The moment Aunt May hugged him, Batman's pupils dilated, his body stiffened, and he was almost entirely filled with shock and fear.
For a few seconds, Batman even wanted to flee in panic; he felt the eight-year-old Bruce Wayne deep inside him screaming frantically, wanting to grasp that fleeting warmth, but Batman ruthlessly suppressed him.
Everything he did in this World ultimately aimed to return him to Gotham, and his identity as Peter Parker was only maintained to achieve this goal.
“Peter… oh my, you’re hurt.”
Aunt May saw her nephew, Peter Parker, standing still, looked up, and immediately covered her mouth, forcefully pulling him into the house and pressing him onto a chair.
Batman had taken a few punches during his fight with the Spider-Slayer in pursuit of efficiency, something he didn’t care about himself, but Aunt May couldn’t help but shed tears at the sight of Batman’s bruised eyes.
The old woman, sobbing, quickly went to the refrigerator to get an ice pack and applied it to his eyes, the heartache and guilt almost draining all her strength.
“I am Batman, I must play the role of Peter Parker well. I… will protect Aunt May, Peter, before I return to Gotham.”
Batman’s hands trembled slightly. He stood up, supported Aunt May, and embraced her:
“Aunt May, I’m fine, I just fell.”
Batman didn't know how Peter Parker’s birthday celebration continued. After a hurried farewell to Aunt May, he still returned to the unlit, secluded Abandoned Shipyard.
He didn’t rest, spending the night dismantling the power armor and glider he had stripped from the Spider-Slayer, thoroughly modifying them according to his needs.
As the night deepened, the Batsuit gradually took shape.
Two in the morning, in an alley behind an orphanage in Hell’s Kitchen.
“Boss Joseph, are you sure we should start with this orphanage?” a burly man asked, looking at the broad back in front of him with admiration.
“That’s right, this is Kingpin’s territory. I heard he often comes to this orphanage to volunteer. Burning this place down is a warning to Kingpin, to let him know who can truly become the King of the New York underworld.”
The figure turned around, the dim streetlights illuminating his body, revealing a familiar square face:
“Also, Joseph is a thing of the past. From now on, call me by my new name… Hammerhead!”
The burly man swallowed. If he had followed Joseph before out of desperation, he now followed Hammerhead because of the latter’s ambition.
—And that almost indestructible head.
Joseph had been shot in the head by Black Cat at the Abandoned Shipyard but hadn’t died; instead, he miraculously survived, though his skull fractured, necessitating a metal skull replacement.
Through misfortune, Joseph, with his metal skull, no longer feared bullets. His ambition was no longer confined to a small gang of seven or eight thugs but targeted Kingpin, the expanding crime lord.
“Have the brothers stand guard, Paul, you go set the Fire.” Hammerhead commanded.
The burly man named Paul nodded, waved to his subordinates, and soon the members of the newly formed “Hammerhead Gang” scattered in twos and threes. Paul himself took out several bottles of alcohol, freshly stolen from a convenience store, to make Molotov cocktails.
Halfway through, Paul suddenly remembered something:
“Boss Hammerhead, that guy shouldn’t come again, right?”
The last arms deal at the Abandoned Shipyard was Joseph’s first attempt to turn a small gang into a large one.
With that cache of weapons, through resale and intimidation, a gang of seven or eight could become a “large” gang of over fifty.
For this, Joseph had even specifically hired Squid Man to ensure the smooth execution of the operation.
Ultimately, the operation still failed. A sudden Black Shadow completely disrupted their plans. Joseph was shot in the head, and Squid Man fled on the spot.
“Last time was in Manhattan, this time in Hell’s Kitchen,” Hammerhead shook his head dismissively. “New York is so big, even Spider-Man can’t be everywhere at once.”
“Don’t be afraid, after we set the Fire, we’ll…”
Before Hammerhead could finish, the dim streetlights above flickered. He heard a crisp crack, followed by a pained, suppressed whimper.
Paul’s movements in making the Molotov cocktail froze. He instinctively thought of that Black Shadow.
“Who? Come out!” Hammerhead growled angrily, simultaneously touching his head. The metal skull gave him enough courage.
Bang!
No one answered, only another sound of a heavy blow colliding with a human body echoed in the alley.
Hammerhead’s face twitched. He looked into the dark shadows of the alley but saw nothing.
Bang!
Continuous sounds rang out around him. Hammerhead tried to call all his gang members to his side, but receiving no answer, he gripped his pistol, disengaged the safety, and cautiously walked deeper into the alley, step by step.
Paul also followed, raising his gun, slowly trailing behind. Both he and Hammerhead simultaneously saw a Black Shadow hanging in the air.
The Black Shadow swayed, flailing its limbs, not at all like a human, but rather like a monster about to pounce at any second.
“Boss…” Paul whispered, his legs already weak, contemplating retreat.
Hammerhead looked back at Paul, his gaze sharp:
“Keep up!”
Paul swallowed, his heart pounding, but he still mustered the courage to slowly follow Hammerhead.
They moved completely from beneath the dim streetlights into the darkness, and finally saw the Black Shadow clearly.
It was one of the gang members participating in tonight’s orphanage arson. His arms and legs were broken, his neck unnaturally twisted, and he hung in mid-air, frothing at the mouth and swaying.
Aside from still having a breath left, the guy was as good as dead.
Both Paul and Hammerhead almost sighed in relief; at least it wasn’t a monster. But then their hearts leaped into their throats again.
What kind of guy could do this silently, right under their noses?
They had been under the streetlights just moments ago, no more than twenty meters from the other gang members.
“Let’s retreat, let’s…” Hammerhead’s breathing grew increasingly rapid. He felt as if he had provoked someone he shouldn’t have.
Hearing his boss say retreat, Paul immediately turned, wishing he had two more legs to run faster.
But just as he turned, he heard a loud “thud” from behind, followed almost simultaneously by the crunching sound of breaking bones.
Paul froze in place, wanting to run, but his legs were too weak; he wanted to turn around, but the fear in his heart told him not to.
Finally, he mechanically twisted his neck, his gaze slowly turning behind him.
He saw a pair of sharp, upright Bat-like ears and a pair of cold, inhuman eyes.
