"Stop him!"
Scorpion Mac roared, slamming his foot down on the accelerator.
The pickup truck burst out of the underground parking lot like a wounded animal fleeing for its life. The engine screamed, tires squealed, and exhaust smoke billowed into the night air of Hell's Kitchen.
Under normal circumstances, this would have been an intimidating sight.
Tonight, it was laughable.
Far down the street, a deeper sound rolled forward—low, heavy, and oppressive, like muffled thunder trapped inside steel. The vibration traveled through the asphalt, into the steering wheel, and straight up Scorpion Mac's spine.
Compared to that sound, his pickup felt like a toy.
A baby standing at the feet of a heavyweight champion.
"What… what the hell is that thing?" Scorpion Mac muttered, his scalp tingling. "The police's new armored unit? Or some freak's ride?"
The crimson glow at the end of the street grew larger.
Closer.
Those headlights weren't bright—they were hungry.
For a split second, an absurd thought crossed his mind.
Vampires.
Stories circulated constantly in Hell's Kitchen. Monsters. Night creatures. Things that hunted criminals instead of civilians.
Scorpion Mac shook his head violently.
"No—focus."
Fortunately, Kingpin's men were everywhere tonight. Vehicles were already positioned across major roads, blocking police routes and creating chaos to help Walker escape.
Even if this wasn't a police vehicle, the gang members reacted instantly.
Cars swerved sideways.
Vans screeched to a halt.
Sedans were parked diagonally, forming a solid wall of steel between Scorpion Mac's pickup and the approaching monster.
Unless that thing could fly—
Scorpion Mac exhaled heavily.
"Yeah… that should do it."
He turned the steering wheel hard and drove in the opposite direction, heart pounding.
In the rearview mirror, the silhouette of the batmobile slowed, obscured by twisted metal and flashing hazard lights. Only those blurred crimson headlights remained visible—like blood-red eyes staring through fog.
For a moment, it really did look blocked.
Scorpion Mac allowed himself a crooked smile.
Then—
The red lights rose.
"…Am I losing my mind?"
He leaned out the window, staring backward.
What he saw made his blood turn to ice.
Two steel grappling cables fired from the front of the batmobile, embedding themselves halfway up the buildings on both sides of the street with explosive force.
The cables tightened.
And the batmobile leaped.
Several tons of armored steel left the ground.
With its own momentum and the brutal pull of the grappling hooks, the batmobile soared upward, clearing the wall of cars like a predator vaulting over prey.
Before gravity could reclaim it, the hooks retracted instantly.
The batmobile surged forward through open air.
Then—
Another grappling hook fired.
This one shot diagonally downward, punching straight into the street pavement ahead. The cable reeled in at terrifying speed, yanking the airborne vehicle into a violent, controlled dive.
The batmobile didn't fall.
It glided.
In the blink of an eye, it cleared the entire blockade.
The engine roared again.
And the crimson headlights were back.
Closer.
"What the hell is that thing?!" Scorpion Mac screamed.
His mind refused to accept the truth.
That wasn't a car.
He would rather believe it was a low-flying aircraft.
"No—no, I can't outrun it," he gasped. "I need to lose it!"
His eyes flicked to the truck bed.
Walker lay there, battered and barely conscious.
For a single, shameful instant, Scorpion Mac considered throwing him out and saving himself.
Then he remembered Kingpin.
And fear made the decision for him.
He floored the accelerator.
The pickup screamed south, tearing through Hell's Kitchen toward West Fortieth Street.
The streets here were long and straight—terrible for evasion. The pickup's speed was nothing compared to the batmobile's monstrous acceleration.
Blocking roads might stop police.
It meant nothing to that thing.
But West Fortieth Street was different.
Overpasses.
Ramps.
Complex elevation changes.
If he reached it first, Scorpion Mac could disappear.
---
"All units converge on West Fortieth Street!" Scorpion Mac shouted into the walkie-talkie.
"There's a car with crimson headlights and a giant Bat symbol chasing me! Shoot out its tires!"
He drove like a madman.
Side mirrors shattered.
Parked cars screamed as alarms blared.
Inside the batmobile, his voice echoed clearly through Batman's open channel.
Batman's expression didn't change.
He pressed the accelerator.
---
Trucks, vans, and sedans swarmed toward West Fortieth Street from every direction. Inside each vehicle, guns were readied.
Click.
Click.
Scorpion Mac slammed the brakes and yanked the steering wheel, swerving onto the overpass.
Behind him, a van tried to block the entrance—
And flipped completely over.
Metal screamed.
The wreck slid sideways, blocking the ramp entirely.
More vehicles piled in behind it, forming a fifty-meter barricade of twisted steel.
Scorpion Mac laughed hysterically.
"Fly now! Let's see you fly again!"
He slapped Walker hard in the ribs.
"Stay awake! We're clear!"
Walker didn't respond.
His body ached everywhere. **Daredevil had beaten information out of him relentlessly. He had said nothing.
He would rather die.
Scorpion Mac drove toward the tunnel leading to West Thirty-ninth Street.
Once inside, the batmobile would be finished.
He checked the rearview mirror.
Nothing.
No red lights.
No roaring engine.
Relief crept in—followed immediately by unease.
"…Something's wrong."
That car hadn't vanished.
It didn't retreat.
It didn't stall.
It had simply… disappeared.
Just as Scorpion Mac reached the edge of the overpass—
Ding!
A massive grappling hook rose into view from below, dragging a steel cable behind it.
Creak.
Creak.
The cable tightened.
And slowly—
The batmobile climbed into view from the side of the overpass.
The sharp front plow appeared first.
Then the massive Bat emblem.
Then the armored hood.
The crimson headlights didn't even shine directly at him.
And yet, Scorpion Mac felt seen.
"H-Holy—"
"Run!" Walker suddenly shouted, smashing his fist into the steering wheel.
The horn blared.
Scorpion Mac snapped out of it, swerving violently and slamming the accelerator.
Inside the batmobile, Batman turned off the radio interceptor.
Then he pressed a button.
Boom!
Jet propulsion systems—salvaged and rebuilt from Green Goblin and Spider-Slayer technology—ignited at the rear of the batmobile.
The car exploded forward.
Distance vanished.
"Prophet, take over driving," Batman said calmly.
He removed his hands from the wheel and pressed another control.
The roof slid open.
Electromagnetic restraints disengaged.
The seat ejection system fired.
A dark figure launched upward.
Batman arced through the air—
And crashed down onto the roof of the pickup with crushing force.
The metal caved inward.
The chase was over.
And Hell's Kitchen had just witnessed its first real glimpse of the Batmobile's terror.
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