This infected individual specialized in invisibility, an ability that had made him a nightmare for many. However, despite the physical enhancements that came with his condition, he was far from a skilled fighter. His movements were awkward, his strikes clumsy—nothing more than the crude imitation of combat techniques he had likely picked up through observation. These sloppy, unrefined moves made him little more than a paper tiger when pitted against a true martial artist like Daredevil.
Invisibility was his crutch, the one thing that gave him an edge. But once that advantage was stripped away, he was reduced to little more than a common thug—albeit one with slightly thicker skin. In the face of Daredevil's combat prowess, he was outclassed, outmaneuvered, and quickly overpowered.
The moment Daredevil disarmed him, knocking the ax from his grasp, the fight was as good as over. The infected man tried to resist, but his efforts were in vain. Daredevil moved with relentless precision, breaking both of the infected man's arms in swift, brutal motions. The sickening crunch of bone echoed in the stillness of the night as Daredevil subdued his opponent. In a matter of seconds, the infected man was bound with a rope fired from Daredevil's alloy baton and hoisted upside down from a tree by the lake.
With his invisibility completely disrupted, the infected man was exposed—a disheveled figure with long, matted hair that hung down like a curtain. His black robe, adorned with the symbol of a withered flower on the chest, now looked absurdly oversized. As he dangled helplessly, the hem of the robe flopped down due to gravity, adding a comical layer of indignity to his already dire situation.
Daredevil, ever methodical, didn't waste a moment. He leaped into the air and delivered a powerful kick to the infected man's head. The force of the blow sent the man swinging wildly, his body moving like a pendulum beneath the tree. As he swung back, Daredevil caught him by the head, his grip firm and unyielding.
"Who are you? Who do you work for?" Daredevil's voice was a low growl, brimming with controlled menace.
But the infected man seemed barely aware of his surroundings. His eyes were wide with shock, his mouth moving as if on autopilot, repeating the same phrase over and over: "This is impossible... impossible..."
Charlie, watching through Daredevil's perspective, clicked the mouse, directing Daredevil to land another punch. The infected man's head snapped back with the force of the blow, but instead of snapping him out of his daze, it seemed to only deepen his disbelief. The man wasn't even reacting to the pain; it was as if he were lost in a nightmare, unable to comprehend what had happened to him.
Daredevil's patience was wearing thin. Another punch followed, but it quickly became apparent that physical force wasn't going to get any answers out of this man. The infected seemed impervious to pain, as though his mind had retreated into some dark corner, away from the reality of his situation.
Finally, though, the repeated blows seemed to have some effect. The infected man blinked through his swollen eyelids, his gaze unfocused but now fixed on Daredevil.
"You… you have an organization too, don't you?" the man muttered, his voice heavy with exhaustion and laced with a deep, almost palpable despair.
"Too?" Daredevil's tone was razor-sharp, cutting through the man's fading resolve. "Who do you work for?"
The infected man let out a weak, bitter laugh, the sound hollow and tinged with resignation. "We don't… work for anyone," he whispered, his breath hitching as he stifled a cough. A thin trickle of blood escaped the corner of his mouth.
"We… gather for a common purpose," he continued, each word drawn out as if it took every ounce of his strength to speak. "Your ability... it's some kind of enhanced perception, isn't it?"
Daredevil remained silent, allowing the man to continue.
"My mission... was simple," the infected man continued, his voice trembling slightly. "I was just supposed to observe and record the actions of another infected—the one who laughs. It was a coincidence that I ran into you... I thought... I could test the abilities of the legendary Batman... but I didn't expect..."
His voice trailed off, his eyes glazing over as he seemed to retreat further into his thoughts. Then, with a strange, almost wistful smile, he added, "To be honest... I always believed my invisibility was perfect. It suited me... someone no one remembers, no one notices. A transparent existence... ignored by the world. Maybe that's why fate gave me this power. But to think... that someone could see through it... how ironic. The one time I didn't want to be noticed..."
Charlie, still controlling Daredevil, had little patience for the man's self-pitying monologue. He could sense that there were nuggets of valuable information buried in the man's ramblings, but time was of the essence.
"The laughing infected—what do you know?" Daredevil asked, cutting to the chase.
When he had been ambushed earlier, Charlie had initially assumed this man was another victim of the laughing infection, but there was something off. The man didn't have that unsettling, rictus grin that characterized the other infected from that particular strain.
The infected man remained silent, either unable or unwilling to answer.
"It doesn't matter," he finally said, his tone resigned. "I've always been insignificant, both as a human and now as... whatever I am. But tell the organization behind you... this is a provocation. Your enemy... is the Dead."
As soon as the words left his mouth, there was a sickeningly loud pop, and his head exploded. Blood, bone, and brain matter splattered across the tree trunk and the ground below, leaving his lifeless, headless body swinging from the rope.
Charlie frowned, his mind racing to process what had just happened.
The Dead? What was that supposed to mean? It sounded almost like a joke, something out of a bad comic book. But there was nothing funny about the situation.
Villains had a strange habit of monologuing before their demise, but this one had at least provided some useful information before self-destructing. There was an organization involved, likely made up of other infected individuals. And from what Charlie had gathered, they were operating with some kind of agenda, though the details remained murky.
To Charlie, it sounded like a massive opportunity for leveling up—like a giant experience farm waiting to be exploited.
One other detail stuck out: the infected man's mention of the laughing infection source. It seemed he had an interest in it, but his words suggested he wasn't directly aligned with it. Perhaps this incident was unrelated to the laughing infection, or at least not as connected as Charlie had initially thought.
All this trouble, and for what? It felt like a waste of time.
After dealing with the aftermath of the infected man's death, Charlie switched Daredevil back to Batman. He recalled the Batmobile, ready to continue the unfinished mission.
But before heading back to the scene of the battle to track the other set of tire marks, he took a moment to send a message. The lake's coordinates needed to be shared with the Service Division.
Naturally, this wouldn't come from Charlie himself—it would come from Batman.
The message, crafted and sent through the advanced systems embedded in Batman's suit, was encrypted and untraceable. No one would ever be able to connect it back to Charlie.
Whether Ivan had become infected or not, the situation needed to be addressed immediately. If Ivan was infected, he would need to be contained; if not, he needed to be rescued. But first, they had to find him.
The scene also needed a thorough cleanup by the special services. They might be able to extract more information from the remains of the invisible infected man, which would be useful. If necessary, Batman could "encourage" them to share their findings.
After sending the coordinates, Batman returned to the Batmobile and continued tracking the other set of tire marks.
…
Within the hour, Service Division personnel arrived at both the engagement point where Ivan's vehicle had overturned and the lake where it had sunk. They also found the headless corpse of the infected man still hanging from the tree.
Heavy equipment was brought in, and the team began a methodical salvage operation. It wasn't long before they retrieved the wreckage of the off-road vehicle from the lake's murky depths, the vehicle's frame bent and twisted from the force of the explosion.
---
Sir Bing, a department leader from the Service Division, had arrived on the scene to oversee the operation personally. His usually composed face was twisted into a deep scowl, and his brow furrowed in frustration.
A short time ago, they had received an anonymous message, containing a set of coordinates that led them directly to this location. The message was unsigned, its origin untraceable—encrypted so thoroughly that even their most advanced systems couldn't break it. Whoever had sent the message clearly had access to some very high-level resources.
The coordinates had led them to the scene of the battle and the lake, where they found the upside-down, headless corpse and Ivan's missing vehicle. But just as they were beginning to piece together the situation, Sir Bing received alarming news: their base had been breached.
Director Steele, the security director, delivered the report. Several staff members had been found unconscious near the server room and in the underground parking lot. One of the guards had regained consciousness just long enough to mention seeing something resembling a bat swoop towards him before his head was filled with a loud buzzing, and then everything went black.
At the same time, Marcus Troy, leader of the team tasked with tracking Ivan's whereabouts, arrived with his own report. They had confirmed that the vehicle retrieved from the lake was indeed the one Ivan had been driving. According to their analysis, Ivan had managed to evade his pursuers and make it to the lake, where a firefight ensued before the vehicle was driven into the water, either intentionally or as a result of the skirmish.
As these reports came in, Sir Bing's mood darkened even further. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to come together, but the picture they formed was deeply troubling.
"Let me get this straight," Sir Bing said, his voice dangerously calm as he addressed his subordinates. "You're telling me that Batman, all by himself, managed to infiltrate our base, accessed the server room, and extracted intelligence—without anyone noticing."
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in before continuing. "Then, he casually wandered through our building, dropped by the underground parking lot, and finished by eliminating an infected individual at the evidence collection site. Only after completing all of this did he send us a message to let us know he had been here?"
Director Steele, the security director, swallowed nervously, hesitant to respond but knowing he had no choice. "Sir, we also discovered a set of fresh tire tracks near the parking lot exit. The tracks don't match any of the vehicles in our garage."
Sir Bing's eyes narrowed. "Go on."
"Based on the width and depth of the tire marks, it appears that a large, tank-like vehicle—possibly weighing over a ton—was driven through the facility."
Sir Bing's expression shifted from disbelief to a mix of incredulity and fury. Certainly! Here's the revised line:
"SO YOU'RE TELLING ME THAT NOT ONLY DID BATMAN INFILTRATE OUR BASE, BUT HE ALSO DROVE A ONE-TON TANK THROUGH THE PREMISES—AND YOUR SECURITY TEAM NOTICED NOTHING?!!!"
Director Steele could only nod, unable to meet the department leader's eyes. The reprimand that was surely coming made his skin crawl, but what could he say? The facts were irrefutable.
Marcus, standing nearby, had been trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible, but Sir Bing's sharp gaze soon fell on him as well.
"And you," Sir Bing said, turning his full attention to Marcus. "Your investigation team, made up of some of our best agents, has been working on this for hours. What have you found?"
Marcus hesitated, knowing full well that anything he said could be met with the leader's wrath. Still, he had to answer. "Sir, we've confirmed that the vehicle in the lake is indeed Ivan's. We believe he managed to shake off his pursuers before encountering someone else at the lake. There was a firefight, and the vehicle ended up submerged."
Sir Bing's glare could have cut steel. "And while you were figuring this out, Batman, ON HIS OWN, USED THE INFORMATION HE GATHERED FROM 'OUR BASE' TO TRACK IVAN'S LOCATION. HE DID THIS IN... WHAT, TWENTY MINUTES?!!!"
"Yes, sir," Marcus admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
"SPEAK THE F*CK UP!!"
"YES, SIR!"
Sir Bing took a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure, though his frustration was palpable. "So, do you have anything to say in defense of your team?"
Marcus looked up, his expression one of resigned defeat. "Sir... we're sorry, but... he's Batman."
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[TL-Note - that's... actually a valid argument.]
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