The night bus stopped at the intersection. Through the windshield, the driver looked at him with the expression of someone who had just decided he never wanted to work another night shift in his life.
Chen Mo raised a hand and waved at him, his tone quite polite. "Sorry, public transit is taking a temporary detour."
The two people he had rescued were still hanging by webbing beneath the laundromat's awning. One was too frightened to speak; the other was desperately trying to rub the tape off his mouth.
Chen Mo jumped over, offering a warning before tearing off the tape. "Take a deep breath. No screaming. I've heard enough high-decibel shrieking today."
The man coughed so hard he nearly brought up a lung. His first words were, "They're going to the sorting center! Black Mask's men are all there! And-and-"
"Slow down, slow down." Chen Mo untied his hands. "You look like an NPC about to be chased to death by the plot progress bar. I know the main quest is urgent, but stay alive first."
The distant sirens finally drew closer.
Chen Mo looked up toward the North End. The Batmobile had already vanished into the rainy night, leaving only the little tracker blinking on his wrist, like a "don't get lost" sticky note Batman had left him.
Why was he so unsurprised to find a tracker stuck on him?
Chen Mo should have gone after him immediately.
In theory, anyway.
In a superhero movie, this was where the background music kicked in, the camera cut, and the protagonist charged toward the final boss's lair, striking a couple of cool landing poses along the way so the artist could show off and the audience could cheer about how awesome he looked.
But his Spider-Sense suddenly gave a faint