This is by far my favorite chapter.
Enjoy!
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Charlie was taken aback when he saw Ivan's arm morph into a weapon, similar to the figure lying lifeless on the ground. The transformation was grotesque, a blend of flesh and metal that seemed both unnatural and disturbingly efficient.
What is this? Is he similar to that other guy?
He remembered that Melanie had mentioned Ivan's infection level was already dangerously high. Now, it seemed like the infection had surpassed 100%, pushing Ivan to the brink of something far beyond human—a state where abilities could awaken, turning him into something more than he was, or perhaps... less.
Ivan staggered slightly as the transformation took its toll, his body trembling from the strain. His legs felt like lead, numb from the ordeal he had just endured. He reached out a hand to steady himself against the rough, crumbling wall beside him, then slowly sank down until he was sitting on the cold ground, his back against the wall.
With deliberate, almost mechanical movements, Ivan reached into his pocket and pulled out a battered pack of cigarettes. The action was methodical, as if the ritual of smoking was one of the few things that still grounded him in reality. Before putting the pack away, he glanced at the darkened figure standing silently in the shadows—Batman, ever watchful, ever silent.
"Want one?" Ivan offered, holding the pack out toward the darkness.
Batman remained still, his silhouette barely visible in the dim light. There was no response, not even a shift in posture. The silence was almost oppressive, like the calm before a storm.
Ivan didn't seem to mind the lack of reply. With a small shrug, he pulled a cigarette from the pack and lit it with a flick of his worn, silver lighter. The orange glow briefly illuminated his face, revealing deep lines of exhaustion and weariness etched into his features. He took a deep drag, inhaling the smoke as if it were a lifeline, something to anchor him in the chaos that surrounded him.
"Cheap stuff, but I'm used to it," Ivan said, exhaling a cloud of smoke that curled lazily into the air. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Old Brooke's favorite brand. If you'd ever met the old man, you'd know he was a regular smoker, couldn't go ten minutes without lighting up."
His voice was calm, almost nostalgic, as he spoke of the past. There was a softness to his tone, a rare vulnerability that he rarely allowed to surface.
"You know what, Bat?" Ivan continued, his gaze drifting off into the distance as if he were seeing something far beyond the dark alley they were in. "I used to hate smoking. Just seeing someone light up made my stomach turn. Brooke and I used to go at it all the time, arguing back and forth. But you know what he said? He said that tobacco tax revenue makes up a significant portion of the annual budget, and that money is used for important things—like educating kids, saving lives. He actually believed that smokers, by voluntarily harming themselves, were making the world a better place... that they were heroes in their own twisted way. Crazy, right?"
Ivan leaned back against the cold, damp wall, taking another long drag from his cigarette. The smoke filled his lungs, and for a moment, he closed his eyes, savoring the sensation.
"I told him he was full of shit," Ivan said, chuckling softly. "But he didn't care. And his wife? She was always on his case about it, telling him to quit. She was a good woman, warm and kind to everyone she met. She made the best damn burritos—stuffed to the brim with meat, potatoes, and just the right amount of sauce.
Brooke would often invite me over for dinner, and every time, I'd get to enjoy those burritos. They were the kind of meal that made you feel like everything was right in the world, even if just for a little while. But now... well, you'll never find a burrito like that again. Never."
For a moment, Ivan fell silent, his gaze fixed on the glowing tip of his cigarette. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken thoughts and memories. The cigarette burned quickly, the glowing ember steadily creeping toward the filter. When it was nearly spent, Ivan flicked the butt away with a casual motion, watching as it skittered across the ground before coming to rest in a puddle.
Without missing a beat, he pulled out another cigarette from his pack, lighting it with the same worn lighter. The act was almost ritualistic, a way to keep his hands busy, to keep his mind from wandering too far into the darkness that threatened to consume him.
"And his little daughter," Ivan said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking her name would shatter something fragile. "She was six—a little angel. You wouldn't believe how perfect she was, like God spent extra time making her just right."
There was a tremor in his voice, a hint of something deeper, more painful.
"I remember Brooke invited me to her sixth birthday party," Ivan continued, his voice growing quieter, more distant. "She was so full of life, running around, laughing, smearing birthday cake on everyone's face. She got me good, too—had icing all over my face. Her mom caught her and told her not to do that to guests, but the little rascal just grinned and kept making faces at me, even as she pretended to be sorry."
A faint smile tugged at his lips, but it was tinged with sadness, as if the memory was both a comfort and a curse.
"So, I made faces back at her," Ivan said, his voice thick with emotion. "It was a silly little game, but in that moment, it felt like... like maybe I could be a part of something good for once. I didn't have a family before them—no one to care about, nothing to lose. It was just me, my work, and my passions. But for the first time, I started thinking maybe... maybe that's what family is supposed to be."
Ivan took another drag from his cigarette, the smoke swirling around him like a shroud. His eyes were distant, lost in memories that seemed to play out in front of him like scenes from a movie.
"It was in that kid's eyes, you know?" Ivan said, his voice barely audible. "Those bright, beautiful eyes that seemed too pure for this world... I felt like I could see the future in them. Or at least what I hoped the future would be."
He exhaled the smoke, watching as it dissipated into the air, leaving behind only the lingering scent of tobacco.
"And then I saw her again... after Brooke was gone," Ivan continued, his tone growing colder, more bitter. "That little angel—those bright eyes were gone. The light that once shone so brightly in them was snuffed out, replaced by something... empty. The first time I saw those eyes, they were full of life, full of hope. But now... they were just... empty."
Ivan's voice cracked slightly as he spoke, the pain of the memory cutting through him like a knife.
"For the first time, I felt disillusioned," he said, his voice raw with emotion. "The hopeful future I once saw in those eyes... it was shattered by reality."
He glanced through the lingering smoke at the lifeless body lying not far away, the head blown into unrecognizable pieces, a grotesque reminder of the brutality that had just unfolded.
"I thought I'd moved past it, but I was wrong," Ivan said, his voice heavy with regret. "This guy... he reminded me of that, because I was the one who created the demon."
Ivan suddenly looked behind him, his eyes searching the darkness as if expecting something to emerge from the shadows.
"Have you ever felt that?" Ivan asked, his voice filled with a quiet desperation. "When the most important person to you, the one who becomes an inseparable part of you... is suddenly taken away, leaving a gaping hole in your heart that can never be filled? And the worst part... is realizing it's all your fault."
The silence that followed was thick with tension, the weight of Ivan's words hanging in the air like a heavy shroud. After what felt like an eternity, Batman, still hidden in the shadows, finally spoke.
"I understand."
The voice that emerged from the darkness was low and hoarse, strange yet somehow comforting. It carried a sense of shared pain, a connection that transcended the barriers between them. Ivan quickly realized the voice was altered by a voice changer, but in that moment, it didn't matter.
"Hah, first time I've heard you speak directly," Ivan said, a bitter smile crossing his lips. "Damn, I don't know why I'm telling you all this. I thought I'd never say any of this to anyone... never thought I'd let myself be this vulnerable."
Ivan paused, taking another long drag from his cigarette, the smoke filling his lungs before he exhaled slowly.
"But maybe that's why," Ivan continued, his voice growing softer, more introspective. "After that incident, I almost gave up. The future I once saw was gone, replaced by a darkness I couldn't escape. I spent every day aimlessly, looking for fights, looking for a way to end it all... just searching for the right grave to crawl into.
But deep down, I lost sight of what I was fighting for. Maybe that's why this guy was born, hiding behind a smile, pretending to know everything, laughing at everything, but really just covering up his own inadequacies.
Those ancient, evil things... they're always good at finding the worst in people, letting us create...
...our own demons.
I used to think I could be fearless, that I could stare into the void that everyone fears, look the devil in the eye, and tell him I wasn't afraid of making the right choice. But I was wrong."
Ivan's voice trembled slightly as he spoke, the weight of his words pressing down on him like a heavy burden.
"For a moment, I thought I understood why Brooke always stayed out of trouble, why he was so cautious," Ivan continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe there really are things out there that are bigger than us, things we just can't fight.
Because what we face is often something no human can fight. I mean... a bullet can kill a criminal, if not, just shoot another one... but you can't shoot the darkness itself."
Ivan let out a hollow laugh, the sound filled with bitterness and regret.
"Ha, I never thought I'd be saying this out loud," Ivan said, shaking his head slightly. "But I always felt like you would understand, right, Bat?"
"Yes."
The single word echoed through the alley, carrying with it a sense of finality, of shared understanding. It was a simple affirmation, but it spoke volumes.
"That's exactly why I'm here."
Ivan chuckled, a long, hollow laugh that seemed to resonate in the empty alley.
"Hahaha, that's right," Ivan said, his voice filled with a strange mix of resignation and acceptance. "I think now I understand why I'm telling you this. Remember what I said earlier, about not being able to see the future for a long time?
But recently, I've started to see it again. It's not an easy path, not what I naively expected... but at least I can see it now... thanks to you, and your amazing allies."
Ivan took a final drag from his cigarette, the ember burning brightly for a moment before it dimmed, the smoke curling up into the air.
"So no matter who you are or where you come from," Ivan said, his voice growing softer and more reflective. "There are three cliché words I want to say to you..."
He paused, frowning slightly as he turned to look behind him, only to find that he was alone in the dark alley.
Batman had left without a sound, disappearing into the shadows like a ghost.
Ivan stared at the empty space where Batman had stood, the cigarette dangling from his lips as the realization slowly set in. He was alone, left to grapple with the weight of his own thoughts and the memories that haunted him.
But despite the emptiness that surrounded him, there was a strange sense of peace that settled over Ivan. The conversation, though brief, had lifted a burden from his shoulders, allowing him to see the path ahead with a clarity he hadn't felt in a long time.
With a sigh, Ivan flicked the cigarette butt away, watching as it bounced off the ground before settling in that same puddle. The ember hissed as it was extinguished, leaving behind nothing but the lingering scent of smoke.
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