Starting With Batman

Ivan chased through the small door in the conference room to the underground parking lot. As soon as he arrived, he was hit with a strange metallic smell, the sharp tang of blood hanging heavy in the air.

The bloody scent immediately set his nerves on edge.

Walking deeper into the lot, a chill seemed to creep up from the floor and into his bones, as if he had stepped into another world.

A cold wind blew from an unseen source, whispering like the voices of ghosts and demons. The lights in the underground space flickered on and off, casting a surreal, otherworldly glow.

Long, narrow shadows danced on the walls and floor, twisting and writhing like ghosts with razor-sharp teeth and claws.

Ivan took a few cautious steps forward, soon feeling a sticky sensation under his soles.

He looked down and saw that dark red blood had overflowed his boots. The bloody quagmire, mixed with grisly human remains, was spreading, and he stood in the middle of it.

Lifting his boots from the pool of blood, Ivan walked towards the ever-shifting shadows on the walls.

Then, in the dim, flickering light, he saw them: the leaders he had been searching for.

It didn't look like they were going anywhere anytime soon, especially since they were hung from the ceiling by their intestines.

All of these people had been part of the underground world, where the lives of many could be decided by their whims, but now, those same individuals are being displayed in such a horrifying way.

As the light continued to flicker, Ivan caught a glimpse of a slender shadow standing beside him from the corner of his eye.

He was a disheveled shadow with messy hair covering half of his face, but the exposed mouth was pulled to the ears in a creepy arc, showing a horrifying smile.

Ivan aimed his gun without saying a word, shooting a barrage of bullets even before he could get a clear look at the target. The muzzle flash illuminated the flickering darkness, and loud gunfire echoed throughout, suppressing the sound of the dripping blood from the hanging corpses

With his senses stretched taut, Ivan notices that there is nothing in front of him.

Ivan frowned slightly.

An illusion?

Then he caught a glimpse of the sports car reflector beside him and saw that unsettling image again, standing in a pool of blood and grinning.

Without thinking, Ivan turned his head and shot again. The bullet landed in the pool of blood and exploded, causing blood to splatter, but there was nothing in that direction.

The gunshots stopped, and the parking lot became silent again; only the ticking sound of blood dripping remained.

Ivan held his breath, his gaze scanning slowly.

Without warning, his pupils narrowed as he noticed something. He turned around suddenly, only to find the horrific face very close, standing less than a foot away from him. The smile on his cracked mouth seemed to be mocking.

Ivan immediately tried to turn the gun but realized the barrel had been caught in the smiling silhouette's hand. Decisively, he abandoned the gun and drew out another pistol, aiming at the creep's forehead; he fired a single shot.

The impact detonated the gunpowder, and the metal bullet tore through the flesh and bone, carrying contents and bone residue through the back of the man's head.

But the man didn't react as expected; with one hand, he reached toward Ivan. His entire hand was soaked in blood.

Ivan was slightly startled.

Although highly infected people do not have pain and tenacity, in most cases, they still die from fatal head-shots or piercing the heart. But head-shots seemed ineffective on this man.

Ivan avoided the opponent's grasp, grabbed the offered arm, and twisted hard to try to remove it. But the arm was motionless as if made of steel.

The man's physical strength was incomparable.

With an even bigger smile, the opponent's arm suddenly swatted to the side, and with one sweep, Ivan was thrown away by the huge force, smashing the windshield of a Chevrolet behind him.

The man's strength was extraordinary.

Ivan stood up as quickly as he could, only to see the man approaching again and grabbing his throat. The grip was so strong it felt like his throat would be crushed, his hands instinctively grabbed the opponent's wrist desperately.

"You... are... Greg Hunter?" Ivan gritted his teeth and asked.

He had guessed.

The crazily man in front of him was probably Greg Hunter, who had accidentally witnessed a gang transaction, was poured into a concrete mix, and then mysteriously disappeared.

He was infected, with a very high degree of infection—maybe being besieged by gangsters deepened his infection. The powerful vitality of the infected kept him alive.

The loneliness of being alone, the depression of losing a job, being kicked out by the landlord, eating and sleeping in the open, and then being beaten and killed by gangsters...

All these experiences endowed him with huge negative emotions, quickly deepening the infection and granting him incomparably powerful strength.

"No, I'm not." "Greg Hunter" spoke with that grinning mouth, and there seemed to be a smile in his voice. "I'm not Greg Hunter, and neither am I anyone. I am... 'nothing.'"

"What?!"

Ivan still tried to pull away the opponent's arm, but the hand was too strong, and he seemed powerless.

"The thing people fear most, Detective Ivan, is 'nothing,' the uncertainty of the future. Force them to look, let them stare at the nothingness called life, trying to find meaning, and the result is nothing but one end..."

He leaned close, so near that Ivan could smell a rancid odor from the cracked smiling face.

"...They go crazy."

He let out a series of strange laughter; the flickering lights occasionally illuminated that bloody smiling face.

"So that's what I'm here for. I'm the embodiment of 'nothing,' the thing everyone fears. All I've done, all this..."

He looked back at the miserable wretches hanging from the ceiling.

"...This is just a preliminary test to verify my ability. Among all the boring people, you should understand this best, right, Detective Ivan?"

Ivan didn't have time to think about his words; his brain could no longer spare thought for riddles. His throat was in severe pain, his breathing was cut off, and his strength to struggle was weakening.

But just as his vision was blurring, he saw... a bat.

A huge bat spread its wings and glided in this direction.

"Greg" was caught off guard by the swooping 'bat' and was hurled away.

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