Gordon: Batman, what kind of friends are these?

"The Joker really isn't here."

Just to be safe, Batman pulled the masks off every member of the Joker Gang, but not one of those heads, swollen like pigs' heads, belonged to the Joker.

From beginning to end, the only robbers had been this bunch of Joker Gang thugs.

"No, that can't be right..."

Looking at the scene, Zuo Ci felt confused. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. If the Joker wasn't here, why had the mission told him to stop the Joker and his men from robbing... wait!

Realizing something was wrong, Zuo Ci immediately opened the mission description.

"Okay, okay, okay. It only said to stop them, not where to stop them. You little bastard, are you screwing with me?"

[(๑°3°๑)]

Looking at the little bastard of a system trying to bluff its way out of this, Zuo Ci seethed. But more upsetting than that was the enormous loss he'd taken.

If he'd known the Joker himself wasn't here, why would he have bothered buying all this stuff? He could have just tossed in a flashbang and zapped each of them once.

His money! His beautiful green dollars!

"No, I've got to make the Joker pay for my emotional distress!

Come to think of it, the Joker's blood should be worth a lot, right? Doesn't that mean I could..."

"Enough talking. Come with me."

Listening to Zuo Ci's increasingly dangerous muttering, Batman couldn't help interrupting him. Then he grabbed him by the collar, and the two vanished from the lobby in an eerily strange fashion.

Barely half a minute after they left, Commissioner Gordon of the Gotham Police Department arrived with a squad of fully armed officers and secured the scene.

"So do we really have to talk in this godforsaken place? Can't we go somewhere else? That café over there looks pretty good."

On the roof of Gotham Bank, Batman, Gordon, and Zuo Ci stood face-to-face, exchanging information. Batman and Gordon saw absolutely nothing wrong with talking here. Only Zuo Ci kept protesting.

"This really isn't a good place to talk, but we don't have much choice. The mayor has officially declared Batman a criminal, and he's still on our wanted list, so..."

Gordon spread his hands helplessly. He, too, had always hoped for a normal setting where he could talk to Batman.

But Gotham's current mayor was a dumbass who insisted on putting Batman, one of the city's few decent people, on the wanted list, forcing them to meet in places like this.

"Classic higher-ups dragging everyone down. Gotham sure is blessed to have a mayor like that."

Zuo Ci couldn't even be bothered to complain anymore. Practically every bureaucrat in superhero comics was a complete bastard. They were either holding everyone back or on their way to doing it. It was infuriating.

"Say, why don't we figure out a way to get that politician kicked out of office? Put someone normal with a functioning brain in his place?"

Gordon froze at the suggestion, then shook his head helplessly.

"We've been trying all along. He may be stupid, but the people backing him are smart. We can't dig up any decisive dirt on him."

Zuo Ci chuckled at Gordon's reply. Their righteous commissioner was still a little naïve, it seemed.

"See, that's what you don't understand. If you want to bring someone down, why bother digging up dirt? Can't you just make it up? Murder, arson, robbery, rape-pile it all on. Chances are he's done whatever you invent anyway.

And don't worry about making it convincing. I've got an ancient book from a mysterious great nation in the East, the Classic of Framing. I'm sure you'll find it very enlightening~"

"Huh?"

Gordon stared in bewilderment at Zuo Ci, who had produced a book from who knew where.

He'd always thought Batman was the radical one. His methods of fighting crime had helped them enormously, and watching him beat up criminals was satisfying, but sometimes he hit so hard that it seemed a little extreme.

Now, with this comparison, Gordon realized Batman was actually a little too conservative.

Do you even hear the crap coming out of your mouth? Is that something a good guy should say? Batman, what kind of friends have you been making?

"Enough of this pointless discussion. Gordon, take out the phone."

Cutting Zuo Ci's sales pitch short, Batman looked straight at Gordon. Gordon immediately produced a blood-covered phone sealed in a bag.

"We pulled this out of one of the bus drivers you rescued. We haven't had time to send it to the tech department to crack, but with you here, I doubt we'll need them."

Taking the phone, Batman connected it to the miniature computer built into his armor and began cracking it.

Given the era, phones were still little bricks like the old Nokias, and computer technology wasn't particularly advanced either, so cracking it would take some time.

"Have some. Just standing around waiting is pretty boring, and I'm sure you could really use this today."

After hearing that earlier spiel, Gordon wasn't particularly eager to accept the hot coffee Zuo Ci offered him. Still, he took it out of politeness and had a small sip.

[Product name: Instant coffee

Price: Ten dollars/stick

Effect: Significantly boosts mental alertness. Lasts approximately forty-five minutes.

Note: I think overworked wage slaves might actually need this more than students do.]

"Oh! This feeling..."

After his first sip of coffee, Gordon instantly felt more than half his fatigue melt away.

Being a cop in Gotham, especially a conscientious, responsible one, was downright torturous. Gordon couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten off work on time. Perhaps he never had.

Although he was nowhere near Batman's level, Gordon had also been living in a state of constant exhaustion. Yet now, after one sip of coffee, he suddenly felt fantastic.

Once he felt its effects, Gordon stopped worrying about the heat. He lifted the cup and drained it in one go, leaving him thoroughly refreshed.

"Instant coffee. No harmful ingredients or side effects. One stick will keep you feeling alert.

Commissioner Gordon, want to buy some? Only fifty dollars a bag~"

For some reason, Gordon found this scene oddly familiar. Why did this guy seem so much like a street dealer selling stimulants?

And although it worked well, fifty dollars a bag was still a bit much for an ordinary police commissioner like him...

"That's not the price you charged me last time."

As Gordon hesitated, Batman suddenly spoke. There was even a hint of accusation in his voice, like a duped customer grilling a shopkeeper.

"Of course it isn't. Don't forget how pure the stuff I gave you was. Instant coffee only lasts forty-five minutes, and it doesn't even eliminate fatigue. It's nowhere near the stuff I sold you that works for twenty-four hours, okay?"

Batman nodded, then quietly noted in his little notebook that Zuo Ci stocked a wide range of products with different types and effects.

What were you thinking? Surely you hadn't actually thought Batman was complaining because he'd been ripped off.

Just as Batman was considering how to pry a little more information out of him, the miniature computer inside his armor sounded an alert. The phone had been fully cracked.

There was one, and only one, message on the phone: "Harvey Dent."