Batman dashed to the right.
The minigun fired.
Tracers lashed through the air. The gun arced toward Batman, buzzing like a thousand enraged hornets. He leapt across the rear SUV's hood and kept running. Rounds pounded the vehicle's side.
Arms over his face, Batman jumped through the window of the warehouse. Glass shattered. He hit the ground, rolled and lay flat.
Rounds beat a tattoo against the wall, tearing dozens of holes in it. Batman remained on his back. Yellow tracers zipped overhead.
"Oracle. Location of the SUV with the machine gun."
"It just pulled up alongside the warehouse," replied Barbara. "Approximately twenty feet from the window you jumped through . . . aw crap!"
"What?"
"Bad news."
More bullets shredded the wall.
"Hard to imagine this getting worse."
"Knyazev's van drove off," radioed Oracle. "It must have had self-sealing tires."
"Dammit." Batman scowled. He should have anticipated that.
The minigun ceased firing. A heavy silence fell over the docks. Batman drew a quick breath, then held it. He didn't rise.
The buzzing started again. More rounds tore through the wall. Tracers streaked barely a foot above Batman. They must have lowered the gun, probably as far as it would go.
His hand slid toward the utility belt. Batman removed two grenades, and waited. Knyazev's men were pros. The one on the minigun would stop firing soon, otherwise the barrel would melt from continued use.
The firing stopped.
Batman eyed the window two down from the one he jumped through. The barrage had taken out all the glass. He flung the smoke grenade through the opening. It burst outside, spewing a cloud of grey.
Would the gunner take the bait, or be smart enough to recognize a distraction?
The minigun fired. Tracers slashed through the smoke.
Batman grinned and rolled across the floor. He sprang to his feet and looked out the window he'd jumped through. The SUV sat in the middle of the road. Its minigun fell silent, then slewed back toward him.
He threw the thermite grenade. It hit the minigun. An intense orange flame consumed the weapon. At 4,000 degrees Fahrenheit, the barrel melted within seconds. Sparks flew from the roof as the minigun's remaining ammunition cooked off.
Batman leaped through the window and sprinted toward the SUV. Flames swept across the roof. The driver's side door flew open. The merc jumped out, looked up, and went for his pistol.
Batman's fist cracked against the merc's jaw. He spun and sagged to a knee. Batman grabbed the merc's left arm, picked him up, and threw him over his shoulder. He slammed into the pavement and lay there, groaning.
"What's Knyazev's location?" Batman hurried to the Batmobile.
"He's left the docks," Oracle told him, her voice tinged with frustration. "There aren't any traffic cams in the vicinity I can hack into."
"Keep at it. He has to pass a traffic cam in Metropolis sometime."
The canopy was halfway closed when Batman stomped on the gas. The Batmobile roared through the Queensland Docks. Knyazev couldn't have more than a mile or two head start on him, and the Batmobile was faster than any panel van.
He'd catch the SOB, and get that Kryptonite.
XXXXX
Superman's brow furrowed. He hovered in the night sky over Metropolis, staring west. His enhanced hearing picked up gunfire and explosions coming from the Queensland Docks. It sounded like someone was having a small war. Gangs? Mob? Terrorists?
Whoever it is, they're in trouble.
He flew toward the docks, scanning the streets below. A panel van driving up Tesla Avenue swerved past a couple of cars, well over the speed limit. Could it be linked to the gunfire?
Superman started to descend toward the van when the noise from another engine reached his ears. Powerful, guttural. Not like any vehicle he'd ever heard.
He looked back at the docks. A squat, sloped car, painted entirely black, tore through the streets.
Superman slowed, eyes wide. It was the Batmobile.
His jaw clenched. Anger boiled in his gut. Bad enough that psycho terrorized Gotham City. Now he wanted to bring all that brutality to his city?
No. No way in hell he'd let that happen.
Superman angled himself toward the street. He was putting an end to the Bat, tonight.
XXXXX
Batman continued to drive north. Knyazev only had three directions of escape. South was unlikely, as the bay was less than a half-mile from here. He might go east, but Metropolis was ten miles across. The Russian would soon run out of asphalt.
It had to be north. Knyazev could drive for hundreds of miles, all the way to Canada if he wanted.
But he wouldn't go that far. Knyazev would meet with Luthor in Metropolis or on the outskirts of the city. Probably not at LexCorp headquarters. Luthor wouldn't want a wanted mercenary and arms dealer showing up at such a public place. Same with his mansion. Who would want someone with the nickname "KGBeast" knowing where they lived?
The meet could be in some secluded spot in the woods. Or some property Luthor owned through a dummy corporation. Metropolis was 300 square miles in size. Knyazev and Luthor could be making the deal within any one of them.
He needed that van to pass a traffic camera. Once Oracle saw it, he could –
Something dropped in front of him. Something blue, with a red cape, and a red "S" on its chest.
"Shit." He tensed, unblinking eyes squarely on Superman.
The alien didn't move, just stood in front of the Batmobile, eyes narrowed.
Batman swerved to avoid him.
A blue streak moved in front of the vehicle. A quake rocked the Batmobile as it jolted to a halt. The seatbelt dug into Batman's suit, keeping him from soaring into the windshield. He drew a ragged breath and looked up.
Superman held the engine over his head. He then flung it toward the sidewalk as easily as a normal man would throw an apple.
Two words flashed in red on one of the monitors.
ENGINE FAILURE.
"Yeah, I noticed," Batman growled, his hand above the console.
Superman tore off the canopy like it was cardboard.
Batman's hand slammed down on the grenade launcher button. Four rounds exploded right in Superman's face.
Batman fired a grapple gun at the nearest building. He soared through the gray cloud that enveloped the Kryptonian. He punched in a code on his remote just before he reached the roof.
The Batmobile's self-destruct program activated. A series of C4 and thermite charges exploded in a ball of white-hot flame.
Batman hit the roof running. Dark disgust flowed like a river through him. He hated the thought of fleeing an enemy. But he had to accept his limitations. He was not ready for a confrontation with Superman. Not without the Kryptonite that was getting farther away from him by the second. He couldn't go hand-to-hand with Superman. It would be akin to punching the hull of a battleship. The smoke grenades and explosives would only distract Superman, probably for a few seconds at best.
All he could do was hide in the shadows, avoid Superman, and try to pick up Knyazev's trail. Without that Kryptonite he didn't stand a chance.
Batman grappled over to another building. He came down on the roof . . . and felt a gust of wind.
Superman stood in front of him.
Batman tossed a flash/bang grenade and darted left, looking away from the alien. A muffled thump sounded behind him. He checked over his shoulder.
Wisps of smoke filtered out from Superman's closed fist. He'd actually caught the grenade. The alien glowered at him.
Not good.
Batman reached for more grenades. Another gust of wind washed over him. His hand slid past his waist. He looked down.
His utility belt was gone.
"Looking for this?"
Batman lifted his head. Superman clutched the utility belt, then threw it into the darkness, toward the West River.
Arms at his side, fists clenched, Batman locked eyes with Superman. His mind raced to come up with options to counter him.
He couldn't think of any.
XXXXX
Superman stepped toward Batman. The dark-clad vigilante stood his ground, not flinching, not showing any sign of fear. Was it some last act of defiance? Would he actually try to fight him?
Superman opened his mouth, but held his tongue. He'd been ready to tell him to bury the Bat . . . or else.
But would there be consequences if Gotham City did not have Batman?
What consequences? There'd be no crazed vigilante sending people to the hospital.
Superman thought about the unintended consequences of his own good deeds. Getting rid of a dictator resulted in a bloody civil war. Saving a young man from a beating got him accidentally shot. And Zod . . .
If he forced Batman into the shadows forever, would criminals overrun Gotham? Would rogues like Joker and Two-Face terrorize the city a hundred times worse than the Bat?
Could he live with more innocent blood spilled because he tried to do the right thing?
"So are you just going to stand there," grumbled Batman, "or do you have something to say?" He scowled. "Or maybe you want to drop a building on me."
Rage sent tremors through Superman's body. He needed a couple of deep breaths to calm himself. "The branding. The crippling of people. It stops, now."
Batman said nothing, just glared at him.
"You want to fight crime? You do it with minimal force. This is your only warning. Next time I see your symbol burned into someone's skin, the next person who's in a body cast because of you, I will be back . . . and you will be done."
Batman didn't respond. Superman wondered if he ignored every word he'd said.
"You just got a new lease on life," said Superman. "Use it wisely."
He waited for a response from Batman, some sort of acknowledgement. He never got it.
With a short grunt, he walked away.
"Tell me," Batman said in a gruff voice.
Superman stopped and turned back to him.
"Do you bleed?"
What? Superman's brow furrowed.
"You will."
Superman tilted his head. Batman couldn't be serious. The psycho actually thought he could make him bleed?
Just false bravado. The guy probably didn't want to look weak, defeated. He probably needed that bit of defiance for the sake of his ego.
Superman shook his head and shot into the sky.
XXXXX
Batman watched the alien vanish into the night. The son-of-a-bitch had actually thrown down the gauntlet first. Threatened him to stop protecting Gotham City. His city. Wanted him to be nice to the slime that oozed through its streets, spreading violence and misery, corrupting all they touched.
And if I don't do as told, will I get my neck snapped?
Now more than ever, he had to get that Kryptonite.
But first . . .
"Oracle."
"Yeah, Batman?"
"Call Alfred. Tell him I need a ride back to the Batcave."
TO BE CONTINUED