Bobo had only been pretending. After all, everyone around him had a way to reach the top of the tower. Even Sara, who lacked flight ability, had martial skills and equipment more than sufficient for scaling walls and climbing a seventy- or eighty-meter-tall giant cannon turret.
But that was Deathstroke's stage. Everyone else only needed to watch the show.
"Jack, come with me."
Batman had indeed thought of nothing else. He simply called for the Pale Knight beside him to follow, and the two raced toward the base of the cannon turret.
He knew nothing about these mysterious reinforcements. Without enough clues or intelligence, Batman was merely a mortal.
The direction in front of the giant cannon was a frozen wasteland, while the other half of the island had not a trace of snow. From high above, Arkham Island would have looked like a clock split half black and half white, with the long cannon barrel serving as its hand.
That hand was now moving toward the black half. A faint white light had already begun gathering at the muzzle, the sign of energy accumulating before a shot.
If it fired again, Gotham would likely be finished. Even everyone present might not survive.
Jack ran a little slowly, so Batman simply slung him over his shoulder like a log and sprinted on. Once they reached the base of the turret, he fired the Bat-Grapple into the sky and used the small motor on his belt to rapidly hoist them both upward.
"Hold on tight," the black knight said in midair.
"I know, but I can only keep that crazy woman under control by laughing! Give me some time to get my emotions in order!" the Pale Knight replied.
But the little bat motor would not wait. With the whirring hiss