Everything Alex Had

The night was dark, moonlight casting a soft glow across the deep blue sky. Even the night was clear, its deep blue enchanting.

Central City, Bay Area.

The Bay Area was an aging but not decrepit industrial and warehouse district. It had once been home to countless plastic toy factories, plush doll factories, mold factories, and processing plants for all sorts of trinkets.

With reforms to Central City's government planning and the favorable policies introduced by Keystone City, large numbers of factories and commercial operations had moved to Keystone City. The Bay Area, once a respectable industrial district, was now on the verge of collapse. Only struggling small factories remained, along with warehouses converted from old factory buildings and masses of unemployed people marching through the streets to protest the city government, lending the place an air of desolation and chaos.

Seen from the clear night sky, the Bay Area's half-lit streetlamps seemed to symbolize the former glory and celebrated fervor of Central City's industry.

Alex lowered his body as the fierce wind ahead whipped his coat, making it flap loudly. His eyes beneath the black motorcycle helmet were cold as he stared down the road, lost in thought. Riding the silver-black Speed Beast, whose headlight shone like a piercing beam, he cast a circular pool of light onto the ground despite the streetlights and sped away.

His body merged with the motorcycle as he twisted and turned through the largely unlit roads of the Bay Area, roaring past like lightning.

In the Bay Area, at Factory No. 102 near the outskirts, an elderly Black man sat inside a blue security booth. Wearing reading glasses and looking frail with age, he gazed vaguely at that day's Central City Daily.

"Beep..."

His cheap but brand-new watch emitted a strange sound.

Though old, his hearing was exceptionally sharp. At the sound, he raised his head from the newspaper. A trace of purpose seemed to enter his vacant gaze, bringing him a little vitality as he pressed the button on the side of his watch.

Then, the warehouse's main door slowly rose. Inside was darkness and empty space, with only moonlight filtering through the windows. It illuminated the steel floor panels in the center as they gradually opened, revealing the entrance to a pitch-black passage like the mouth of a demon's lair.

Once the old man finished, he looked up into the darkness ahead. Though no one was in sight, the low rumble of an engine reached his ears.

Then a beam of light pierced the darkness. Accompanied by a deep roar, Alex rode The Flash, the silver-black Speed Beast, and appeared in the old man's view from afar.

The old man narrowed his eyes slightly. In just a few blinks, the rumbling had reached him. A gale blew the layered black wrinkles on his face wildly upward. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt The Flash motorcycle, fused as one with Alex, disappear through the warehouse entrance.

Alex rode The Flash motorcycle straight through the warehouse doors in an instant. Like a bolt of lightning, a gust of wind, a galloping steed, he entered the warehouse, the front wheel lifting as he leaped into the dark opening in one bound.

With Alex's arrival, white lights clicked on along the walls of the dark passage. As he raced his technological Speed Beast into the tunnel, white lights gradually illuminated the entire corridor wall by wall, lighting his way and escorting him onward.

"Click."

All the lights suddenly came on.

At the end lay a vast space. A massive supercomputer stood in one corner, completing its startup and awaiting orders.

Not far away, the white walls displayed firearms and tools of every function: grappling guns like Batman's, cable launchers, darts, throwing knives, plastic explosives, nerve gas, Batarangs, smoke bombs, fingerprint cases, cutters, hook guns, breathing assistance equipment, and a whole range of fully functional gear.

Of course, unlike Batman, Alex did not hesitate to kill, and he also had modified firearms with even greater firepower.

A human-shaped mannequin beside them wore the black superhero trench coat, gloves, and boots Alex had prepared for the future. They were made from Kevlar and titanium metal, combined with lightweight materials. They were effectively bulletproof, blastproof, impact-resistant, slash- and puncture-resistant, fireproof, and insulated. The full set of black equipment was exquisitely made and extremely expensive.

In Alex's plans for his future, one item was becoming a superhero to profit from certain illegal interests.

This was the base Alex had built for himself. Every piece of equipment here had been made by his own hands, funded by the money he had earned over the years.

Alex parked The Flash motorcycle on the left side of the entrance. The other parking spaces held two more motorcycles with different functions, one entirely silver and the other entirely black. He had modified them all himself, each with its own purpose.

He was not like Batman, who possessed billions in wealth: the Batmobile, Batplane, Batcycle, Batboat, Batjet, Batcopter, Bat-submarine, Bat-ski—Batman had vehicles for land, sea, and air.

Just building this base had cost Alex his entire fortune of seventeen million dollars. He had already done everything he could.

This was everything Alex had: the three gangs he controlled in Lower City, his membership in Central City's First Brotherhood—this was all Alex had, tangible and intangible alike.

Of course, all of it was for himself. He did not truly want to become some superhero; he was merely preparing for his future.

He did not want to become a supervillain, nor did he want to be targeted by superheroes. He could only become an independent superhero and secure benefits for himself.

"Sir, Jack left a message."

A mechanical voice echoed through the white hall.

This was not artificial intelligence. Although Alex was skilled enough with computers to hack into the Pentagon without being discovered, he had still not invented AI. He had once intended to create artificial intelligence with several geniuses, but due to certain events, the project had ultimately come to nothing. What remained was this mostly completed artificial intelligence, which counted as a supercomputer.

"Play the message."

Alex took off his motorcycle helmet and set it on The Flash motorcycle. He walked to a glasses stand nearby, picked up a pair identical to the ones he had worn before, and put them on. Running his fingers through his hair, he brushed the strands from his forehead upward and walked straight to his supercomputer.

"Yo, yo, yo... Three years and another three years—I've gone from a small-time leader to a gang boss. When are you going to pay what you owe me..."

"Hey... Did you forget? No, you can't forget, yo, yo, yo... Our promise, my dick is still waiting..."

"Hehe... Yo... I want to go home... I miss my old mother back home..."

A completely incoherent stream of hehe-hehe and yo-yo-yo, without even a trace of hip-hop style, played out.

"Connect me to Jack." Alex's expression remained blank. He knew Jack's style well. Being this obnoxious meant he deserved a beating. Breaking two ribs would do.

Before long, the supercomputer directly connected Alex to Jack's phone.

"Yo... yo..."

"If you say 'yo' again, I'll knock out your teeth."

"Okay, boss."

"Tell the people in your district to find someone for me. Danton Black. Inform me if there's any news. Don't alert him. Report directly to me."

"Okay, boss... but when can I stop being an undercover agent?"

"I'm so scared. The boss of the Severed Hand Gang, who ruled more than a dozen streets, died recently. I don't know what happened today, but so many people support me! I've already taken the gang boss's position."

"Alex, come take over this gang already."

"They're about to have a gunfight with the Crimson Angels, the third-largest gang in Lower City. They're all so excited—they bought more than a dozen automatic rifles. I can't stop them. What if we win again?"

"I'm panicking. My power as a gang boss is only getting bigger."

Alex fell silent.