The world is always changing.
It’s just that some people can accept those changes, while others cannot.
Just like the figure displayed on the screen.
That red-and-blue suit patterned with webbing had already revealed the man’s identity to everyone.
Spider-Man.
A Spider-Man who had been protecting this city for quite some time.
Although he had long since become the friendly neighborhood hero admired and beloved by the vast majority of the city’s residents, there were still some people who felt little toward him.
For example, some of the police officers on the front lines of New York City’s law enforcement naturally had no particular affection for him.
Even though they knew Spider-Man was a good person, the responsibilities of their profession meant they still had to keep an eye on him and remain wary of him.
Of course, sometimes it isn’t only the world that changes—people change as well.
At the very least, in this world, Spider-Man had been the only person who liked standing atop the gargoyle on the roof of Fisk Tower.
Now, there was one more.
Wayne gazed down at the city beneath his feet, clearly lost in thought.
The iconic landmarks had already told him the name of this place.
New York.
The Big Apple.
And the news report about Spider-Man playing on the screen made it even clearer what kind of astonishing events existed in this world.
A dangerous world—and an irresistibly fascinating one.
Raising his hand, Wayne quietly examined the equipment covering his body.
A jet-black forearm guard was firmly fastened around his arm.
Along its outer edge were three backward-hooked armor plates, radiating an unmistakably brutal aesthetic.
His gray-and-black Kevlar combat suit protected his otherwise fragile body, while a pitch-black cape rippled like waves of darkness in the howling wind atop the skyscraper.
He seemed born to become one with the darkness.
His entire style felt fundamentally out of place in this world.
Gloom and darkness flowed through every corner of his being.
Clenching his fist, Wayne felt the power surging through his body.
A body filled with abundant strength, yet not beyond the limits he understood.
Along with a mind that remained rational almost at all times, everything about him indicated that he was no longer an ordinary man.
The emblem prominently displayed on his chest made his identity unmistakable.
Batman.
A Batman who had arrived in a world where Spider-Man existed.
“This is nothing like Gotham.”
Before Wayne could speak, another voice voiced its opinion of this world first.
“I’ve never seen a place like this in Gotham.”
It was a weathered voice, one that sounded as though the burdens it carried had long ago become too heavy to bear.
The sudden appearance of the voice surprised Wayne, but it did not provoke any other reaction.
He simply accepted it with remarkable calm.
Even though the voice had sounded inside his own mind.
“So I’ve developed a split personality.”
With the aid of his voice modulator, Wayne’s voice became deep, hoarse, and intensely oppressive.
“No, kid. It’s more accurate to say that I’m living inside your head.”
The voice refuted Wayne’s conclusion.
Wayne closed his eyes, allowing his consciousness to sink inward.
It should have been an incredibly difficult thing to do, but for the current Wayne, it felt as natural as breathing.
When he opened his eyes again, the scenery of New York City was gone.
In its place were rows of prison cells stretching out on both sides.
Wayne walked toward the first cell on his left.
The cell was filled entirely with darkness, shrouded in thick black mist.
It seemed determined not to let Wayne see what was hidden inside.
He turned and looked at the cells on the opposite side.
They were exactly the same.
Clearly, something was preventing him from seeing whatever lay within.
He understood that this was likely some sort of unique ability he possessed.
But judging by the situation, it wasn’t a matter of unlocking the mysteries one cell at a time in order.
Still, if the first cell was empty…
Then where was the owner of that voice?
“You’re here?”
Contrary to Wayne’s expectations, the owner of the earlier voice was not inside the first cell on either side.
Instead, the voice came from the second cell on the right.
Wayne walked over.
This cell was clearly different from the ones he had observed before.
There was no dense black mist, nor any impenetrable darkness where one couldn’t see a hand in front of one’s face.
It was simply an ordinary prison cell.
But the person imprisoned inside was anything but ordinary.
The all-black attire and the bat emblem on his chest proved that the prisoner was also another variant among the many Batmen.
Only this Batman had a blood-red background beneath the bat emblem on his chest, and even the utility belt used to carry his equipment was dyed the same crimson color.
Wayne wasn’t especially knowledgeable about Batman, but he did know exactly which era of another comic universe this version of Batman came from.
This Batman wasn’t named Bruce Wayne.
His name was Thomas Wayne.
In that alleyway, it wasn’t Batman’s parents who died.
It was Thomas’s son.
In that brief timeline, Bruce Wayne’s life had ended when he was eight years old.
Unable to accept her son’s death, Martha Wayne lost her sanity after the tragedy.
She carved a smile into her own face and became the Joker of that world.
Thomas Wayne, meanwhile, became the Batman his son had been destined to become.
Compared to the Batman of the main universe, Thomas Wayne’s methods could only be described as ruthlessly brutal.
He never cared whether criminals lived or died, nor did he care in the slightest about their so-called human rights.
He preferred solving every problem with firearms and took greater satisfaction in ending the lives of anyone who dared commit crimes in Gotham.
This Batman had no way to bring his son back to life.
So he chose another way to honor him—
To make Gotham clean again.
“You’re a little different from what I imagined.”
Thomas stood and walked to the prison door, looking through the bars at Wayne.
Wayne said nothing.
His blue eyes calmly met Thomas’s gaze.
Seeing Wayne’s composure, Thomas did his best to remain equally calm.
Even though he knew full well that the man standing before him could never be his own son grown to adulthood.
Just as he had said before, New York was nothing like Gotham.
And the Wayne before him was even more different from Bruce.
Even if they might share the same face.
“You can observe the outside world through my eyes and obtain whatever information you want.”
Wayne finally spoke.
His very first sentence was an attempt to determine exactly how Thomas was perceiving the outside world.
Thomas nodded, offering no denial.
“But perhaps the world you see is simply being projected directly into my mind.”
“We can verify that another time.”
Wayne made no effort to immediately judge whether Thomas was telling the truth.
From Wayne’s perspective, if he was already capable of traveling between worlds, then a few more bizarre phenomena hardly seemed surprising.
“Perhaps you can help me become someone worthy of the name Batman.”
Leaving those words behind, Wayne turned and walked away.
Thomas remained standing there in silence for a long moment.
Finally, he shook his head and sat back down on his crude little bed.
It wasn’t nearly as luxurious or comfortable as the bed he had once slept in.
But here, Thomas felt an incomparable sense of peace.
Not to mention that he might have the chance to watch another Wayne slowly grow.
When Wayne’s consciousness returned to his body, the bustling crowds in the city below came to a simultaneous halt.
The giant screens hanging from the skyscrapers began broadcasting a breaking news report.
“We interrupt our regular programming with a special news bulletin.”
“We have tragic news.”
“Our hero, Spider-Man, passed away today.”
“His death is believed to be connected to the mysterious earthquake that occurred earlier today in Brooklyn.”
“According to multiple confirmed sources, Peter Parker…”
On the very first day…
In the very first hour…
After arriving in this world—
Spider-Man was dead.
End of Chapter