Du Mu: Not bad, what about today?

Before long, that scalp-crawling BGM finally stopped.

In Arkham Asylum's regular ward, not a single prisoner remained active.

Prisoner corpses lay scattered across the floor, spent shell casings mixed into spreading pools of blood. The smell of gunpowder and blood tangled in the air, stinging people's nostrils.

The prisoners lucky enough to survive had all curled up tightly in the corners of their cells, not daring to breathe too loudly. They feared that the madman carrying the Gatling had not killed enough yet and would come back to kick down their cell doors one by one and settle the score with them too.

These people used to spend every day figuring out how to pick locks and escape. Now, they only hated that their cell doors were not sturdy enough and wished they could weld on ten more bolts.

Du Mu casually set the Gatling in his hand on the ground and glanced at the minimap.

Most of the red dots had already returned to their cells. Only a handful remained gathered deeper within the building.

He had looked over the building plans Gordon had shown him. That area should have been Arkham's intensive care ward—the core section with the highest security level in the entire building, where the most dangerous criminals were held.

Still, he preferred to call it Batman's rare Pokemon showroom.

Any supervillain with even a little fame in Gotham had basically been personally sent there by Batman. It was like stamp collecting; anyone unaware of the situation might have thought the Dark Knight had some peculiar obsession with completing the entire Pokédex.

Du Mu headed down the stairs, his footsteps echoing through the narrow stairwell.

At the bottom of the stairs stood an absurdly heavy iron door. It had already been violently breached and hung crookedly