What Must Come Cannot Be Avoided

"Lucius, I heard you were in a car accident?"

Lucius Fox, the President and Chief Technology Officer of Wayne Group, received this greeting one early morning. Though the words weren't delivered delicately, they did bring him a sense of warmth.

This was because the person speaking was Bruce Wayne.

"Mr. Wayne, I am unharmed. Last night's incident was merely a test of the vehicle's autonomous driving technology and caused me no harm."

"That's good." Bruce Wayne's voice on the phone seemed to be mixed with the sound of a sports car engine and women's laughter. "I thought my most capable CEO would be taking leave. I don't want to manage Wayne Group myself. God, spending even an hour in the office is torture."

"You don't need to worry, Mr. Wayne."

"Beep--beep--"

The direct hang-up interrupted Lucius's words, an action that perfectly fit the public's impression of Bruce Wayne.

The sole heir of the Wayne Family, the de facto owner of Wayne Group, Gotham City's playboy, an untalented wastrel, a pitiable orphan whose parents were both deceased, Gotham City's luckiest and unluckiest man.

Young Master Wayne, this is truly rude.

Lucius sighed, hung up his phone, and began to examine the wreckage of the wheelchair in the lab.

It wasn't that the wheelchair itself possessed any special black technology, but its origin was rather peculiar.

After investigation, the identity of the wheelchair's driver had been confirmed as an ordinary thug from Gotham's East End. He had numerous prior offenses in the Gotham Police Department, including robbery, theft, and assault with a caustic substance, and even a homicide. Based on his knowledge and financial capabilities, it was virtually impossible for him to have created such a device himself.

Interestingly, this obviously illegal, speeding wheelchair had never appeared in Gotham before. According to intelligence from Gotham's surveillance, it had only been confirmed to appear on a fixed route within a specific time frame, between 10:00 PM and 10:20 PM, for a consecutive week. Its starting point seemed to be a neighborhood in the Audisburg District.

As for how it ended up in the hands of this thug, and why it directly collided with Lucius's vehicle, which was undergoing Gotham's full-path scanning and autonomous driving tests, Lucius couldn't fathom it.

Furthermore, to verify the possibility of drunk or drugged driving, Lucius had tested the reassembled thug. The results showed a strange drug component in his body, very peculiar, as this component was unlike any known drug.

At the scene, there was also a deformed thermos. The inside of its wall had residue of some strange blue plant petals. The components within were identical to the drug found in the thug's body. Based on current experimental results on laboratory mice, it appeared to be a new type of stimulant.

This mouse had been in a state of high activity for ten hours, and still showed no signs of sleepiness, its physical condition seemingly still healthy.

Whether this was a new health supplement or a new drug, if there was a possibility of it entering Gotham City on a large scale, it would be a matter significant enough to warrant Lucius's attention.

Although, based on the current situation, there were countless more weighty matters, such as the Riddler, Scarecrow, Penguin, Joker, and a host of other supercriminals, as well as the Roman, also known as the Falcone crime family, whom Batman was currently investigating.

The extreme measures these people could concoct included poison gas bombs to poison the entire city, nuclear warheads to level the city, and gunfights and riots to cover the city—everyone was puzzled as to why Gotham City hadn't fallen apart yet.

In Lucius's opinion, perhaps it was because Batman was always there to catch them, always managing to round them all up and send them back to prison overnight.

Returning to the current situation, he had extracted DNA from the inside of the cup rim. Currently, there were only two human samples: one belonging to the wheelchair driver thug, and the other had no match in the police DNA database.

"Perhaps I should find an opportunity to inquire around that area. If I'm lucky, maybe this matter won't require Batman's personal investigation," Lucius mused, looking at the lively little mouse.

"Hey, Ma Zhaodi."

Ma Zhaodi, who had just gotten out of a taxi and was about to enter a restaurant, heard the teasing from the owner of the nearby newspaper stand: "Why aren't you riding your beloved wheelchair today?"

"It was stolen," he sighed before walking over. "I'll take a newspaper. Do you sell anything for self-defense?"

"New stock. Beretta, Colt, and P229. You didn't bring a gun when you went out today? That's not very wise."

"I brought one, but I suddenly thought buying another one would be a good backup—wait, P229? Made in Germany?"

"Gotham-made," the newsstand owner chuckled. "Don't you want something with more kick?"

"I don't want to die from a crudely made pirated replica handgun. Besides, I don't have much money on me right now."

"You're underestimating Gotham, kid," the newsstand owner grinned. "Local Colt Python, choose any accessories you want. Bring the money tomorrow. If the gun has problems, I'll pay you triple."

"If I survive to come back to you, will triple be enough to ransom your life?"

"Heh heh heh, there's genuine stuff too, but it's not cheap. How about a game? My guns have a minimum price and a maximum price. You can choose one." The owner handed over a gun. "If the gun causes a major problem that could get you killed on the spot, like a burst barrel or falling apart, I'll give you your money back immediately. Bullets are extra."

Damn it, so this was his main business.

"These are the rules. You agree, and once we settle, it's cash and carry. If there are problems later, don't come looking for me. How about it?"

Ma Zhaodi raised an eyebrow and shouted to the food stall owner next door: "Hey! Val!"

The stall owner, without stopping his work, looked up and asked, "What's up?"

"How many years has he been working here?"

"Huh? At least two."

Ma Zhaodi turned back. "Give me a Beretta and a Colt Revolver."

"Heh heh, thank you for your patronage."

"Ding ding ding--"

While eating lunch, Ma Zhaodi instinctively picked up his phone. The display showed an unfamiliar number. After a few seconds of thought, confirming he hadn't leaked his number to anyone besides his boss, supervisor, and the Drake couple, an ominous premonition arose in his heart.

Rather than believing a coincidence like "Drake changed his phone number," he was more inclined to believe he had been targeted by someone.

Could it be Clinton? But where did he get his phone number? He probably couldn't find it on his own.

Could it be that the stolen wheelchair had caused trouble and they had traced it back to him?

Was the Gotham Police Department that efficient?

He casually answered the call.