Chapter 24
Lower District, Central City.
The clear night sky carried a cool autumn breeze. The full moon's soft silver light bathed the deep blue heavens, making the darkness both enchanting and serene.
Bay Area, Central City.
The Bay Area was a district of aging factories and warehouses. Once home to countless plastic toy factories, plush doll manufacturers, mold workshops, and various small-goods processing plants.
But with the city government's urban planning reforms and the attractive incentives offered by Keystone City, most factories and commercial activities had gradually relocated there. The Bay Area, once a thriving industrial zone, was now barely hanging on — reduced to a handful of struggling small workshops, large buildings converted into warehouses, and crowds of unemployed workers who frequently marched in protest against the city government. The area carried an air of decline and disorder.
From the clear night sky above, the half-lit, half-dark streetlights of the Bay Area seemed to symbolize the former glory and passionate energy of Central City's industrial past.
Alex leaned low over the handlebars. The strong headwind whipped his jacket wildly behind him. Inside his black motorcycle helmet, his eyes were cold as he stared at the road ahead, lost in thought. The silver-and-black Lightning motorcycle roared like a savage metallic beast. Even with streetlights present, its powerful headlight carved a bright circle on the ground as it sped forward.
Man and machine fused into one as the bike weaved through the mostly unlit roads of the Bay Area, turning sharply through the maze-like streets and thundering past like a bolt of lightning.
In the remote outskirts of the Bay Area, near the old Factory No. 102, an elderly Black security guard sat inside a cheap blue security booth. He wore thick reading glasses and looked drowsy as he stared blankly at today's Central City Daily.
Beep…
His cheap but brand-new watch emitted a strange tone.
Though old, his hearing was surprisingly sharp. He lifted his head from the newspaper. A spark of life appeared in his previously vacant eyes as he pressed a button on the side of the watch.
The large warehouse door slowly rose. Inside was pitch black and empty, with only faint moonlight filtering through the windows, illuminating a steel plate in the center that was gradually opening to reveal a dark, cavernous entrance below.
After completing the action, the old guard looked up toward the darkness ahead. Before he could see anyone, the low rumble of an engine reached his ears.
Then, headlights pierced the darkness. Accompanied by the deep growl, Alex's Lightning motorcycle — the silver-and-black speed beast — appeared in the old man's view.
The guard narrowed his eyes slightly. In just a few blinks, the bike was right in front of him. A fierce gust of wind whipped across his wrinkled face as the motorcycle fused with its rider shot straight into the warehouse entrance.
Alex rode the Lightning without slowing down. Like a streak of lightning and a gust of wind, the bike leaped into the dark opening.
As he entered, white lights clicked on along the walls of the passage with a series of clacks, illuminating the way as he sped deeper. The entire tunnel lit up progressively, guiding him forward.
Click.
All the lights suddenly blazed at full brightness.
At the end was a vast open space. A large supercomputer sat in one corner, booting up and awaiting commands.
Nearby, the white walls were lined with various functional weapons and tools: grapple guns, cable launchers, throwing darts, throwing knives, plastic explosives, nerve gas, batarang-style boomerangs, smoke grenades, fingerprint kits, cutters, hook guns, breathing apparatus, and many more — a full arsenal of equipment.
Of course, unlike Batman, Alex had no qualms about killing. He had also modified many weapons for significantly greater firepower.
On a nearby mannequin hung the black superhero-style coat, gloves, and boots Alex had prepared for the future. All were made with Kevlar, titanium, and lightweight advanced materials — bulletproof, explosion-resistant, impact-resistant, stab-proof, fireproof, and insulated. The entire black outfit was extremely expensive and meticulously crafted.
In Alex's future plans, one key item was to become a superhero — allowing him to pursue certain illegal benefits under that cover.
This was Alex's personal base. Every piece of equipment here had been built by him alone, using nearly all the money he had earned over the years.
Alex brought the Lightning motorcycle to a stop in the designated parking spot on the left. Two other modified bikes waited there — one fully silver, one fully black — each with different specialized functions.
Unlike Batman, who possessed billions in wealth and an entire fleet (Batmobile, Batplane, Batcycle, Batsub, etc.), Alex had spent his entire fortune — seventeen million dollars — just to build this single base. It was everything he could afford.
This was all Alex had: three street gangs he secretly controlled in the Lower District, plus his status as a formal member (and former president) of the First Brotherhood of Central City University. Both tangible and intangible assets.
Of course, everything was for himself. He had no desire to become a supervillain, nor did he want to be constantly targeted by superheroes. The only viable path was to operate as an independent superhero while pursuing his own interests.
"Sir, Jack left a message."
A mechanical voice echoed through the white hall.
This was not true artificial intelligence. Although Alex had the ability to hack the Pentagon undetected, he had not yet created real AI. He and several geniuses had once attempted it, but the project was ultimately abandoned due to various issues. What remained was this half-finished AI system integrated into the supercomputer.
"Play the message."
Alex removed his motorcycle helmet and placed it on the Lightning. He walked to a nearby rack, picked up an identical pair of glasses, put them on, and ran his fingers through his hair to push the damp strands back from his forehead. He then walked straight to the supercomputer.
"Yo yo yo… Three years and another three years. I've gone from street lieutenant to gang boss. When are you gonna pay me back what you owe…"
"Hey… You didn't forget, right? You can't forget… yo yo yo… Our deal. My little brother is still waiting…"
"Hehe… yo… I wanna go home… I miss my old mother back home…"
A ridiculous, off-key "yo yo yo" that had zero actual hip-hop style played through the speakers.
"Dial Jack," Alex said expressionlessly. He was very familiar with Jack's style. This level of cheekiness meant he was asking for a beating — two broken ribs should do.
Moments later, the supercomputer connected directly to Jack's phone.
"Yo… yo…"
"If you 'yo' one more time, I'll knock your teeth out."
"Yes, boss."
"Tell your people in that district to find someone for me — Danton Black. Report to me the moment you have any information. Do not alert him."
"Got it, boss… But when can I stop being an undercover?"
"I'm so scared… The boss of the Broken Hand Gang that ruled over a dozen streets suddenly died today. For some reason, a lot of people are supporting me now! I've become the gang boss."
"Alex, you need to come take control of this gang soon."
"They're about to go to war with the Blood Angels, the third-largest gang in the Lower District. They're super excited — they just bought over a dozen assault rifles. I can't stop them. What if we win again?"
"I'm really panicking… My power as gang boss is getting bigger and bigger."
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