Chapter Two: Vampire Bats and Blood Disorders

Carefully calculating the timeline, Dr. Nightfall’s story takes place after the events of Heroic Expedition, which is more than a decade later. By then, I should be middle-aged, roughly the same age as depicted in the film. Yet here and now, the vampiric bats have already appeared before me—everything seems to have been accelerated.

Fully aware of his own limited lifespan, Michael had no intention of recklessly experimenting on himself. Alternatively, he could conduct trials on other patients; though rare, the disease was not unheard of. He recalled that, in the comics, Dr. Nightfall’s mutated blood possessed some sort of healing property. Both the Lizard and the six-armed Spiderling had used this blood to cure themselves. Perhaps, all he needed was to obtain this mutated blood to heal his own condition.

“Hello, Michael.”

A gentle voice echoed in Michael’s mind, warm and mature, like that of a comforting woman. This was Michael’s secret weapon—a supercomputer housed within his body, much like the Gene Engine from the Legion of Heroes. He had named it Keisha. With Keisha’s help, his research abilities far surpassed those of Dr. Nightfall in the movies.

“Keisha, analyze the feasibility of combining the vampire bat’s genes with electroshock therapy.”

“Analyzing.”

“Processing…”

Michael entered his laboratory, silently watching the bats inside the cage as countless streams of data flashed before his eyes—moving so fast that they became a blinding white haze, filling his vision.

“Ninety-nine percent probability of becoming a living vampire. Zero point zero nine percent probability of direct cure, though mutation risk from electric shock persists. Zero point zero one percent remains unknown.”

“What if I use other patients to create the serum?”

“Cannot predict. Insufficient experimental data.”

“Damn it.”

Michael hurled a cup at the cage, sending the bats into a frantic, chaotic flight. His longing to cure himself was almost unbearable—only those in pain truly understood torment. But he did not want to become a vampire, a bloodthirsty monster.

Who had sent him the cage? Perhaps the sender knew something and hoped he would experiment with the bats. What could they want from him?

Upon checking the package, he found nothing useful apart from the sender’s name: Roxias. Yet there were thousands of people with that name—he was no closer to an answer.

He yearned for a healthy body, but that was no reason to sacrifice another patient. Michael knew nearly everyone afflicted with the same disease; some even saw him as their last hope. He could not bear to experiment on those who looked at him with such hope in their eyes.

After transferring the vampire bats to a larger cage, Michael placed a white mouse on the left and ten milliliters of his own blood on the right. Instantly, the bats grew agitated, swarming towards Michael’s blood, fighting each other for it before turning on the mouse.

Clearly, his blood had some connection to the bats. To rule out the influence of the scent, he repeated the experiment with his blood, an injured white mouse, and several other living creatures. Without exception, the bats were drawn only to Michael’s blood.

To further eliminate variables, Michael used his connections to obtain fresh human blood, less than ten minutes old. Unsurprisingly, the bats still ignored it, fixating only on his.

At last, Michael was certain: his blood disease was indeed connected to the vampire bats. It was even possible that the very first vampire was someone with a blood disorder bitten by such a bat.

He was in grave danger. Roxias, whoever he was, clearly knew more than Michael did. What he sought was likely Michael’s mutated blood—a ‘medicine’ capable of curing other diseases.

Just then, a voice called out.

“Michael, I heard you’re going to Osborne Enterprises?”

“Yes, Martine.”

Michael turned to see a beautiful young woman with long black hair and deep, thoughtful eyes. Unlike most American women, she radiated an intellectual grace—a beauty born of knowledge and reason.

This was Martine, the woman who had always helped Michael in the films—not only his assistant, but also his girlfriend. Yet, for now, she was just a university student and a research assistant at Jack Pharmaceuticals, and their relationship was strictly professional.

“Not planning to come back?”

Martine tried to sound casual.

“Not at all. I need to keep this lab running—the bats have to stay here.”

“Are they that important?”

Unlike most women, Martine showed neither fear nor disgust; instead, she studied the bats carefully.

“Yes. They are my hope for a cure.”

“I’ll take good care of them,” Martine said, looking at Michael.

He smiled at her. “You’re a genius too. Perhaps you’ll find yourself on an even greater stage.”

“Maybe. But this place isn’t bad. Once you leave, I’ll be the project leader, won’t I?” Martine smiled.

Michael laughed and pulled her into an embrace.

“Thank you.”

“If I were healthy, I’d pursue you for sure.”

Martine blushed, caught off guard by the hug, and thought to herself that maybe now wouldn’t be such a bad time either.

When he let her go, Michael turned away, feigning nonchalance.

“You said it. I’ll take that as a promise.”

They looked at each other and burst out laughing. But after a moment, Michael began to cough; Martine patted his back, helping him recover.

“Are you alright?” Martine asked with concern.

“I’m fine—just too happy.”

“Thank you so much.”

…

“This is Midtown Science High.”

Michael climbed out of the car, leaning on an old man’s cane. He couldn’t help but sigh—he wasn’t destined to be Batman, yet he had Batman’s illness.

When Batman once walked with a cane, Catwoman came to his door to confess her love. At least Michael had Martine.

He left the care of the vampire bats and the extraction of their serum to Martine. The initial research was not especially dangerous; she could handle it.

On his end, he needed to report to the school and check on Peter Parker, who was, after all, his good neighbor. He would also report to Osborne Enterprises.

At present, there were no reports of Spider-Man, which meant Peter Parker had not yet become the friendly neighborhood hero.

Iron Man had just been kidnapped, and Peter Parker was in high school. This suggested that, in this version, Spider-Man was likely either the first or second generation, but certainly not the third.