The waiter at the entrance of the Continental Hotel opened his eyes wide, watching as a motorcycle with huge, wide tires approached him. He hurriedly dodged aside, barely escaping the impact.
Boom! The bulletproof glass at the hotel's door shattered, and the steel frame crumpled like paper under the sheer force of the motorcycle.
Immediately after, the motorcycle skidded across the lobby floor, leaving a striking black tire mark before finally coming to a halt.
The man riding it dismounted, clad in dark armor and a helmet with pointed ears. His eyes were cold and calculating as he surveyed his surroundings, exuding an air of calm confidence.
The waiter, who had managed to avoid being hit, quickly drew a gun from his waist and aimed it at the armored figure before him. "Batman?" he shouted, recognizing the character from a recently released film.
"You must be crazy! Don't move! If you think you can come into the Continental Hotel and cause trouble, you've got another thing coming..."
Boom!
Before the waiter could finish his sentence, Anton's expression remained impassive as he flicked his wrist, launching a bat dart.
The projectile struck with deadly precision, severing the waiter's wrist and sending the gun clattering to the ground. Blood gushed from the wound, and the waiter, now in shock and pain, stared in horror at the figure before him.
"Is this really happening?" he thought, panic overtaking him. The thought of revenge didn't even cross his mind as he picked up his severed hand and turned to flee.
He knew he couldn't afford to confront someone as dangerous as Anton. He could always go to the hospital to get his hand reattached later.
Meanwhile, Anton's dramatic entrance caught the attention of everyone in the Continental Hotel. Whispers of alarm spread through the crowd.
"Someone's causing trouble?"
"Is there a killer at the Continental Hotel that violates our rules? This guy must want to die!"
The guests instinctively began to retreat, moving away from the chaos that was unfolding. Other waiters and a few assassins gathered in the lobby, their eyes all fixed on Anton, who stood next to his motorcycle, an imposing figure in the midst of the chaos.
"Rules?" Anton replied coolly, glancing at one of the bystanders. "I'm here to establish new rules."
"Kill him!" someone shouted, the urgency of the situation palpable.
Before the words had even finished echoing in the air, multiple guns were drawn, and the assassins pulled their triggers simultaneously.
In their terrified eyes, the motorcycle seemed to vanish from sight. With lightning speed, Anton disappeared into the shadows, evoking the very essence of Batman.
Click, click!
A barrage of bat darts shot forth, and the lights in the Continental Hotel flickered before plunging the room into darkness. The once-bright lobby became a chaotic swirl of shadows and sounds.
The assailants' bullets found only empty air as Anton navigated the space with uncanny agility, using the darkness to his advantage.
"Where is he?" one of the assassins yelled, frustration and fear merging in his voice.
"Ah!" another screamed as he felt a dart strike him in the arm.
Anton moved with grace, the confusion and panic among his attackers only enhancing his resolve.
Bang! Bang!
On the top floor of the Continental Hotel, Winston, the manager, received frantic reports from his subordinates.
He turned on the monitor screen, expecting to see the chaos unfold, but all he could see was pitch blackness. Yet, the sound of gunfire and the cacophony of screams reverberated through the room.
"Who is causing this uproar?" Winston demanded, furrowing his brow in frustration.
"Uh… it's Batman," one of his subordinates replied hesitantly.
"Who?" Winston questioned, puzzled by the unfamiliar name. He listened intently as the chaos continued in the dark.
"It's a movie character," the subordinate explained, his expression equally bewildered.
"A movie character?" Winston echoed, disbelief creeping into his voice. Regardless of the character's origins, someone was blatantly defying his authority and disrupting the peace within his establishment.
This was no longer just a matter of pride; it was a threat to his position as the head of the Continental Hotel. If he didn't handle this situation properly, he could find himself at odds with the High Table, the organization that oversaw the assassins' world.
"Send out all the killers!" Winston ordered, his face a mask of cold determination. "I want him dead in front of me—immediately."
"Don't worry," his subordinate replied, nodding briskly. "The order has been issued."
Winston's expression softened just slightly as he added, "Check into this Batman's identity. I want to know exactly what we're dealing with here."
...
Meanwhile, in the lobby of the Continental Hotel, Anton maneuvered through the darkness like a specter, weaving between his attackers as they struggled to adjust.
The chaos turned the once-opulent hall into a hellish battleground. The assassins fell one by one, wounded but miraculously, none were dead—yet.
Their injuries served as a testament to Anton's prowess, and the fear of the elusive figure in the shadows began to mount.
The once-cocky assassins, trained to kill without mercy, now found themselves paralyzed with terror, wishing for a second chance to escape the chaos.
This is how Batman used fear as a weapon against violence. Anton was determined to leave a mark, to establish his name and create a new order in this underworld.
He sought not only to make Batman a household name but also to prove that he was a force to be reckoned with.
Soon, amidst the chaos, Anton climbed the stairs, radiating a sense of triumph. After warming up in the fray, he felt the powers of Bruce Wayne flow through him. It was as if he had been granted divine strength, allowing him to tap into abilities he had only read about in comics.
Boom!
A powerful shotgun blast rang out, jolting Anton from his thoughts. A well-dressed man in a sharp suit stood in the corner, his eyes narrowed as he aimed the weapon at Anton.
The black man had made the classic mistake of underestimating his opponent. Anton remained calm, knowing the basic armor he wore was designed to withstand such attacks.
As the shotgun fired, Anton braced himself. The impact knocked him back slightly, but he remained standing, the armor absorbing the blow.
"What?" the man gasped, his eyes wide in disbelief. He had never encountered anyone who could take a hit like that without flinching.
Anton smirked, stepping forward with renewed determination. In one swift motion, he closed the distance between them and delivered a powerful punch that sent the man crashing to the ground, blood pooling around him.
Having passed the fallen adversary, Anton approached a metal door. Boom! He smashed his fist into the control panel, using the skills he had gained to easily bypass security and open the door that was supposed to be airtight.
Inside the room, a disheveled man, clearly inebriated and surrounded by empty whiskey bottles, stared at Anton with a mixture of confusion and fear.
"Winston, I expected a better welcoming committee," Anton remarked, a hint of disappointment in his voice. "But it seems you've already lost one round."
As the tension in the air thickened, Anton prepared for the showdown he had been waiting for, ready to establish his dominance in the underground world.
….
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