Attack, Counterattack

Black, withered branches wound along both sides of the road, receding continuously behind him. Gotham did not get much snow, though perhaps this year was different.

On his way home, Lynn felt a little cold riding his bicycle, but the kitten seemed to like this weather. Though it was certainly warmer nestled in Lynn's arms than outside, it kept trying to wriggle out. Left with no choice, Lynn pulled the little black cat from his arms again and set it back on his shoulder. In just a few moves, the little thing climbed onto the top of Lynn's head.

"You're turning me into a mount like this."

"Snow."

The kitten could talk. Lynn had known that from the beginning.

Digimon did not seem to have much of an infancy stage. Though they possessed every stage of life and strictly followed that setting—infancy, growth, maturity...

Each stage, however, was a complete individual. Their thought patterns and intelligence levels did not seem to change much.

Mature Digimon could speak, and they could still speak after devolving into the growth stage. There was nothing strange about that.

It was just that the little black cat, Schrodinger, was not even "one year old" yet. More accurately, only a few hours had passed since its birth. Speaking was still a skill waiting to be unlocked.

"Yes, snow. Hey, what do you think about changing your name to Snow? You were born in winter, and you're black all over. Snow would definitely be interesting."

The kitten was not very good at talking, but it understood what it heard. So it immediately expressed its dissatisfaction with Lynn wanting to change its name through its actions.

A paw print instantly appeared on Lynn's forehead.

"Whoa, that was a nice move. The first time you used Meow Meow Fist, it was on my forehead!"

Lynn picked up the bicycle that had fallen into the snow, took two quick steps, then grabbed Schrodinger by the scruff of its neck and lifted it up.

The kitten finally seemed to understand who was boss. It stretched out its paws in an attempt to please Lynn.

"Who taught you that? Your integrity is... huh?"

The bicycle had fallen into a ditch, so Lynn was naturally standing in it as well. In the minute or two he had been delayed, he noticed a car driving down this usually deserted road.

"A completely black SUV. Doesn't look like the sort of thing good people drive..."

Batman definitely knew where he lived. Though Batman never came to Lynn's house to look for him, Lynn was certain that, given Batman's personality, he might not keep him under surveillance, but he had definitely investigated him again and again.

Lynn had not deliberately hidden it from him, so of course Batman would find out.

Would Batman drive this kind of car?

This car was not cool at all. How could it possibly suit Batman's personality?

"So, we've got visitors..."

Lynn lay low in the snow and slowly changed into his gear.

The strength of the mind could never replace the strength of the body.

They would always complement and depend upon one another.

Lynn had powerful "mental energy" and a system cheat, but at his current level, he absolutely could not be called strong.

At this stage, an ordinary person could easily inflict fatal injuries on him.

As long as that ordinary person was holding a sniper rifle.

After Batman told Lynn that Falcone was hunting him, Lynn had become much more restrained.

Within DC's setting, many individuals who could be considered powerful were still tempted and bound by money and other things, choosing to stand on the dark side.

Unlike the world next door, many ordinary people here did not follow the laws of natural science. They were clearly ordinary people, yet their personal skills could often reach theoretical peaks.

Among Lynn's exceedingly limited knowledge of DC, there were quite a few villains of this type. A considerable number of them could be swayed by money and were willing to take on private jobs.

If they faced each other head-on, Lynn was confident he could defeat them.

But getting ambushed was another matter entirely.

So now, it was time for a counter-ambush.

After putting on his modified helmet and full set of gear, Lynn said a few words to the kitten. Once he let it run off on its own, he hid in the snow and quietly approached the men getting out of the SUV.

Then...

He was discovered three seconds later.

"Fuck..."

Looking at his all-black armor, then imagining how ridiculous he must have looked to the other side—a black humanoid object lying in the snow, trying to ambush them—Lynn really wanted to slap himself.

That was not even how it happened in movies...

"Fine, I'll stop pretending. I'll come clean. I'm not an assassin, and I'm not a close-range fighter."

The snow-covered branches in the woods trembled in waves. Lynn stood behind the wooden shields that were gathering around and gradually blocking him from view, then lightly waved a hand. "I'm a woodland mage. Please call me..."

"It's Thorn Vine Man's power! Open fire!"

"Fuck! Did you people go to school? What kind of shitty name is that?!"

Lynn suddenly gave up on the idea of leaving someone alive to ask about the situation.

Anyway... he glanced behind him. There would definitely be someone back there to question. At worst, he could just go straight to Falcone~~

If he could not solve the problem, then he would solve the person who created it.

"Respond if you can hear me, ugly bastard? Hello?"

On the rooftop, after confirming it several times, the man finally determined that he had indeed lost contact with his observation team.

As one of the world's top assassins, this was the first time he had been forced to cooperate with others on an assassination. In the past, strange employers had made strange demands, such as requiring the target to die in a specific place, or while with a specific person. Such demands were not too difficult for him.

After all, he was Laudon. He was Deadshot, one of the people most proficient with firearms in the world.

Falcone had hired him, but did not trust him. That was the only reason Falcone had forced him to accept "help."

Laudon believed that the moment he completed the job, those helpers would immediately turn on him and aim their guns at him.

After all, for Falcone, who practically owned all of Gotham, to hire someone else to exact revenge on an enemy was itself a sign of failure.

For someone like Falcone, it was a crack in his image of invincibility.

Laudon knew that, but he did not care.

It would only mean wasting a few more bullets. Nothing more.

What concerned him more was that strange tree-man. That was what Laudon called the druid who could produce vines.

"I need to leave."

Whenever Laudon fired, he almost never missed, but before every shot, he was always extremely cautious.

The current situation was already one of the things an assassin least wanted to face.

His observers had gone silent, the enemy's information clearly differed from what he knew, and more importantly, he was not sure whether he had been exposed.

So, he decided to leave.

The instant that thought crossed his mind, Laudon, whose ears were sharp enough to hear a hummingbird's wings, heard someone stepping on the snow behind him.

He turned, raised his hand, and activated his infrared detection device. Having completed those actions in an instant, Laudon saw what was not far behind him.

A cat. A black kitten.

Cold sweat slid down Laudon's temples.

Of course, he had not forgotten that, just over ten minutes ago, his observer had told him that the target had left with a black cat.

Did this kitten possess some strange ability?

Laudon hesitated.

Should he fire, or not?