Chapter 1: Spider-Man is Dead
The world is always changing. The true difference lies in who can accept that change and who cannot.
Just like the figure displayed on the massive screen below: the red and blue uniform, laced with spider web patterns, clearly announced his identity. Spider-Man.
This Spider-Man had been training and protecting this city for a long time. While he had become a beloved, friendly neighborhood hero to most of its citizens, there were still some who felt little admiration for him.
For instance, officers on the front line of security in New York City often maintained a distance. Although they knew Spider-Man was a good person, their professional responsibilities compelled them to remain watchful, even apprehensive, of his activities.
Of course, the world isn't the only thing that changes—people do, too.
In this specific corner of the world, only one person used to stand on the dripping stone gargoyle atop the Fisk Building, just like Spider-Man sometimes did. Now, there was one more.
Wayne looked down at the city, lost in thought. The iconic skyline immediately told him the name of this place: New York, the Big Apple.
The scrolling news about Spider-Man revealed the startling events currently reshaping this dangerous, yet fascinating world.
Wayne raised his hand, quietly examining the equipment covering his body. Dark, segmented arm armor was firmly locked to his forearms, the three barb-like plates on the exterior lending a strongly violent aesthetic. A battlesuit of gray and black Kevlar fibers protected his otherwise fragile frame, and a pitch-black cloak billowed darkly in the wind rushing between the skyscrapers.
He was born to be one with the darkness. His very presence seemed fundamentally inconsistent with the vibrant tone of this world. Gloom and shadow clung to every corner of his attire.
Clenching his fist, Wayne felt the power coursing through him. He possessed a body with immense strength, yet it remained within limits he could understand. And the head that maintained near-constant rationality already demonstrated that the current Wayne was no longer an ordinary person.
The emphasized logo on his chest further highlighted his current identity: Batman, a Batman who had arrived in a world that once had a Spider-Man.
"It's nothing like Gotham."
Before Wayne could speak, a voice explained its own view of the surroundings.
"I've never seen anything like this in Gotham."
It was a voice full of vicissitude, as if already overwhelmed by the burdens it carried. The presence of this voice surprised Wayne, but he had no other reaction; he accepted the unusual event with calm composure, even though the voice was ringing inside his own brain.
"So, I'm schizophrenic," Wayne's voice, deepened and made hoarse by a voice changer, was low and commanding.
"No, boy. You might as well say that I live in your head," the voice countered.
Wayne closed his eyes, immersing himself in thought. It should have been a difficult feat, but for the current Wayne, it felt as natural as breathing.
When he opened his eyes again, the sight of New York City was gone. Instead, he saw only two rows of cages extending to his left and right.
Wayne walked toward the first cage on his left. It was steeped in complete darkness, shrouded in a cloud of black mist that refused to let Wayne see what was inside. Turning to the cage on the other side, he found the same impenetrability. They clearly didn't want him to see anything yet.
He understood this must be related to his own special abilities. But it seemed the answers wouldn't be revealed sequentially, according to the cages' order. If the first cage was empty, then where was the source of the voice?
"You came?"
Contrary to Wayne's expectation, the previous voice did not come from the first cell in either row. Instead, it came from the second cell on the right.
Wayne walked over.
This cell was markedly different from the others he had observed. There was no thick black mist or consuming darkness; it was just a normal prison cell. But the man held here was far from normal.
The jet-black outfit and the bat logo on his chest confirmed that the prisoner was also a variant of Batman. However, the background color of the bat logo and the utility belt used to carry various items were both a shocking, bright red, like blood.
Wayne didn't know much about other Batmen, but he recognized the era in another American comic world from which this suit originated.
This Batman wasn't Bruce Wayne; his name was Thomas Wayne.
In his reality, it was not Batman's parents who died in the alley, but Thomas's son, Bruce. Bruce Wayne's life had ended at the age of eight. Unable to accept her son's death, Martha Wayne went mad after the accident. She slashed the corners of her mouth and became the Joker of that world. Thomas Wayne, driven by grief, became the Batman his son never got to be.
Compared to the main-world Batman's code, Thomas Wayne's style was extremely cruel. He never cared about the lives or the human rights of criminals. He preferred to use guns to solve everything and was eager to end the lives of all those who dared to commit crimes in Gotham.
This Batman had no way to bring his son back to life, so he chose another way to commemorate him: by making Gotham clean again.
"You are a little different from what I imagined." Thomas stood and walked to the cell door, looking through the bars at the Wayne now standing before him.
Wayne did not speak, his blue eyes regarding Thomas calmly.
Seeing Wayne in this state, Thomas worked hard to maintain his composure. He knew the person in front of him was definitively not his grown-up son. As he had previously remarked, New York and Gotham were completely different, and the Wayne and Bruce standing here were even further apart. Even if they shared the same face.
"You can observe the world through my eyes and get the information you want," Wayne stated. The very first sentence he spoke judged the method by which Thomas was observing the outside world.
Nodding, Thomas did not deny Wayne's statement, but he added, "Perhaps the world you see is directly reflected in my mind."
"This matter can be verified later," Wayne said, unhurriedly. In Wayne's view, since he had been able to travel across worlds, seeing other strange things happen was hardly an exaggeration.
"Perhaps you can help me become a person worthy of the name of Batman." Leaving these words, Wayne turned and walked out.
Thomas stood there for a moment. In the end, he shook his head and sat back down on his simple bed. It was not as luxurious and comfortable as the bed he had once slept in, but what Thomas felt here was an unparalleled sense of tranquility. Not to mention the possibility of growing up alongside a Wayne.
When Wayne's consciousness returned to his body, the busy flow of pedestrians in the city below suddenly seemed to stop.
A news bulletin was playing on a screen hanging from a high-rise building.
"We interrupt this program for a special message."
"It is with deep sadness we report that our hero, Spider-Man, passed away today."
"His death is connected to a mysterious seismic event reported earlier in Brooklyn."
"Confirmed by multiple sources, Peter Parker..."
On the very first day, at the very first hour, of his arrival in this world, Spider-Man died.
(End of Chapter)
My first Fanfic be sure to check out my other works too and add this to your Collection