Whoa, Freeze!

In the dim stairwell, the old corridor lights flickered erratically, seemingly ready to collapse at any moment. Their faint glow could barely illuminate the surrounding walls and the outline of the corridor. Rustling sounds occasionally came from the darkness, and sometimes a few gray rats could be seen scurrying past.

Ma Zhaodi followed the man down the corridor, carefully avoiding the trash and wastewater flowing across the floor. But the overwhelming stench still forced its way up his nose from the stairwell, nearly making him sick.

"I really can't take this! Even if it's a slum, I can understand it being dirty and messy, but how can it stink this badly?"

The man replied in a muffled voice, "I'm not sure either. Maybe a corpse in one of the rooms started decomposing again."

"...Awesome."

Ma Zhaodi was curious why the man's voice had suddenly changed. When he craned his neck to look, he discovered that the guy had plugged his nose long ago.

He pinched his own nose too, making his voice muffled as he asked, "Why would anyone be stupid enough to hide a corpse in their own home, then leave it there until it rotted and stank?"

"It might not have been hidden in the home. Maybe the person simply died in the room. According to the landlord, there have been cases before of drug addicts who got high or gang members who fled home eventually rotting away in their rooms."

"Someone would actually rent a place like this?"

"You could always look for a luxury hotel on the street and book a presidential suite. Or sleep beneath a bridge or in an alley for the night."

"I suddenly feel like this place is pretty good."

A penniless pauper naturally couldn't afford to stay in a hotel. As for sleeping on a park bench or beneath a bridge—the best-case scenario was having a homeless person strip away all his clothes, money, keys, and everything else he carried; the worst-case scenario was having his throat slit in some dark corner no one cared about, then being stripped completely bare.

No one would even bury him.

The man stepped forward and pulled out his keys, intending to open the door, but Ma Zhaodi suddenly reached out to stop him.

"Wait a moment. Who's at home with you?"

"My wife."

"How are you going to introduce me to her?"

"I can say you're a new friend I made."

"What's my name?"

"..."

The air in the stairwell suddenly grew awkward.

Ma Zhaodi struggled a little to keep his expression under control. "Seriously, with a brain like yours, you'll never make it as a criminal. Or rather, you'll never make it in Gotham City."

The man's face flushed slightly again, but he still forced down his anger and asked, "Then what's your name?"

"Ma Zhaodi."

"That's strange. Why does it sound like an Asian name?"

"Hm?" Ma Zhaodi froze for a moment. "What did you think I was?"

"...Now that you mention it, I hadn't really noticed." The man looked Ma Zhaodi up and down. "You're clearly Asian, so why do you look like a local from Gotham City?"

His cheeks were gaunt, his gaze fierce, and there was a hint of peculiar cunning and coldness about him. That unique aura could even make people overlook his Asian features.

At those words, Ma Zhaodi felt warm inside, and even his corpse spots seemed to fade considerably. So the system really did its job after taking his money. It hadn't simply thrown together an identity and some related documents before washing its hands of him.

"My name is Drake Lane."

"Then I'll call you Drake. By the way, you're not an archaeologist, are you?"

"An archaeologist? No, I'm not. I'm a software engineer. Why do you ask?"

"Thirty-five?"

"Thirty-three."

Ma Zhaodi immediately understood. He casually made an inviting gesture, indicating for Drake to open the door. "But regardless, you shouldn't have ended up in this state, should you?"

Drake had just inserted the key into the lock. He fell silent for a moment, then looked up at Ma Zhaodi. "I'll tell you about it, but after you enter my home, don't mention anything related to this matter."

"Fine."

Drake pulled the key back out and instead led Ma Zhaodi farther up the stairwell.

"Come on. We'll talk on the roof."

There were no lights in the dark stairwell. Only a little moonlight and the city lights filtering through the windows barely illuminated the steps. Neither of them spoke as they climbed one after another, the clunking of their footsteps against the stairs seeming oppressively heavy.

After climbing four floors, Drake pushed open an iron door. Beyond it, the outlines of the distant buildings in the bustling city could be vaguely seen. To one side stood a massive billboard, which barely served as a light source for the rooftop.

The two of them stepped onto the roof. From there, the surrounding buildings and streets were still shrouded in darkness, with only the occasional sound of lingering raindrops falling into puddles.

"So, how did you end up here?"

"It was for my wife."

Drake pulled over a battered iron chair from the side, casually wiped away the water on it, and sat down. The icy touch raised goosebumps all over his body, but it also cleared his exhausted mind somewhat.

"As I said, I was originally a programmer in Metropolis. I was about to be laid off at thirty-three. Before that, I honestly hadn't decided where I would go next, and I'd never considered coming to a hellhole like Gotham City."

"Starting six months before I was laid off, my wife had been coughing and losing her hair. I urged her to go to the hospital, but she kept refusing, saying she needed to focus on her work. Then one day, she came back from the hospital holding a diagnosis notice."

"Before the diagnosis came out, neither of us had paid much attention to it. We both thought they were just minor problems that weren't serious. But the diagnosis notice said she had a rare disease. Cases like hers were extremely uncommon, and both the treatment and the medication were exorbitantly expensive."

As he spoke, Drake's thin body seemed to hunch even further, his head nearly sinking into his chest. He gripped his hair tightly with both hands, even tearing out several strands, as though he hoped the pain might ease his guilt.

His voice grew somewhat hoarse. His bloodshot eyes were surrounded by heavy dark circles, and he looked a little hysterically unhinged.

He continued, "I nearly emptied my entire savings, but I still couldn't save her. Almost all her hair fell out, and two months ago she started coughing up blood constantly. She could barely sleep at night, and the organs inside her body began to fail. We truly had no options left. That was when an expert told us that Gotham City was home to Dr. Victor Fries. He was a super-genius and a cryogenics researcher who had successfully prolonged his wife's life through a freezing technology."

By the time Ma Zhaodi heard this, his mental state was nearly shattered. He knew this was an incredibly tragic moment, but at that instant, he instinctively felt a powerful urge to turn and run.

Compared with his real name, Dr. Victor Fries was perhaps better known to the public by his alias: Mr. Freeze.

Whoa, Freeze!