"This place is a total dump!"
Casey surveyed the filthy room.
The previous tenant had left countless black garbage bags and a foul smell throughout the spacious apartment.
The landlord had only said that very few tenants lived here, with no one above, below, or on either side. William figured that would make it easier to carry out his plan, so he paid for the place.
Now it seemed there had to be a reason the rent was so cheap.
"Sorry. These are unusual circumstances, and I haven't had the energy to clean the place."
William smiled awkwardly, stepped aside to let Casey in, then dragged a chair out of a corner and wiped off the dust.
If he was asking for help, he had to act like it. He had no problem accepting that.
Casey was in no hurry to sit down. She walked around the apartment, inspecting it, before her gaze settled on the double lying unconscious in the bathtub.
"This is your target? Batman's already been sent in. What are you going to do next?"
"Good question!"
William snapped his fingers confidently, then stood frozen like a statue.
"And... then what?"
"I told you, that's a good question!"
"So you don't have a plan for what comes next?"
"I just haven't thought of it yet."
"So you don't have one?"
"You can't put it that way. Does a baby not exist before it's born? Same principle. The plan's still in my head. All it needs is a little hint or stimulation, and that'll be the signal to give birth."
"I think you really do need a little stimulation. Something like the electric shocks at Arkham Asylum."
Casey said nothing more, merely taking out her Pager and fiddling with it.
"I called Kate. She might be able to help you."
Casey delivered that line coldly, then walked into the bathroom. A few seconds later, she emerged carrying a mop bucket.
"That doesn't seem right."
"I'm thinking about my own living conditions. If you're willing, come help."
With her putting it that way, William couldn't refuse.
First, they piled the garbage by the door, then cleared the cigarette butts and dead cockroaches from beneath the beds in both bedrooms. Along the way, William also fought a tense tug-of-war with an enormous rat.
An hour slipped by before they knew it, and Kate knocked on the door.
The girl carried some newly purchased cleaning solution, while the wheeled suitcase behind her held the Batgirl suit Casey had forgotten to bring.
"If you'd brought me along earlier, you wouldn't have had to spend another two dollars sending me a pager message."
"I was worried this man might have other ideas."
Casey lowered her voice, glancing toward William, who was scrubbing the floor inside with a wire brush.
After that, Casey took full charge of cleaning the apartment, while William and Kate discussed their next move in the freshly cleaned bedroom.
"I don't think conventional interrogation will work. The temptation in front of him is too strong. As long as he follows the plan, he can completely replace Bruce Wayne. Even if he has to transfer the assets, Harold will still give him enough to live comfortably for the rest of his life."
"But what if his life is threatened?"
"Are you really prepared to torture him into a bloody mess?"
Kate pointed out the flaw in William's thinking. Not everyone could be an interrogator.
"You're right. So what should the actual plan be?"
"Give him a preconceived notion. Make him think, 'If I'm Bruce Wayne, I'm in serious trouble.'" Kate sat cross-legged on the mattress, folding her hands in a meditation pose.
With Kate's guidance, a light bulb suddenly went on in William's head.
He looked in astonishment at the girl meditating with her eyes closed, suspecting that she already had a fully developed plan but was still using her words to guide him.
She seemed to be trying to teach him her way of thinking.
"I understand now, master."
After an unknown stretch of time, the double curled up in the bathtub opened his eyes, shivering with cold.
Where am I? Is this still Gotham?
Bracing himself against the edge of the tub, he staggered to his feet and took a few cautious steps, finding a partly used bottle of medical ether on the toilet.
The incandescent light flickered in the dim bathroom. Yellowed limescale clung to the tiled walls, and the stench of urine stabbed straight into his skull. Everything pointed to one cruel fact: this wasn't the mansion. He had been kidnapped!
The man remembered Harold's warning. If anything unexpected happened, he had to keep the secret, especially if he was kidnapped.
Only by insisting he was Bruce Wayne would he receive favorable treatment. Meanwhile, Harold would rescue him as quickly as possible.
That thought restored some of his confidence. He walked to the bathroom door and turned the handle.
Finding it locked, he simply began pounding on it.
Bang, bang, bang!
Bang!
Bang, bang!
With a sudden rush of air, the bathroom door was wrenched open. Almost simultaneously, a gun muzzle pressed against his forehead.
"Easy, gentlemen. I know what you need."
The man spread his hands to show he meant no harm, allowing the masked figure in a knitted hood to seize him by the neck.
"Give me a chance to make a phone call. My butler will bring the money to ransom me."
Over nearly a year of training, the man from the Lower East End had also been forced to learn aristocratic etiquette. Had William not known the truth, he might actually have been intimidated by the man's air of having everything under control.
"Whatever your price, I'll pay it, because I'm..."
"Bruce Wayne. Of course we know! But did you ever consider that money can't solve this?"
The speaker was Floyd. Playing the hot-tempered kidnapper, he drew his gun, racked it, and smashed the butt into the man's head.
People from No Man's Land were born steeped in violence. Having him take over the interrogation at this point was the best choice.
That line also served as his complaint about the employer behind the scenes abruptly canceling the job.
"I don't understand... what are you talking about?"
One blow from Floyd's gun butt shattered the man's facade. As blood ran from the wound on his forehead, his eyes began to dart away, and his straight back began to hunch.
"Let me remind you, Bruce Wayne. A year ago, when the Stun District went up in flames and hundreds of injured people needed insurance payouts for treatment, you suddenly extended the review times and procedures. How many people died in agony that winter, oozing blood and pus?"
This incident wasn't fabricated. Kate had carefully selected it.
Widely known and widely discussed, the insurance scandal had, for a time, left Gotham City's residents bitterly disillusioned with Wayne Enterprises.
The double had heard about it. Harold hadn't recruited him yet back then. Having also been born in the East End, he had shed bitter tears over it and waved his arms in protest alongside the gathered crowds.
Yet when Harold offered him an olive branch, he had still reached out without hesitation.
Everything had its price. The man had once believed that being imprisoned in a splendid cage like a songbird would be the greatest price he would pay for the rest of his life.
He had been a little naive.
"I won't kill you easily, Bruce Wayne. We've gathered the relatives of everyone who died. They'll bring sharp weapons, and each of them will stab you once. You'll scream amid their fury, and in agony you'll... uh... die... that's right, die!"
Floyd had nearly forgotten his next lines. Kate had carefully written them all to provoke the greatest possible panic in the double.
As expected, the man panicked.
These weren't desperadoes after money. They were avengers.
"No... that's not... wait, please listen to me..."
He gave in almost instantly, clutching Floyd's trouser leg as he dropped to his knees at his feet.
"I'm not Bruce Wayne!"
Before you continue