Deep within an alleyway in Yokohama, Japan, Ronin—Clint Barton—sat slumped on the ground, the stench of filth clinging to him.
A katana lay across his knees as flies buzzed incessantly around his head.
He feebly waved a hand to scatter them, but the wretched insects merely swirled away for a moment before clustering back together in a humming cloud.
"Batman, there's someone you need to watch out for. His name is Wilson Fisk."
Ronin's voice was agonizingly weak as he patched into Batman's encrypted frequency, his breathing ragged and intermittent.
"I'm listening." In Manhattan, New York, Batman stood face-to-face with the Hulk. He narrowed his eyes behind his cowl and spoke in a low rasp.
"I encountered him yesterday inside the Dark Wind Group," Ronin said. "By now, he's likely already arrived in New York."
On Batman's end, a thunderous roar erupted, followed by a cacophony of shattering glass and the splintering of wooden supports.
A few seconds later, Ronin heard a sharp crack—a sound he knew all too well. It was the sound of a dislocated joint being forced back into its socket.
"Continue, Clint," Batman's voice returned.
"If you run into Wilson Fisk, don't hesitate—run immediately. He..." Ronin coughed violently. "If he didn't look different, I would have thought Wilson was the Hulk."
Slumped in that Yokohama alley, Ronin's cough sent a spray of pink, frothy blood onto the chest of his already tattered samurai attire.
The flies swarmed the fresh blood instantly.
On the street in front of the Empire State Building in Manhattan, Batman was currently sprawled amidst the wreckage of a smashed shop counter.
While maintaining the comms link with Ronin, Batman had just managed to save Tony Stark, only to be sent flying by a punch from the Hulk from less than three meters away.
The Hulk's fist hadn't even made physical contact with Batman. It was pure, raw power—the product of a berserk rage and a rapidly strengthening physical form—striking the air itself.
Hulk's punch acted like a high-efficiency air compressor, violently squeezing the air in front of him until a transparent, fishbowl-like arc appeared before detonating outward.
Batman had seen this before on South Brother Island. A similar phenomenon occurred when the Hulk and Venom traded blows.
But back then, the Hulk wasn't so much fighting as he was "playing house" with Venom. While his strikes were formidable—the mere displacement of air sending the nearby observer Professor Morbius tumbling—this was different.
Now, the Hulk was truly angry. His punch carried no flourishes; it was a testament to sheer, overwhelming strength that sent even Batman crashing backward.
However, unlike the battered Ronin in Yokohama, Batman had suffered no injuries other than a dislocated shoulder. Being blown away by the shockwave was simply a matter of physics: Batman possessed over fifty tons of strength, but his physical mass was far too light.
He wasn't so much "beaten" back as he was "blown" back by the gale.
"Against the Hulk's peak strength, I'll be constantly tossed by the wind due to insufficient body weight unless I engage in close-quarters grappling or don the Battering Ram armor."
"The Arkham Suit is reaching its limit. The next iteration needs integrated ballast and metal leg anchors..."
Batman climbed out from the ruins of the counter and stepped back out onto the street, continuing his conversation with the distant Ronin.
"Get to the point."
In Japan, Clint Barton impatiently waved the flies away again, his voice growing fainter.
"Fine. The point is, Wilson Fisk seems to have undergone some kind of procedure at the Dark Wind Group to make himself stronger. I estimate Fisk's weight has surpassed nine hundred pounds."
"I'm still investigating the Dark Wind Group's trade records. Give me a few days."
Batman could tell Ronin was critically weak. He had likely sustained catastrophic injuries during his encounter with Wilson Fisk—the Kingpin.
"Clint, I'm authorizing you to terminate the mission. Return and recover," Batman ordered. "I will continue the search for Black Widow."
"No... no need." Ronin panted heavily, using his katana as a crutch to slowly haul himself to his feet. "I can feel I'm close. Whether it's the trade records or Fisk's transformation..."
"It all links back to a Japanese man named Kenji Koyama."
At the base of the Empire State Building, Batman stepped out of the storefront and pressed a sequence on his gauntlet.
A second later, in the "City Hall Batcave" not far from the Parker Building, the pitch-black Batmobile—which had been resting silently like a dormant predator—suddenly snapped its headlights on.
A low, guttural roar echoed through the cave. The Batmobile's tires spun violently, pivoting the chassis in place before it tore through the subway tunnels and sewer mains to reach the streets of Manhattan.
ROAR!
This was the first time since its completion that the Arkham Batmobile had been driven with such reckless abandon, thundering through the New York streets and smashing through obstacles.
But until the vehicle arrived, Batman still had to face the Hulk alone.
"Hulk, calm down," Batman said, staring at the Hulk, who was gritting his teeth and clenching his massive fists.
As he spoke, Batman didn't retreat like Tony Stark. Instead, he began to close the distance, stepping toward the giant one pace at a time.
As he advanced, the "Batman Claws" on the underside of his forearms continuously fired strands of black spider-silk to his left and right. These strands twisted together in thick bundles, resembling heavy steel cables.
To an onlooker, it appeared as though dark, slender tentacles were erupting from Batman's silhouette.
"You shouldn't be angry about the dinosaur. It wasn't your fault, Hulk."
Batman stopped less than five meters from the Hulk. Behind him, hundreds of silk "tentacles" were anchored to the pavement, walls, fire hydrants—anything that could provide leverage.
"I need you to revert to your previous state. If your rage has nowhere to go, I will fight you," Batman declared.
The muscles in the Hulk's arms bulged as his fists tightened further. He let out several heavy, huffing breaths at Batman before suddenly lunging forward in a charge.
Almost the exact moment the Hulk initiated his attack, a thunderous engine roar echoed from the end of the street, accompanied by a sharp, whistling sound through the air.
The Batmobile appeared at the far end of the block. But something moved even faster than the car itself: a massive winch and grappling hook fired from the front of the vehicle. The drill bit alone was thirty centimeters long, trailing a steel cable as thick as two fingers.
Simultaneously, Batman launched himself into the air. The spider-silk strands he had fired remained tethered to his suit, snapping taut as he moved.
Every step Batman had taken toward the Hulk had been to pre-tension those lines. Now, as he leapt, the taut silk retracted violently, slingshotting his body backward at a speed far exceeding the Hulk's incoming fist.
But he wasn't done!
While in mid-air, Batman fired several more strands forward, firmly gripping the walls on either side of the street. Having successfully evaded the Hulk's initial charge, he used the new tension to pull himself right back toward the Hulk!
The Hulk's attention, however, had shifted. He whipped his head around and snatched the grappling hook that had been fired from the Batmobile out of the air.
BZZZZT—!
The hook wasn't meant to restrain him; it was a conduit for a massive electrical discharge.
"ROAR!" The Hulk screamed in fury, instinctively releasing the hook. As the cable retracted into the winch and the Batmobile sped toward him, the Hulk raised a massive foot to stomp it into the asphalt.
A normal car would have been flattened instantly, but not this one.
A split second before the Hulk's foot made contact, the Batmobile split vertically down the middle. It divided into two heavy, motorcycle-like segments that swerved around the Hulk, racing toward Batman.
When the Hulk turned back, he found that Batman hadn't boarded the vehicle. Instead, Batman had reached out both hands, catching the two separated halves of the Batmobile and locking them onto the outer sides of his arms like massive, vertical shields.
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