Bruce flashed a grin as he greeted his old adversary. "Bruce, long time no see," Stark said, his trademark smirk firmly in place. "How's everything in Gotham? All good?"
Wayne didn't bother to mask his cynicism. "Not by your efforts," he replied, voice low. His eyes flicked across the crowd, perpetually watchful.
Tony shrugged nonchalantly. "I was invited. Figured you knew."
"Keep thinking. It's supposed to be good for you," Bruce quipped, letting the edge in his words do the talking.
Tony changed the subject suddenly. "So, rumor has it there's a Batman loose in this city, terrorizing Gotham. People seem to live in fear. Any thoughts on that?"
Bruce barely suppressed a sigh. "Don't believe everything you hear, son." His tone was pointed.
Tony pressed on, "He thinks he's above the law. Do you think that's right?"
The irony was too rich. Bruce's lips curled into a half-smirk. "It's a little hypocritical to hear about someone 'above the law' from you, Stark. You bask in every newspaper article that comes out after you save yet another kitten from a tree. But you could be tackling real problems."
"Plenty would disagree with you, Wayne."
"Maybe it's just the Gotham in me talking," Bruce said, his gaze steely. "We've had our share of psychos dressed as clowns." He kept his eyes locked on Stark, a subtle display of rivalry and mutual respect.
Tony, never one to dwell, leaned in. "How about dinner? Let's talk about world peace."
"When?"
"In a thousand years."
"Too early."
Before tensions escalated further, someone had to step in. Otherwise, they'd have reduced the place to rubble by the end of the night. Just as I was about to interrupt, a striking figure materialized before me—a vision of an angel, no less. Her platinum hair glowed under the lights, large wings arching gracefully from her back.
"Hi, Karen," I called out with genuine warmth, stepping forward to hug her.
"How was your flight?" I asked.
"Perfect!" Power Girl giggled. "No accidental collisions, if that's what you mean." Her laughter was light and infectious.
I couldn't resist. "This outfit really suits you. You honestly look like a real angel tonight." My compliment was sincere; Karen, known publicly as Power Girl, always stood out, her powerful presence and radiant beauty impossible to ignore.
Tony was quick to take notice. "Wow, baby, what's your name?" he asked, momentarily dazzled by her dazzling smile and bold costume.
Karen snorted, unimpressed by Tony's bravado. Ignoring Iron Man completely, she closed the distance to me, her arm effortlessly entwining around mine. Her presence was confident and unapologetic—two Kryptonian mounds pressing lightly against my shoulder—as if to make it clear whose side she was on.
Pepper Potts, never one to hold back, commented dryly, "Your pickup line failed, Tony."
He chuckled helplessly, running his armored hand through his hair. "Must be losing my touch." Despite his playful bravado, Stark glanced at me with newfound respect. "You're quick, kid. I like that."
The party continued, a swirl of costumed guests and lively conversation. Batman and Stark exchanged pointed barbs throughout the night, each trying to outwit the other, while Karen became an instant favorite among the guests, her humor and forthright charm drawing the crowd in.
In the midst of revelry, my secretary Heather approached, her costume as a nine-tailed fox both peculiar and surprisingly flattering. Leaning in, she whispered, "It's time." Thus summoned, I extricated myself from the gathering and strode straight to the stage.
"Boo!" I shouted into the microphone, capturing the crowd's attention. "Let me welcome everyone again. In case you haven't noticed, tonight is a special holiday—Halloween! Dance, scare, intrigue, enchant, and let yourselves be swept up in the spirits roaming free! This is your night to let the darkness shine."
The crowd responded enthusiastically. Inspired, I added, "Tonight, be ghosts on the prowl for joy, witches on speeding brooms, vampires poised to 'drink' the blood of your enemies—have fun and make sure you leave your mark! But don't forget the golden rule: The show must go on!"
On a whim, I continued. "Since I've already invaded the stage, it would be indecent to leave without performing at least one song." My fingers found the bass guitar—tonight, nothing suited better than the classic anthem "Highway to Hell" by AC/DC. I nodded to my band, signaling we were ready to play.
A heavy guitar riff kicked in, the unmistakable sound of hard rock electrifying the room:
Life is simple, life is free. It's a one-way ticket for the season,
Don't ask for anything, leave me alone
I've come to terms with everything that comes my way.
I don't need a reason, I don't need a meaning,
There's nothing I'd rather do
Than relax and party,
That's where all my friends will be—
I'm on the highway to hell.
The song's raw energy pulsed through the crowd. "Highway to Hell"—an anthem for living on the edge, for the rock 'n' roll lifestyle that AC/DC embodied. For some, the song is about the grueling road of touring; for others, it symbolizes the wild ride into the unknown, a refusal to be slowed down by anyone or anything. Bon Scott's lyrics evoke living with abandon, pushing boundaries, and facing consequences without regret.
No brake lights, no speed limits,
No one can stop me, I'm spinning like a wheel.
No one can mess with me.
Hey Satan, pay my debts, playing in a rock band.
Hey Mommy, look at me—I'm on my way to the promised land.
I'm on the highway to hell.
The performance ended on a high note—the last strum of the guitar fell away into electric silence, then thunderous applause erupted. The roar of approval from the crowd was a potent reward, and I relished the brief moment of glory, soaking in every cheer and excited shout.
As I stepped off the stage, something strange caught my attention. Bathed in the glow of the fireplace sat a young man, relaxed in a black checkered shirt, cradling a steaming cup of coffee. The light outlined his features in golden relief, the aromatic scent inexplicably vivid to my senses.
Wait a second. How do I know it's coffee? Why does its aroma linger so distinctly? The man met my gaze with a calm, self-satisfied smile, and his eyes shone—not from the flickering firelight, but from something deeper, a contentment that seemed entirely personal.
What struck me wasn't his unassuming attire, but the odd fact that no one else seemed to notice him. It was as if he existed only for me, invisible to the rest of the party—a ghost among the living.
My confusion deepened when an unfamiliar voice echoed in my mind: "Well done, Alex. It was a great party."
I froze. How is that even possible? He got inside my head?! I possess the "Player's Mind"—an ability that's always protected me from mental intrusion. No one has ever managed to breach it—not even Charles Xavier can speak with me telepathically.
The "Player's Mind" has always blocked any outsider, denying access even to cosmic beings like Madness or the supreme God Presence.
Yet here he was, this mysterious stranger with his cup of coffee, effortlessly bypassing my defenses and communicating directly into my thoughts. My heart raced. How could I possibly remain calm?
I rushed towards him, determination overriding caution. But with a single blink—just a moment's distraction—the enigmatic figure vanished, leaving nothing behind but unanswered questions.
I stood there, catching my breath and struggling to put my thoughts in order. Who was he? How did he know me so well? Is he behind my presence in this world?
So many questions—and not a single answer in sight. Still, I sensed no immediate threat from him. Perhaps it would be wise to leave the matter for now. Maybe someday the mysteries of this world will unravel, and the answers I seek will reveal themselves.
For now, all I can do is wait—and enjoy the chaos and camaraderie life brings, even on the highway to hell.
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