Boom!
The Electrocutioner's fist crashed down, the surge of electricity instantly melting steel and leaving two deep imprints. But he missed Martin.
Just as the brute lunged, Martin ducked, rolled beneath his swinging arms, and slipped behind him with ease.
"Ah!" The Electrocutioner roared, twisting his body and swinging wildly. His electrified gloves crackled, tracing arcs of lightning through the air.
Martin stayed focused, reading his opponent's movements. The moment the attack came, he stepped back, letting the electrified fist pass inches from his face.
"Guess I haven't lost my touch."
His calm demeanor infuriated the Electrocutioner. With a snarl, the villain rained down blow after blow like a hammer striking an anvil, shaking the cabin with each impact—but hitting nothing.
Martin wasn't some stationary target; he was quick, fluid. The Electrocutioner, on the other hand, was slowing down, panting, his strikes becoming more erratic. Frustrated, sweat dripping down his face, he bellowed, "Stop running, coward! Fight me like a man!"
"Idiot," Martin muttered, unimpressed.
He scanned the room. No sign of Penguin. Any hope of extracting information was gone. This mission was turning into a complete waste.
Irritated, Martin made a decision. He tossed his rifle aside, squared up, and motioned for the Electrocutioner to come at him.
"I'll kill you!" the brute snarled. "Then restart your heart just to kill you again!"
Sparks flew as he slammed his fists together, the arcs illuminating his scarred, contorted face.
Martin smirked. "Your mouth's faster than your fists."
"Die!"
The Electrocutioner roared and cranked his gloves to maximum power, storming toward Martin with a killing blow.
He could already picture the boy's skull exploding, the scent of burnt flesh filling the air. Victory was certain.
Then his world shattered.
Martin sidestepped, crouched, and delivered a devastating strike between his opponent's legs.
Crack!
The Electrocutioner's most vulnerable spot, unprotected by armor, collapsed inward. A pain beyond words surged through his body, short-circuiting his brain. His eyes rolled back. His mouth hung open, silent, frozen in agony.
He stood there, stiff as a mannequin, paralyzed.
Martin sighed. Mercy would be crueler than death.
Before the villain could recover, Martin drew his pistol, aimed at his forehead, and pulled the trigger.
The gunshot echoed, silencing the room.
Without hesitation, Martin turned and fired at Deathstroke.
The bullet struck Deathstroke's helmet, the unknown material absorbing the impact, but the force was enough to rattle his brain. His vision blurred as Batman seized the opportunity, knocking his steel staff away and wrenching his arm back with a sickening pop.
Pain jolted Deathstroke back to reality. Gritting his teeth, he yanked a stun grenade from his belt, pulled the pin, and tossed it.
Bang!
A blinding flash consumed the room, followed by a shockwave that sent both fighters crashing through a wall.
Martin, having reacted just in time, still felt the aftermath. His ears rang, his vision doubled. Batman and Deathstroke lay sprawled amidst the debris, their advanced armor keeping them conscious despite the impact.
Deathstroke was the first to move. With his good arm, he smashed a window, leaped into the dark waters below, and vanished beneath the waves.
Martin didn't bother chasing him. Instead, he walked over and helped Batman to his feet.
"Go after Deathstroke. I'll be fine," Batman muttered, pressing a hand to his head, still reeling from the explosion.
Martin studied him for a moment, then shook his head. "Forget Deathstroke. He only cares about money. Penguin, on the other hand, just fled the scene. That fat bastard isn't dumb enough to fight Gotham alone—he's got allies."
Batman exhaled sharply. "Good point."
Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself and met Martin's gaze. "You don't usually get involved. You're a logical observer. Why step in this time?"
For a second, Martin hesitated. Had Batman figured something out?
He exhaled, then smirked. "Someone paid me a million bucks to investigate. Otherwise, I wouldn't waste my time helping a stubborn old bat like you."
Batman didn't react. He was used to Martin's sarcasm.
Glancing around the wrecked room, he finally spoke. "Since you're here, mind helping me with something?"
"Depends."
"I rerouted the Last Quote. Help me secure the passengers. When we dock, Gordon will take them into custody."
Martin scoffed. "The people on this ship may be criminals, but they control Gotham's economy. You arrest them, and they'll be back on the streets in an hour. All you'll accomplish is disrupting the city. Not worth it."
With that, he turned toward the exit. It was late, and he needed sleep.
Batman followed, his gaze flickering to the Electrocutioner's lifeless body, the bullet wound still fresh. He didn't say anything about the kill. Instead, he asked, "You said these people are scum. Doesn't letting them walk free bother you?"
Martin sighed and spread his hands. "Old man, you always have strategies for dealing with criminals. Why the sudden mental block?"
He tapped Batman's armored chest with a sly grin. "You're Gotham's Dark Knight, the Shadow of Fear. To those rich bastards, you're scarier than the law itself."
Batman's eyes narrowed. He wasn't a fool. He simply compartmentalized too much, which made him miss the obvious solution. With Martin's nudge, he instantly knew how to deal with Penguin's associates.
Seeing Batman deep in thought, Martin smirked. "I expected you to lecture me about killing the Electrocutioner. Doesn't your precious 'no-kill' rule apply?"
Batman's response was simple: "You're not me. I can't force my principles on you."
Martin raised an eyebrow, then chuckled, giving Batman a thumbs-up.
Suddenly, dizziness washed over him. He staggered, barely keeping his balance, then flashed Batman a cheeky grin. "See you tomorrow, old Bat—if you still remember me."
Then, just like that, he vanished. Every trace of his presence, was erased.
Batman blinked. For a brief moment, a strange sensation filled his mind, as if something had been altered. He tried to recall—but no matter how hard he focused, he couldn't remember what was missing. Even his armor's systems had no record of it.
Shaking the unease away, he turned back to the ruined cabin. Penguin's guests needed handling.
Whatever mystery Martin left behind would have to wait.
Tomorrow, he would find out the truth.