About to Make a Name for Ourselves

The system had already warned him that this stuff was illegal currency, so Ma Zhaodi did not feel particularly opposed to burning it.

At the same time, the fact that someone had managed to produce this quantity of counterfeit money in Gotham City and hide it so well could only mean that whoever made it was a professional. That also meant Ma Zhaodi had better not get caught burning this small mountain, or he would most likely have to face the fury of those people.

Being hunted by underworld figures was far more dangerous than a chaotic brawl on a bus or a shootout trashing a restaurant. Those people would focus on taking his life, and they would stop at nothing.

"System, system, can you confirm that no one saw me when I came in?"

No one answered, so he could only submit the route map he had just taken to the system's query panel.

"Infiltration process assessment complete. Evaluation: covert. No one detected you."

That one Asset Point had been quite well spent.

"If that's the case—" Ma Zhaodi looked at the green mountain of bundles of hundred-dollar bills and unconsciously licked his lips.

"Since I'm already here, why not make a score?"

"Glug, glug, glug—"

As gasoline poured from the drum onto the green bills, its pungent smell immediately began spreading through the warehouse. Ma Zhaodi couldn't possibly run out of the warehouse again just to look for gasoline, and there was no way the warehouse would conveniently contain gasoline meant to help someone burn their own money. So Ma Zhaodi spent a few Asset Points to buy some from the system's shop.

It took him quite a while to soak every one of the bills thoroughly. To be honest, the thought that these colorful little darlings were about to burn into ash made him feel a little heartbroken.

This was not a rational judgment. It was purely the instinctive reaction of an unlucky pauper who usually pinched pennies and dared not spend, upon seeing a massive mountain of cash.

That being said, they still had to burn. Counterfeit money could not be spent, after all, and the importance of the Asset Points in the system's shop went without saying. With that thought in mind, Ma Zhaodi struck a long match and gently placed it on the floor.

This match had also been purchased from the shop. It burned for quite a long time, so Ma Zhaodi simply used it as a timer. Once the flame reached the base, it would ignite the gasoline on the floor.

Seeing that everything that needed doing had been done, Ma Zhaodi immediately turned and ran. Judging by his calculations, this quantity of gasoline and banknotes would absolutely be enough to set the warehouse ablaze. He had better get as far away as possible while he still could. The farther away he was once the fire started, the less likely people would be to suspect him.

He followed the evacuation route provided by the system once again, using his somewhat clumsy climbing skills to quickly escape the warehouse. Fortunately, the warehouse still had a route suitable for his escape, so Ma Zhaodi did not need to spend more Asset Points upgrading his climbing skill.

The pitch-black, gaunt specter crawled crookedly out of the warehouse, then darted back onto the street and melted into the crowd. After putting on that white ghost-face mask, it looked just like an ordinary Halloween cosplay, with nothing unusual about it.

A short while after the specter left, crackling fire suddenly shone through the warehouse. Thick smoke carrying the smell of gasoline and burning paper drifted through the streets.

"Quick, call 911! There's a building on fire here!"

"Call the Gotham Police Department! Call the Gotham Police Department!"

Amid the towering flames, no one noticed a black-robed figure slip away in the confusion and vanish into a crowd of people in bizarre costumes.

"With two bullets in his head, if you ask me, someone who did a little less evil wouldn't have ended up in this situation."

"District Attorney Dent! I don't want to hear you say things like that again—whether in public or in private!"

At that moment, a deep, steady voice interrupted their thoughts. "Let's get back to the matter at hand."

Hearing the voice from the darkness, Commissioner Gordon and Harvey Dent immediately stopped arguing. The man seemed to possess a leader's magic. His thoughts were always calm and clear enough to survey the entire situation from above and find the key to breaking through the deadlock.

"A .22 Caliber Clipper Pistol was left at the scene. The grip was wrapped, and the serial number had been filed off. The killer knew how to stop us from tracing the clues. He was very professional when it came to murder—or he was someone who understood firearms and forensic investigation."

The two men nodded.

"A baby pacifier used as a silencer. Cheap, but effective."

At this point, he paused. The reason he had not been the first to bring up the third clue at the scene was not that it was inconspicuous, but that it was far too conspicuous. At a murder scene like this, it was like a light bulb shining in the darkness.

By coincidence, the three of them turned their gazes toward the final clue at the same time.

"I don't want this thing to mislead my thinking, but it..." Gordon hesitated, seemingly trying to find an adjective for it.

The twisted, pained expression seemed to contain a hint of artistic flair. It carried traces of Miller's classicalism, a touch of Monet's Impressionism, Matisse's Fauvism, Munch's Expressionism, Balla's Futurism, Picasso's Cubism, and Dalí's Surrealism. It seemed that all of them had found expression in this tiny pumpkin. In a word—

"It's too ugly." Harvey Dent took over bluntly. "I've never seen such an ugly jack-o'-lantern in my entire life. If you carried this thing around, every passerby would stare at you, even on Halloween."

"That does not fit the killer's cautious style," Batman concluded. "I can understand the ritualistic significance of leaving a jack-o'-lantern on Halloween, but I cannot understand the contradiction in his behavior."

"Maybe he carved it himself?" Gordon suggested one possibility. "If he didn't go to a store to buy a jack-o'-lantern, he wouldn't leave behind a trail of people who had seen him."

"Even if he went into a store to buy one, we couldn't determine who he was. Too many people buy jack-o'-lanterns on Halloween." Harvey shook his head. "Who could carve a pumpkin this ugly? Can we find fingerprints or anything like that on it?"

"Probably not. The jack-o'-lantern was wrapped in a plastic bag." Gordon shook his head as well. "But it wouldn't hurt to look."

"Johnny Vitti. Who would be bold enough to go after him? Maroni?"

"Ring, ring, ring—"

As the group talked, Gordon's phone suddenly rang.

"Hello?"

"Commissioner Gordon! Something terrible has happened! A warehouse in the Diamond District caught fire! Black smoke came pouring out, along with several hundred-dollar bills—the things burning inside were all money!"

"What?"