Allen and Morbius walked out of the alley, arm in arm. On the ground, the criminal twitched from the electric shock, foaming at the mouth, but no one spared him a second glance. Allen was already on to recruiting his next target.
"I know who you're looking for," Morbius said seriously.
"That's great," Allen replied, delighted.
West Coast Retro Bar
The bar was a popular haunt for rough, unkempt, middle-aged bikers on their Harleys. Clad in leather jackets studded with metal, they guzzled beer from large mugs and boasted loudly.
In a corner, a man sat alone, drinking in silence, a stark contrast to the boisterous crowd.
Just then, two figures pushed open the door.
Instantly, the noisy bar fell silent.
"Hahaha... look, Batman's here for a drink."
"That's hilarious. This is the West Coast, not Gotham. This guy must be crazy."
"Get Batman a beer. It's on me."
The bikers' taunts filled the air. There was no shortage of hero-worshippers in the world, but showing up in a costume on a regular day was just asking for ridicule. After all, it wasn't Halloween.
Clink!
Allen tossed a flash grenade onto the floor and bolted for the door. Morbius vanished in a streak of crimson light.
"Damn it!" the man in the corner cursed, shattering a window as he leaped out.
The bikers, caught completely off guard, descended into chaos.
Outside, Allen watched the scene unfold. A brilliant flash of white light was followed by a symphony of enraged curses.
"Russell, long time no see," Morbius greeted the man who had just escaped.
"I'm surprised you're hanging out with Batman," Russell teased.
"He's not Batman," Morbius said, at a loss for how to explain Allen.
"Russell, the Midnight Werewolf," Allen announced, striking a profound pose. "I am the Hilarious Bat, here to invite you to join the Midnight Bullies super-team. This mission is extremely perilous. I need high-caliber talent like you."
"Not interested." Russell flatly refused, having no desire to get involved in someone else's mess. His werewolf curse made him lose control, especially near the full moon when he transformed into a berserk beast. He had to hide in the deep mountains to avoid populated areas, unsure of how many people he might kill in a single night.
"High risk, high reward," Allen tempted him. "Some of our enemies are Gotham's elite. It's a perfectly reasonable way to make some extra cash. Interested?"
Everyone has a weakness. Allen had done his research on Russell and knew he lived a hard life. Because of his condition, he was a drifter with no steady job, constantly moving to avoid hurting anyone.
"I'd be happy to help," Russell's attitude did a complete 180. The thought of a big score and a stable life was too good to pass up. Who wanted to eat burgers and drink cheap beer every day when you could have steak and red wine?
"Damn it, don't let them get away!"
"I'm gonna tie that bastard to the back of my bike and drag him!"
"Let me blast him with my shotgun!"
The enraged bikers poured out of the bar, guns in hand, ready for revenge. But their targets were long gone.
Arkham Fortress
Allen looked at the assembled members. "The Midnight Bullies team is officially formed," he declared solemnly.
Progenitor Drake, Pharaoh Nick, Ocean Master Orm, Dr. Morbius, and Midnight Werewolf Russell—it was a twisted version of the Justice League.
"I object," Nick was the first to speak. "We should be a superhero team. 'Midnight Alliance' sounds more normal."
"Hahaha... everyone, laugh at him!" Allen grinned, gesturing to the group. "In what way do we look like superheroes?" A vampire, a mummy, a tyrant, a vampire-variant, and a werewolf—there wasn't a shred of heroism among them.
Nick fell silent, realizing he may have been a bit too optimistic.
"What's your plan for the enemy?" Russell asked. Since Allen had gathered them, he must have a strategy. They needed to know their roles.
"My plan is... to have no plan," Allen said, clenching his fist. "We just do it."
A chill ran down their spines. They had the distinct feeling they had boarded a pirate ship.
"I'll take on Dracula," Drake said, his voice filled with fighting spirit. "There can only be one strongest half-blood." The two of them were legendary among half-bloods, constantly compared. Unfortunately, Drake had been sealed away too early.
"My abilities can only provide cover," Nick said with a shrug. He knew his powers were effective against ordinary humans but useless against vampires with their powerful regenerative abilities. His sand mummies were just for show. At best, he could offer crowd control. His only real advantage was his immortality.
"Then I'll clear the minions," Morbius volunteered. Nourished by demigod blood, his power was likely on par with Drake's, but since Drake had already called dibs on the main boss, he had to settle for the grunts.
"I'll provide tracking," Russell said. His keen sense of smell was perfect for his role. The Court of Owls, Count Dracula, and the pure-blood nobles were all hidden in the shadows. Without a way to find them, they would be at a severe disadvantage.
At this moment, all eyes turned to the silent Orm.
"Forge me a trident. I will handle close combat." As a former king, Orm was reluctant to associate with such a motley crew, but he was indebted to them for his rescue.
"I am so pleased to see your mature attitudes," Allen said, nodding like a proud father. For this Gotham crisis, he had brought in five external allies, and he and Nanaue would also participate. Their primary objective was to find Bruce. Preventing the arrival of the Dark Multiverse was the ideal outcome. Otherwise, an even greater crisis would surely unfold.
Just before they set out, Allen quietly approached Russell, who was waiting for a 3D-printed pair of Hulk-like shorts. After all, his werewolf transformation would shred any normal clothing.
"Smell this," Allen said, handing him a plastic bag.
Russell took it, puzzled. "What is it?"
"Batman's underwear. I want you to find him." Allen explained shyly, "Don't get the wrong idea. Bruce and I have a pure relationship."
"…" Cut the crap. I don't believe you.
[Chapter Complete]
***
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