Chen Mo circled the black steel behemoth three times.
Its tires reached his waist, its armor was thick enough to stop rockets, and its engine sounded like a caged beast growling.
He reached out and felt the carbon-fiber weave along the door seam. Beneath his fingertips, it felt cold, smooth, and utterly unapproachable.
You couldn't hide the look in your eyes when you loved someone.
You couldn't hide it when you loved a car, either.
If he could have a Spider-Car of his own, Chen Mo would even be willing to drive luxury cars and live in mansions.
"Hey, buddy, that passenger seat looks pretty roomy."
Batman was walking toward the driver's seat. His cape fluttered in the night breeze, but he didn't stop.
"How about a ride?" Chen Mo patted the spider emblem on his chest. "We're in the same line of work."
Batman opened the door.
The engine roared to life, the sound exploding through the empty street like a prehistoric beast whose tail had been stepped on.
Chen Mo ducked half a step aside.
"I'll take your silence as a yes."
A strand of webbing stuck to the rear spoiler.
He was yanked off his feet, somersaulted through the air, and scrambled onto the roof on all fours, like a barnacle clinging to a whale's back.
The car shot forward.
Wind blasted into his mouth, as though someone had stuffed a blower down his throat.
Chen Mo wanted to say something, maybe complain about the suspension or ask Batman what grade of gas he usually used, but the moment he opened his mouth, his lips flapped painfully against his teeth.
He buried his face behind his arm and started keeping a mental tally.
-At current gas prices, how much does this thing burn per kilometer?
-Conservatively, enough to feed me for three days.
-We're on day four now.
-That traffic light we just passed? Another three days.
-Great, there goes a week.
Was this the world of the rich?
Even the exhaust smelled like burning dollars.
Okay, he was starting to resent the rich now.
Intense gunfire erupted up ahead.
Bullets clattered against the bodywork like rain.
Chen Mo hunched his neck, feeling like an ant clinging to a tin can while someone outside banged on it with a spoon.
Batman leaped out of the speeding car.
More precisely, the door sprang open, a black shadow shot out of the driver's seat, executed a textbook tactical roll in midair, and took down three men upon landing.
Every punch landed solidly, his movements as precise as if measured with a ruler.
Yeah, very cool. Very showy.
Apparently, there weren't any major villains Spider-Man needed to help Batman defeat.
There were only minor villains here.
Chen Mo jumped off the roof and landed beside a half-collapsed brick wall.
Someone was pinned beneath the corner, his thigh trapped under a precast concrete slab, howling the kind of coarse obscenities that were a Gotham specialty.
Chen Mo lifted the half-ton slab with one hand, shot webbing from the other, wrapped it around the man's wound a few times, and tied a knot.
"Don't move. This stuff works better than bandages. Trust me, I've got practical experience."
The man sucked in a breath through the pain.
"Though peeling it off might give you permanent hair removal while you're at it."
The man's eyes rolled back, and he passed out.
Chen Mo dragged him to safety and continued weaving through the battlefield.
Moving the wounded, stopping bleeding, webbing still-smoking explosives into deserted corners. His movements were crisp and efficient, as though he'd done this ten thousand times.
Not far away, Batman slammed a burly man attempting to flank him into the ground. The man's back hit with a dull thud that made Chen Mo wince from twenty meters away.
Batman looked up.
Chen Mo was hoisting an unconscious civilian onto his shoulder.
Their eyes met for a second across the chaotic firelight.
Neither spoke.
The bat didn't speak because he didn't like speaking.
The spider didn't speak because he thought the other guy looked cool being so aloof, and wanted to act aloof and look cool too.
Batman turned, his cape whipping through a sharp arc as he charged toward the next firing position.
Chen Mo shot a strand of webbing and swung behind cover on the other side, scooping up a dazed old man along the way.
Just like that, their unspoken coordination was established.
No tactical hand signals, no comms channel, no "three o'clock" or "I'll take their back line."
Batman demolished buildings; Chen Mo moved people. Batman left a mess; Chen Mo cleaned it up.
One handled the violence, the other handled the aftermath. Neither consulted the other, but neither got in the other's way.
Chen Mo dragged out another three wounded people and stole a glance toward Batman.
Batman was hauling a man in a suit toward a second-floor balcony.
The man kicked and flailed, his tie twisted behind his head, shouting something incoherent.
Batman held him suspended beyond the balcony railing with one hand, leaning more than half his own body over the edge.
Chen Mo lowered himself upside down from the ceiling, slowly descending to the man's eye level.
"Hey."
The man screamed.
"Don't be so nervous." Chen Mo swayed like a human pendulum. "Look, you've got two choices. One, stay at this height and enjoy Gotham's nighttime scenery. Two, tell us what your boss has been up to lately."
As he spoke, he webbed a stray magazine off the floor and casually tossed it to Batman farther away, who looked short on ammunition, though he had absolutely no need for it.
Batman caught the magazine and threw it away without looking.
Fine. If you don't need it, you don't need it.
"For instance," Chen Mo continued, leaning closer to the poor bastard, "is Roman planning some big party? A 'Gotham Mask Carnival Night' or something? I'm guessing he didn't invite you to host?"
The small-time boss looked at Chen Mo, then at the sheer seven- or eight-meter drop behind him. His lips began to tremble.
Batman's arm didn't budge.
"I'll talk! I'll talk!"
The small-time boss's collar tightened a little more.
"The old industrial district! The abandoned mask factory! Roman's stockpiled weapons, and he's blowing up Wayne Tower tomorrow night! I swear it's all true! I saw them pack at least thirty rockets into crates that day! I handled the inventory! Warehouse Four! Four! I swear!"
Chen Mo whistled.
"See? Isn't this nice? Saves time, saves effort, everyone's happy. Remember to buy some throat lozenges when you get back. You've shouted your voice raw."
Batman abruptly hurled him back onto the balcony. The small-time boss hit the floor like a sack of potatoes, curling up and trembling uncontrollably.
Batman turned and left.
Chen Mo flipped down from the ceiling and hurried after him.
"So."
Batman didn't stop.
"Going together?"
Batman kept walking.
"The old industrial district, mask factory, Warehouse Four. That's some pretty substantial intel, right?"
Batman stopped.
Thinking he was about to say something, Chen Mo quickly rubbed his hands together.
Batman spoke in a low voice. "You handle things here."
"What?"
"The police arrive in three minutes."
"Wait." Chen Mo pointed at his own chest. "You want me to stay behind and clean up your battlefield?"
Batman had already taken three steps away.
"You know how to hold back."
"What kind of lousy reason is that? Is that the point?"
Batman said nothing more.
He raised his hand and pressed the remote on his gauntlet. The Batmobile parked at the street corner started with a low rumble, like an awakened steel beast.
Chen Mo stood there, watching that pitch-black figure merge into the night.
Then he looked at the Batmobile, then back at Batman.
Then back at the Batmobile.
"So having good gear makes you special, huh?" Chen Mo ground his teeth in anger. "Try going without navigation if you're so great."
No one answered. Only the streetlamp buzzed overhead.
Chen Mo drew a deep breath and turned to face the wreckage strewn everywhere.
Dozens of gangsters lay sprawled among the ruins, some groaning, some cursing, some spitting on their companions beside them.
After raising a hand and webbing shut the mouth of the guy spitting on his companion, he got to work.
First, he knocked out everyone still swearing, one punch each. Then he webbed everyone into a neat row, like cans on a supermarket shelf.
To make sure they wouldn't burden Commissioner Gordon's ears after waking up, Chen Mo stuffed a wad of webbing into each man's mouth.
One big fellow who wasn't quite unconscious struggled to spit it out.
"Don't bother." Chen Mo crouched in front of him. "I tweaked the formula. Extra-sticky version. It'll dissolve on its own in about two hours. Though it might take three. Mostly depends on the humidity."
Chen Mo stood, dusted off his hands, and surveyed his handiwork.
Dozens of burly men were tightly bound, toes off the ground, hanging in neat rows beneath the sign on a café's outer wall.
From a distance, they looked like a row of white cocoons.
Up close, they looked like performance art.
Chen Mo pulled a crumpled sticky note from his pocket, leaned against the wall to scribble on it, and stuck it in the most conspicuous spot.
On it was a crooked drawing of a matchbox-sized Batmobile, with a round little spider perched on the roof, grinning with a row of teeth showing. Beside it was a line of writing:
"No thanks necessary. Just call me your righteous Spider-Man. The gentleman who never lets anyone ride shotgun already left, so I'll take his share of the credit too."
Sirens sounded in the distance.
Chen Mo fired a strand of webbing and swung onto the roof across the street.
He crouched at the rooftop's edge and watched Commissioner Gordon get out of a car with a squad of officers. Gordon froze for two seconds, took off his glasses and wiped them, put them back on, then finally sighed-a sigh Chen Mo could hear from half a street away.
Chen Mo chuckled, dusted off his backside, and turned to disappear into the night.
He was already composing tomorrow's headline in his head.
"Shocking! Why does Batman drive alone late at night? Empty passenger seat suspected to be linked to rising gas prices."
That roof was so hard. No more clinging to it next time.
Not even if it killed him.
Chen Mo rubbed his still-trembling calves and swung toward the next rooftop.
What a joke! You think telling me not to go means I won't?
Before you continue