Media Q&A

The granite facade looked as though swarms of metal beetles had crawled all over it. Dawn had barely broken, but the broadcast vans arriving in droves wove countless glaring headlights into a dizzying pool of light, exposing every detail of the precinct's dingy gateposts and every old stain on its stone steps. Countless microphones, cameras, and portable recorders-every device capable of producing sound or capturing images-were raised high beneath the gray morning sky, aimed at the cast-iron doors behind the fence.

The last time Li Jie had seen this many people mobbing a building had been during a Black Friday sale at Walmart. This time, it was the Gotham Police Department's turn.

"Chief! Is that monster real?"

"Chief Loeb! How many casualties were there?"

"Are there any eyewitnesses? Please confirm the rumors that three locations were wiped out last night!"

"Is this a secret military weapon or a new urban legend? Chief Loeb!"

"Is he a murderer, Chief?"

"Is he a savior, Chief Loeb?"

Waves of noise carried every kind of pointed question against the doors of Gotham Police Central Headquarters. Outside the fence, the officers' defensive line had already buckled under the pressure, their bodies pressed against the cold iron bars, sweat soaking the backs of their uniforms. They spread their arms in vain, trying to hold back the unstoppable human tide. The orders they shouted vanished into the uproar like stones dropped into the deep sea.

"Back up! Back up! Keep your distance!"

"Keep pushing and we'll use force!"

The air reeked of sweat, cheap perfume, and excited breath. Everyone shouted eagerly, trying to make their voice cut through the chaos. Flashes erupted one after another, bursts of stark white light exploding wildly in the gloomy dawn. Shutters crackled as densely as a torrential downpour, without end.

"Honestly, I don't get what they're so worked up about. The chief hasn't even come out yet."

As one of the officers dispatched that night, Li Jie had returned to the precinct and barely dozed for twenty minutes before a ringing phone woke him. He was ordered to report to Central Headquarters immediately to handle any questions from the media. Now he had tipped his chair onto its back legs and was leaning against a pillar in the lobby, yawning.

He glanced at James Gordon. Just as expected, this textbook good guy had volunteered for Christmas duty without a second thought.

But you're a fucking father! You left a five- or six-year-old kid home alone on Christmas to turn out the lights and go to bed? If Gotham's CPS hadn't been such a disaster, he would have called to report Gordon.

"So, do you think Loeb came in this early voluntarily, or did Falcone send him packing?"

Gordon glanced at him, not particularly inclined to talk. He had received Li Jie's gift from Doctor Thompkins. Although he felt Li Jie had a point, he still felt uncomfortable about it, both personally and out of wounded pride.

"Maybe... maybe so," he answered vaguely. Hurried footsteps sounded behind them. Someone gave them both a pat as Gillian Loeb strode past, saying under his breath, "Come outside with me."

"Wow. Celebrity treatment."

Li Jie muttered, rose from his chair, and followed him woodenly. He soon regretted it. Stepping outside felt like plunging into a thunderstorm, with lights flashing so fiercely he could barely open his eyes.

"Chief Loeb! Over here! Chief Loeb!" The reporters grew even more frantic. Countless hands strained over the top of the fence, microphones nearly jabbing Loeb in the face as another hailstorm of questions came down.

"Chief! Please describe the scene! Were there any survivors?"

"Chief! Did that 'shadow' use lethal weapons?"

"Chief! Have you narrowed down the suspects?"

Loeb stopped halfway down the steps. He raised a hand and pressed it downward, cleared his throat, and said in a low voice, "The police are making every effort to investigate last night's events and collect evidence. We cannot disclose further details at this time. We urge citizens to remain calm, provide legitimate leads, and refrain from spreading unverified claims that could cause panic. All forms of vigilante justice and violence are violations of the law, and the police will pursue those responsible in accordance with the law..."

"In accordance with the law?" A sharp-tongued female reporter immediately seized on his words, pointing her microphone at him like a sword. "Chief, are you saying the police have already classified this 'vigilante' as a criminal? Were his actions last night crimes? What about the drug deals he stopped? Were those also 'violations of the law'?"

The muscles in Loeb's cheeks tightened. He glanced to either side and immediately changed tactics. "Officer Li Jie here tracked that shadow throughout last night. You can ask him for more information about the details of the operation."

*??*

How did this suddenly become my problem?

The flashes merged into a blaze that immediately left Li Jie unable to open his eyes. Microphones like ears of corn jabbed toward him.

"Officer! Eyewitnesses claim they saw a huge, batlike shadow! A driver says someone stomped a dent into his roof! And those thugs were hung from traffic lights, with many others severely injured. How do you explain that?"

"Uh... ahem... well, there's currently no evidence proving that shadow actually exists. At least, I didn't see him myself." Li Jie cleared his throat and tapped the microphone. "Even if he does exist, all I can say is, this guy is really... tsk, tsk."

He shook his head. For a moment, the entire crowd fell silent. Even Loeb and Gordon turned to look at him.

"Legally speaking, he committed a series of aggravated assaults and caused widespread panic throughout the city." Li Jie swept his gaze across the sea of people below the steps. "Some people might believe everything he did was fighting crime. But from a crime-fighting perspective, I can only classify it as extremely irresponsible and childish behavior. He went out on Christmas Eve and left a bunch of miserable cops at the East End Police Department making thirty thousand a year to clean up his mess. All he cared about was blowing off steam, leaving people and potential evidence scattered everywhere."

But the moment he finished, a completely different voice rang out from the edge of the crowd, trembling with a mixture of fear and awe.

"He... he isn't human! He... he's a shadow! A living shadow!"

Every head snapped around. In a corner, a homeless man giving off a powerful sour, rotten smell clutched his ragged blanket around himself. His body shook violently, and his cloudy eyes were filled with the lingering terror of a nightmare.

"I saw him! Behind the Old Fish Head warehouse... he was darker than a shadow! So big... he came diving off the top of the wall in one leap! Those men with guns... with knives... they screamed like rats scalded with boiling water! I heard... I heard bones breaking! Crack! Crack! And... and metal screaming! He... he tore those things apart... like wrapping paper! He... he looked my way once... those eyes... dear God... those weren't human eyes! He's... he's a monster! A monster that crawled out of hell!"

The homeless man's voice cut off abruptly, as though the horrifying scene he described had seized him by the throat. Only heavy, frightened breathing remained. His words were like a bucket of ice water thrown into boiling oil, instantly setting off a chorus of gasps and even more frenzied flashes.

"Officer, is what he said true?"

"Officer, how do you explain the fact that his account completely contradicts yours?"

"Hah!" Li Jie gave a cold laugh. "The witness is right there. If you believe him, why are you asking me? Go ask him!"

The reporters looked back and forth, and some turned to question the homeless man. Most eventually seemed to decide the police were probably a little more credible than a homeless man, but by the time they turned back, Li Jie had already tossed the microphone to Loeb.

"The law has clear boundaries! No individual, regardless of their motives, has the right to place themselves above the law and resort to violence! The Gotham Police Department is capable of maintaining..."

Just as the chief was delivering his stern declaration, a figure at the very front of the crowd, pressed against the inner police cordon, suddenly moved.

It was a teenage boy, thin as a reed that might snap in the wind, wearing an oversized, ill-fitting T-shirt. Yet his eyes burned with a strange fire in his pale face. He had stood silently wedged into the crowd, his expression gradually twisting. At that moment, the fire suddenly flared, and he let out a hoarse cry. Gripping the collar of his washed-gray T-shirt with both hands, he pulled it apart with every ounce of strength he had!

Riiip!

The tearing fabric sounded unusually shrill, drowning out the uproar in an instant. The boy's chest was exposed to the cold air and countless horrified, bewildered stares.

Right in the center of that scrawny, faintly heaving chest was a branded symbol. It was so fresh that the skin around it was still red and swollen, with tiny blisters and seeping fluid visible. Its lines were simple and crude, yet carried an unsettling force-two pointed ears thrusting upward, two enormous wings spread wide as though ready for flight. The irregular edges of the dark-red brand melted into the boy's pale skin, like a totem of freshly congealed blood, still radiating residual heat.

A bat!

Time seemed to freeze at that moment. Every sound-the reporters' questions, the officers' rebukes, the noise of the crowd-vanished. Only the flashes continued their instinctive frenzy, stark white light striking the brand again and again. Each flash made the dark-red bat more glaring, more shocking. Like a red-hot piece of iron dropped into a stagnant pool, it instantly evaporated every word, leaving only a silent omen.

The boy thrust out his chest, breathing rapidly. His pale face held an almost martyr-like fanaticism and defiance as he stared fixedly at the officers on the steps.

Loeb stood frozen. All the blood in his body seemed to surge into his head, then turn cold in an instant. A powerful wave of dizziness struck him, and the rest of his words lodged firmly in his throat.

He felt as though he stood at the edge of an abyss, Gotham's boiling darkness beneath his feet, while a boy branded with a bat tore that abyss wider and wider.

"At present... the investigation is ongoing. We... uh... we'll arrest this lunatic as soon as possible. This case... will be handled by Detective James Gordon."

Loeb spun around and rushed toward the police building, all but fleeing. As he turned, the long-threatening cold rain finally began to fall. The scattered drops quickly became a dense, urgent shower, striking the building's cold stone steps, the officers' hat brims and epaulettes, the reporters' raised microphones and camera lenses, and every face in the crowd-shocked, fanatical, numb, or afraid.

The rainwater quickly gathered and streamed down the steps, washing away dust and the remains of a paper cup crushed beneath someone's foot. Murky water flowed over the middle of the steps and across a huge, colorful Gotham Police Department emblem inlaid in the ground, covering its scales of justice, the tower that guarded the city, and the surrounding olive branches. The once-vivid marble blurred beneath the leaden morning light, leaving only a distorted, dim outline smeared carelessly by the rain.

James Gordon accepted the microphone blankly and instinctively looked toward Li Jie beside him. Li Jie reached over and took it, inwardly rolling his eyes.

"Under Detective Gordon's leadership, our Eastern District Precinct will cooperate fully to uncover the whole truth as soon as possible."

"However, the Eastern District Precinct is short on funding and manpower, and several officers have been injured in succession recently. With our current resources, we'll struggle to handle the high-intensity crimes that may continue to occur."

"Of course we don't want taxpayers' money wasted," he said, shaking his head. "But we don't want officers armed with batons and handguns dying needlessly in these confrontations, either. Police officers' lives are lives too, after all."

Everyone's gaze settled on his face, where one message was written almost plain as day.

Eastern District Precinct here. Send money.