Three vehicles, three men, three separate missions. Each sat isolated in their rides as mission prompts flashed across their vision—a line of text with a ticking countdown. Drive to Street after 01:00. Killer Croc peeled out immediately, while Deadshot and Captain Boomerang waited for their timers to run down.
Captain Boomerang took off next, leaving Deadshot as the last to roll out. Once all three cleared the parking lot, their routes diverged on their heads-up displays, only to converge again at the operation's final destination. As the last streaks of sunset faded, Hong Fei vanished from the rooftop of the hotel, slipping into the shadows.
The city streets glowed under neon lights as the three vehicles crept closer to their target. At exactly one hundred meters out, all three came to a synchronized halt. From their vantage points, they saw Hong Fei—clad in black Vibranium armor—launch himself from a speeding truck onto the sidewalk. Pedestrians scattered in panic, their screams cutting through the night.
The mission prompt updated: Prepare to exit vehicles. Use weapons to herd hostages into the bank. Hong Fei didn't wait. Twin pistols flashed in his hands, their rapid fire shattering the bank's security cameras and dropping guards before they could react. Alarms wailed inside the building, but Hong Fei was already moving.
He charged forward, guns blazing. Ten meters from the door, he hurled his empty pistols, knocking two more guards to the ground. With a powerful swing of his arms, he propelled himself forward, hitting the bank's steps at full speed. His body launched into the air, twisting mid-flight as he drew his Cross-blade.
The blade's leap was flawless, its precision surgical. It pierced the muzzle of a guard's rifle, slicing through metal like paper. The tip hit the bullet inside, igniting the gunpowder in a small explosion. Sparks flew as the blade continued its arc, tearing through the guard's shoulder and exiting his back in a spray of blood.
The entire sequence lasted mere seconds, but its brutality left everyone frozen. Even Deadshot and the others, hardened as they were, felt a chill run down their spines.
"Move!" Deadshot barked, shoving open his car door. Submachine guns roared into the night as the three villains forced the panicked crowd toward the bank entrance from three angles. Hong Fei didn't look back.
He stepped over the writhing bodies at the entrance, his Cross-blade dripping crimson. More gunfire erupted from inside, but he walked through it unfazed. This bank wasn't just any bank—it was a symbol of power, a linchpin of global influence. Yet its defenses were laughable. For Hong Fei, clad in Vibranium armor, one man and one blade were all he needed.
By the time the hostages were herded inside at gunpoint, Hong Fei had already neutralized every threat within. He strode to a terminal and plugged in a USB drive.
Arthur's voice crackled in his ear.
"Sir, I've taken control of all local networks. All remote-controlled entrances and exits are locked down. Surveillance footage is accessible at any time."
Hong Fei remained silent. This was the rule of the "Three Don'ts," and he followed it as well. Sound was evidence, and evidence was danger.
Voice modulation remained an option, but silence was always safer. Hong Fei stood motionless on the marble platform, a meter-high perch in the center of the bank lobby, watching as hostages shuffled in with bowed heads. His blade gleamed, a single droplet of blood clinging to its tip, radiating an unspoken threat that kept the crowd subdued.
Deadshot, Captain Boomerang, and Killer Croc entered next, their identities concealed beneath black tactical gear, submachine guns in hand. Deadshot lingered at the rear, stepping over a wounded man crumpled by the doorway. Without a second glance, he tossed the injured man aside and pulled a spool of hair-thin metal wire from his vest.
He strung the wire across the entrance in a crisscross pattern, creating a sparse but impenetrable grid. Grenades dangled from the wires like ominous fruit on a tree, their presence as chilling as it was deliberate. Captain Boomerang and Killer Croc flanked him, weapons drawn, their vigilance unwavering.
The scene outside was chaotic. Pedestrians who'd fled the bank now watched from a distance, phones raised to capture the unfolding drama. The trio moved with precision, their coordination seamless, a testament to the AI-optimized heist plan Deadshot had executed flawlessly. Once the "grenade tree" was complete, he retreated, weapon at the ready.
Captain Boomerang and Killer Croc herded the hostages toward Hong Fei, forcing them to huddle at the bank's entrance. They arranged the strongest adults in rows, arms crossed, forming a human barricade. The elderly and women were deemed too vulnerable—too prone to collapse or panic—to face the touch-sensitive grenade grid.
The sound of muffled sobs filled the air, punctuated by three sharp clangs. Hong Fei struck the marble platform with the flat of his blade, sending fragments scattering. Heads turned instinctively, and he raised a finger to his masked lips. Silence descended like a curtain.
Deadshot worked swiftly behind the hostages, stringing another line of metal wire and attaching grenades at regular intervals. He then opened the overhead ventilation ducts and tossed in a handful of small, spherical devices. With the hostages effectively immobilized, Hong Fei led the group deeper into the bank, abandoning their human shield.
Outside, the crowd trapped within the grenade array dared not move. Meanwhile, chaos erupted in three other cities. In Central City, half the metropolis plunged into darkness, sparking panic among its million residents.
But more dangerously, when the power went out, a chemical factory on the outskirts of the city suddenly had a warehouse explosion, causing hazardous gases to evaporate and leak. The wind was blowing directly toward the city. At the critical moment, The Flash appeared, but what he had to do tonight was clearly not as simple as generating electricity or stirring up a breeze.
Metropolis buzzed with chaos as the police department's emergency lines lit up with a sudden surge of calls. Officers rushed to the scenes, only to find nothing amiss. The supposed callers denied ever dialing for help. High above the city, Superman hovered, his super-hearing attuned to the cacophony of sounds below.
Even after sifting through the noise, he couldn't dismiss the urgency of the police reports. Each one demanded his attention. Investigating further, he confirmed the callers' innocence—yet the calls themselves were undeniably real. The word "conspiracy" flashed in his mind like a warning beacon.
He pieced it together: this was a smokescreen, a deliberate distraction. The real threat loomed elsewhere in the city. His eyes burned with focus as he scanned Metropolis, every muscle taut, every sense on high alert. He wouldn't let his guard down—not for a second.
In Gotham City, where shadows clung to every corner, crime was a constant companion. Batman couldn't stop every act of violence, but he never stopped trying. Tonight, though, the city felt louder, more chaotic. Beyond the usual gang skirmishes, explosions ripped through hotel rooms, villas, and nightclubs. Fires devoured shops, leaving trails of destruction in their wake.
Perched atop a grim high-rise, Wayne's gaze turned icy beneath the cowl. These gangs were growing bolder, more reckless. His fists clenched as he surveyed the chaos below.
Meanwhile, in New York, the city's newsrooms were in turmoil. Within minutes of the incident, television stations were flooded with calls. Breaking news dominated every screen. Viewers cursed under their breath, glued to the latest footage and anchor reports. Their initial shock gave way to a strange excitement.
Some were merely spectators, hungry for drama. Others sprang into action, dialing phones or opening laptops, ready to capitalize on the chaos. After all, this was the Federal Reserve Bank of New York. Opportunities like this didn't come often.
The police acted swiftly. Officers arrived on the scene, approaching cautiously after notifying their precinct. But what they found was baffling: no trace of robbers, just metal wires and grenades. Conversations with hostages revealed the culprits had already infiltrated deep into the building.
Soon, more officers and SWAT teams encircled the bank, forming a tight perimeter twenty meters from the entrance. Bomb disposal units geared up, ready to move in. But before they could act, a window on an upper floor swung open. A shower of small black objects rained down on the police below.
"Run!" someone screamed. The officers scattered, panic spreading like wildfire. Packed too closely together, many stumbled and fell in the chaos. Grenades landed among them, exploding with brutal force.
The media, stationed further away, captured the horrifying scene. Gasps echoed through the newsroom. Viewers at home watched in stunned silence, their spines tingling with dread. As the tragedy unfolded before their eyes, many turned away, unable to bear the sight. Some covered their ears, desperate to block out the sounds of carnage.
Silence fell. Seconds stretched into what felt like hours. Police officers stood frozen, their eyes locked on the grenades mere inches from their faces, their foreheads almost brushing the cold metal. Not a single one dared to move.
"They haven't been pulled!" someone shouted abruptly, breaking the tension. The words rippled through the crowd, and a collective exhale swept over the scene. The once-orderly police formation dissolved into chaos.
"Stop moving!" a voice bellowed, cutting through the confusion. It wasn't until bomb disposal teams, clad in heavy protective gear, arrived to collect the grenades that the crowd finally breathed freely again. The female TV reporter, visibly shaken, placed a hand over her heart and turned to face her crew.
Her face was pale, her voice trembled as she spoke into the camera. "Dear viewers, you've just witnessed how perilous that situation was. I suspect most of you, like me, were holding your breath. The casualties those grenades could have caused would have been devastating for New York. But thankfully, they weren't activated. They were all—"
BOOM!!!!!
The screen erupted in a blinding flash of fire, engulfing two-thirds of the frame in brilliant light. Viewers gasped, their eyes wide with terror. Before they could process what was happening, a deafening roar tore through the air, assaulting eardrums across the city.
In that second, there was no telling how many people were startled enough to jump up, their hearts pounding wildly in an instant.