those godlike feats, it didn't need to. Against anyone else, this imitation was more than enough.
The opponent swung their fist, releasing an orb of searing blue energy that exploded against the ground with enough force to shake the warehouse. But before the impact, Batman was gone—vanished into thin air.
The armored man's sensors flared to life, alerting him to movement behind him. Without hesitation, he spun and unleashed another laser blast. The beam carved through the air, punching a clean hole through the warehouse wall and disappearing into the night sky. Yet again, Batman wasn't there.
Panic began to set in. The man roared in frustration, twisting and firing blindly. Each punch and blast filled the room with chaos, smashing through walls and turning the warehouse into a battlefield of debris. Sparks flew, chunks of metal scattered, and shattered glass crunched underfoot. But no matter how hard he tried, his attacks hit nothing but air.
The more he fought, the more desperate his movements became. His sensors screamed warnings of an enemy closing in, yet every time he turned, there was nothing there. What he couldn't see was the dark figure moving around him like a shadow, too fast for human eyes—or even advanced sensors—to track.
Moonlight spilled through the broken windows and the gaping holes in the walls, casting shadows across the floor. Among them was a dark, ghostly bat that seemed to linger near the man. He couldn't see the source, but the shadow followed him, dancing alongside his movements no matter how he turned or attacked.
"It's like fighting a ghost!" he shouted, his voice cracking.
From an outsider's perspective, the scene was surreal. Batman moved with such speed that he left faint afterimages in his wake. The giant, bat-shaped shadow on the ground was a trick of the light, a distortion caused by his rapid movements. Every step, every strike, was calculated to stay just outside the man's line of sight, constantly circling him and attacking from his blind spots.
When the timing was perfect, Batman struck. With a burst of speed, he closed the distance and delivered a flying kick straight to the man's back. Golden electricity crackled around his leg, amplifying the force of the blow. The impact sent the armored man flying across the room, his armor sparking and groaning under the stress. Pieces of metal plating broke off, clattering to the floor as he crashed into a pile of debris.
The man struggled to stand, but Batman didn't give him the chance. In a blur, he appeared in front of the man's path. Before the opponent could react, Batman spun 360 degrees in mid-air, his leg trailing golden lightning, and struck with a devastating whirlwind kick. The force of the blow launched the man skyward, sending pieces of armor scattering like shrapnel.
To a regular fighter, such a move might seem flashy and impractical, but at supersonic speeds, there was no risk of counterattack. Batman followed up with a series of rapid strikes, each blow precise and unrelenting. The man could do little more than flail as he was battered mid-air, his armor cracking further with every hit.
The man's thoughts raced in panic. If this opponent had better weapons, stronger armor, or overwhelming firepower, it would make sense. But this? This was something else entirely. It was like fighting an invisible predator—a ghost.
"Overdrive mode is over," Batman's AI announced calmly.
"Overdrive mode entering cooldown."
The golden electricity surrounding Batman faded, and his movements returned to their usual speed. By now, however, the battle was all but decided. The armored man crashed to the ground, his once-intimidating presence reduced to a heap of broken metal and flickering lights. The blue glow that had radiated from his suit dimmed, barely a faint shimmer now.
Pieces of his armor littered the floor, and the warehouse, once standing, was now more rubble than structure. The man struggled to move, his breaths ragged. Even his armor's advanced systems couldn't compensate for the damage it had taken.
Stark, who had been watching the fight from a safe distance, crossed his arms and let out a low whistle.
"Alright," he muttered, half to himself. "I'll admit it. The bat's got some moves. Guess it's not all just copying my tech after all."
Batman, ever focused, ignored Stark's comment and approached the defeated opponent. He reached down with one hand, effortlessly lifting the battered man off the ground. His other hand flicked, and from his gauntlet shot a sleek, black metal rope that coiled tightly around the man like a serpent.
"Mantra mode activated," the AI announced.
The black rope shimmered faintly, tightening around the man's torso. Batman's voice was cold, commanding, and without a hint of mercy.
"This is the Lasso of Truth. You can't lie now," he said, pulling the man closer. "And we have questions that need answers."
The man groaned, the fight drained out of him. His armor, his tools, his confidence—all shattered. He had no choice but to comply.