The idling Batcycle came to a stop beneath the magazine's offices. William climbed off, his knees buckling so badly he nearly dropped to the ground.
That had been one hell of a thrill.
He had only opened up the throttle a little halfway through, but his heart was still pounding like a drum.
The engine's savage roar, the vibrations of the chassis, and, of course, the scenery streaming past the corners of his eyes like a waterfall-all those sensations blended together, giving him the illusion of flying just above the ground.
Of course, the craziest part had been the mishap that nearly turned into a crash.
A sofa falling from a high-rise had landed right in the Batmobile's path. The side fairing slammed into it, and the speeding motorcycle instantly lost control, pitching toward a wall.
William had already braced himself to be thrown off the tumbling motorcycle, but the massive machine displayed unexpected stability.
Both wheels left the ground on impact, the rear swung forward, and the entire bike spun and bounced like a top before somehow regaining its balance.
Honestly, he had already fallen in love with that rush of adrenaline.
Of course, now that he had enjoyed himself, he couldn't forget the real business.
He used his status as a police officer to enter the magazine's offices and pushed open the editor-in-chief's door, only to be greeted by blood spattered all over the walls.
Batman and Dr. Hugo sat with their backsides toward each other, surrounded by sheets of calculations.
William had underestimated Batman. Without a map to help him, Batman had found the magazine's offices through his familiarity with Gotham alone.
But what was the deal with Egg-Bomb Kid slumped over the desk?
"Did you two fuck him to death?"
"If you still have energy to