"Regret?"
Anton let out a furious laugh.
Ever since he had become Batman, he could hardly recall anyone daring to threaten him like this.
Hawkeye—this guy had been in S.H.I.E.L.D. too long. Maybe he was a top-tier combatant, a solid enforcer, but when it came to handling delicate matters, he was leagues below Coulson.
Not that he was malicious—just that his emotional intelligence was… lacking.
"Hmph!"
Anton saw him draw his bow and arrow and snorted coldly. With a stomp of his foot, he shot forward like lightning.
Hawkeye's expression didn't change. He swung his bow like a blade, ready to meet him head-on.
But Anton took advantage of his armor's superior strength, withstanding the blow outright. His right fist exploded with power, the wind howling as it smashed straight into Hawkeye's left ribs.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Pain lanced through Hawkeye's bones. His expression faltered; eyes widened in shock as he stumbled backward uncontrollably. His heel struck the rooftop railing, barely managing to stop himself from falling.
Crunch—
The railing behind him gave way under the force, tumbling into the empty alley below.
Clang!!
A few seconds later, the crash echoed up from below, reverberating all the way to the rooftop where Anton stood.
Wind whistled through the air—tension still razor-sharp.
Anton and Hawkeye locked eyes. Sparks seemed to crackle between them.
Hawkeye's gaze was grim.
He realized he had underestimated Batman.
This so-called "superhero" truly lived up to the name.
And he had to admit—it felt downright unfair to fight someone wearing a suit of armor when his own specialty was long-range combat.
"Now," Anton said, his tone icy calm, "should I throw you out of my sight—or will you leave on your own?"
Seeing the flicker of hesitation cross Hawkeye's face, Anton knew the man had realized just how bad his situation was.
That sentence, however, hit a nerve.
"You're not qualified to make me leave."
Hawkeye leaped backward off the rooftop, landing on the adjacent building. Mid-air, he pulled an arrow from his quiver and took aim at Batman.
Anton's face remained expressionless. He flicked a bat-shaped shuriken from his hand.
Whoosh!
The Batarang cut through the air, spinning violently as it screamed across the gap—heading straight for Hawkeye.
Boom!!
Hawkeye's arrow met it mid-flight—and shattered.
A split second later, the Batarang exploded midair. The fire and shockwave engulfed Hawkeye before he could react, blasting him off balance.
In the blink of an eye, the outcome was clear—Anton's calm, effortless strike had completely overwhelmed him.
Rumble!
The deafening explosion echoed across the Manhattan rooftops, loud enough to alert police near the distant Osborn Building.
A shadowed figure tumbled off the rooftop.
The building was over a hundred meters tall—enough to make anyone's heart clench.
"Whoa!"
Spider-Man gasped sharply, contributing his fair share to global warming.
Heart racing, he turned toward Batman.
"He's with a government agency! Won't you get in trouble for killing him?"
He was starting to panic—it felt like things had just gone too far.
"Who said I killed him?"
Anton replied coolly, completely unfazed. "A Batarang explosion can easily kill an ordinary person—but for him, it's nothing. Besides, he fell on his own. What's that got to do with Batman?"
"Uh…"
Spider-Man had no words.
"Relax," Anton said lightly. "He's tougher than he looks. He won't die that easily."
He waved a hand dismissively. "That lesson should be enough. I've got no time to keep playing around with him. If he still wants trouble, there'll be plenty of chances later."
Then he glanced at Spider-Man. "I'm leaving. If you need me, you know how to find me."
With that, he casually knocked out Connors, grabbed both the unconscious Green Goblin and Connors by the collar, spread his cape, and glided off into the city's darkness.
Spider-Man watched him vanish, then leapt off the rooftop himself, swinging through the city between skyscrapers.
Spotting a figure hanging from a wall, he finally let out a breath of relief before disappearing into the streets below.
That hanging figure, bloodied and battered from the explosion, stared into the night, eyes blazing with fury.
"Batman!"
Hawkeye snarled through clenched teeth, dangling from the wall with barely restrained rage radiating off him.
Only after the area went completely quiet did he tear his gaze from Spider-Man's retreating figure and stare toward the endless night sky.
He knew Batman was gone.
But that didn't ease his anger one bit.
Elsewhere, Anton stopped at a manhole and opened the cover.
He had just called Eddie, who'd given him an address. Following the maze-like tunnels beneath the city, he finally arrived after about ten minutes.
The Turtles' dojo.
"Who's there?"
The turtles had only just returned home.
They were still complaining to Master Splinter about their wasted trip—New York's police chief, George Stacy, had mistaken them for criminals again.Still, they'd met the Batman, and he had cleared their names…
Mikey's chatter was endless, and Splinter's head was starting to ache.
Whoosh!
Suddenly, all four turtles and the rat master froze. They turned sharply toward the dojo entrance.
A dark figure stood there—cape fluttering, two unconscious men in his grasp.
Batman!
The turtles' eyes widened in surprise.
Master Splinter's expression grew serious.Batman had arrived—and none of them had sensed it. That alone startled him.
If this man were an enemy, they'd already be dead.
"I mean no harm," Batman said evenly, lowering the unconscious Green Goblin and Connors to the ground.
"I came here to talk—to discuss the Foot Clan, and you… and also a small problem I need to deal with."
"Please, sit," Splinter said calmly, gesturing for him to take a seat.
As the conversation deepened, both the turtles and their master understood Batman's purpose.
First—dealing with the Foot Clan.
Second—the matter of the Green Goblin and Dr. Connors.
The Foot Clan was a mutual enemy—both the turtles' target and Batman's.
During their information exchange, Shredder's connection with Sykes was laid bare.
Then there was the issue of what to do with Green Goblin and Connors.
After his fallout with S.H.I.E.L.D., Anton had no secure place to detain them.
But that wasn't a big problem.
Because he happened to know some friends who could solve it.
The city's underground sewers were the perfect temporary prison—and the turtles could guard the prisoners themselves.
While the turtles were out on missions, Master Splinter—who stayed at the base—could also keep watch over the captives.
Then came another concern: the mutagen in the turtles' and Splinter's blood.
Mutagen was the very reason these turtles and their rat master could be called "people" at all—the source of their sentience.
In a sense, this technology was similar to Dr. Connors' limb regeneration research and even Osborn's human enhancement project that created the Green Goblin.All fell under the same genetic modification umbrella.
In fact, even though the mutagen's origins dated back over a decade, its success and depth far surpassed Oscorp's biotech achievements.
After a long exchange, Dr. Connors' eyelids twitched.
Anton turned his head, smirking slightly at the man lying on the floor.
"So," he said teasingly, "you've heard everything. Still planning to fake unconsciousness, Connors?"
-----------------------
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