Becoming Famous Throughout the World

The System had already warned that these things were illegal currency, so Ma Zhaodi didn't particularly object to setting them on fire.

But similarly, being able to produce such a quantity of counterfeit money in Gotham City and hide it so secretly could only mean that the person who made this batch of counterfeit money was a professional. This, in turn, meant that Ma Zhaodi had better not be caught by them after burning this small mountain of cash, otherwise, he would most likely face their wrath.

Being hunted by people from the underworld was far more dangerous than a chaotic brawl on a bus or a shootout in a restaurant. Those people would only have one goal: to kill him, and they would stop at nothing.

"System, System, can you confirm if anyone saw me when I came in?"

There was no response. He could only submit his route from earlier to the System's inquiry board.

"Infiltration process evaluated. Assessment: Stealthy, undetected."

This one dollar asset point was quite worth it.

"Since that's the case--" Ma Zhaodi looked at the small mountain of green hundred-dollar bills and instinctively licked his lips.

"Might as well go for it. Why not pull off one last job?"

"Gulp, gulp, gulp--"

As gasoline was continuously poured from the oil drum onto the green banknotes, the pungent smell of gasoline immediately began to fill the warehouse. Ma Zhaodi couldn't go out of the warehouse again to find gasoline, and it was impossible for a warehouse to contain gasoline that would help someone burn their own paper money. Thus, Ma Zhaodi spent some asset points to buy some from the System's store.

He had a hard time drenching all the banknotes thoroughly. To be honest, the thought of these colorful little cuties turning into ashes in the next second made him feel a little bit heartbroken.

This wasn't a rational judgment, but purely the subconscious reaction of a unlucky pauper who, due to his usual frugality and fear of spending, saw a massive mountain of cash.

That being said, it still had to be burned. After all, counterfeit money couldn't be spent, and the importance of asset points in the System store was self-evident. With this sentiment, Ma Zhaodi casually struck a long match and placed it gently on the ground.

This match was also bought from the store. It had a longer burning time, so Ma Zhaodi used it as a timer. When the match burned down to the base, it would ignite the gasoline on the ground.

Seeing that everything that needed to be done was done, Ma Zhaodi immediately turned and ran. According to his guess, this amount of gasoline and banknotes would definitely be enough to ignite the entire warehouse. He should run as far as he could now. The farther he was from the fire when it started, the lower the probability of him being suspected.

So, he once again followed the evacuation route provided by the System and quickly escaped the warehouse with his somewhat clumsy climbing skills. Fortunately, he was able to find a suitable route for his escape from this warehouse, which saved Ma Zhaodi from having to spend more asset points to upgrade his climbing skill.

The tall, thin, dark ghost crawled out of the warehouse crookedly. It darted back onto the street and blended into the crowd, putting on a white ghost mask. It looked like any ordinary Halloween cosplayer, with no discernible special features.

A moment after the ghost had left, crackling flames suddenly appeared from within the warehouse. Smoke, mixed with the smell of burning gasoline and paper, drifted into the street.

"Quick, call 911! A building is on fire here!"

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

Amidst the raging inferno, no one noticed a figure in a black robe disappear into the crowd of oddly dressed people amidst the chaos.

"Two shots to the head. Honestly, even someone who committed fewer sins wouldn't end up like this."

"District Attorney Dent! I don't want to hear you say that again—not in public, and not in private!"

At this moment, a steady, deep voice interrupted their thoughts: "Let's get back to the point."

Hearing the voice from the darkness, Commissioner Gordon and Harvey Dent immediately stopped arguing. This person seemed to possess a charismatic leadership quality. His thoughts were always calm, clear, and able to survey the situation from a high vantage point, finding the key to breaking the deadlock.

"A .22 caliber Clipper pistol was left at the scene. The grip was wrapped, and the serial number was erased. The killer knows how to prevent us from tracing clues. They are professional at killing—or they are someone who understands guns and forensics."

The two nodded.

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

He paused here. He hadn't mentioned the third clue at the scene first, not because it wasn't noticeable, but because it was too noticeable. At a murder scene like this, it was like a lit light bulb in the darkness.

Just then, the three of them simultaneously focused their gaze on the last clue.

"I don't want to be misled by this thing, but it..." Gordon hesitated, seemingly searching for a descriptor.

The twisted, pained expression seemed to contain a unique artistic flair, with hints of Miller's classical school, a touch of Monet's impressionism, Matisse's fauvism, Munch's expressionism, Balla's futurism, Picasso's cubism, and Dali's surrealism seemed to be embodied in this small pumpkin. In short—

"It's too ugly," Harvey Dent bluntly interjected. "I've never seen such an ugly jack-o'-lantern in my life. Carrying this thing, even on Halloween, would draw stares from every passerby."

"This doesn't fit the killer's cautious style," Batman concluded. "I can understand the ritualistic aspect of leaving a jack-o'-lantern on Halloween, but I can't understand the contradiction in his behavior."

"Maybe he carved it himself?" Gordon suggested a possibility. "If he didn't buy a jack-o'-lantern from a store, he wouldn't leave any traces of being seen."

"Even if he bought it from a store, we couldn't be sure who it was—too many people buy jack-o'-lanterns on Halloween," Harvey shook his head. "Who could carve such an ugly pumpkin? Can we find any fingerprints or clues on it?"

"Unlikely, the jack-o'-lantern was wrapped in a plastic bag," Gordon also shook his head. "But then again, it wouldn't hurt to look."

"Johnny Vitti. Who has the guts to go after him? Maroni?"

"Ring, ring--"

As they were talking, Gordon's phone suddenly rang.

"Hello?"

"Commissioner Gordon! Something big has happened! A warehouse in the Diamond District is on fire! Black smoke billowing out contained some hundred-dollar bills—everything burning in there was money!"

"What?"