"This isn't Shame Squad."
Standing in the cold rain, Batwoman reached the stopped used car and joined up with Trench Coat Fighter. From here, they could vaguely see flashlight beams swaying in the alley ahead.
No matter how hurriedly Shame Squad had escaped from Arkham, Sharice had more safehouses in Gotham than Batwoman did. Everyone on her squad had night-vision devices in their masks. They had no need for antiques like flashlights.
The downpour masked the sound of cars, while icy raindrops splashed across the hood.
Trench Coat Fighter pulled up his coat to shield himself from the rain, took out his notebook, and glanced through it with helpless resignation.
"The location isn't wrong, but this little notebook of mine isn't an information terminal that updates in real time. Shame Squad was here before, but it looks like someone else has taken over."
Batwoman had only been making an observation. Through the rain, she picked up the sounds of smashing doors and windows, along with screams. Whatever was happening, a crime was in progress, and it had to be stopped.
Chaotic footsteps came from the street corner ahead. There were at least a dozen flashlight beams. Their identities were still unclear, but groups like this were usually either gangs or cults.
Cults generally only killed people; they did not rob them. They needed to spend the time other criminals used for looting on arranging their rituals.
So, hearing the sounds of smashing and looting, Batwoman judged them to be a robbery crew.
In Gotham, group robberies were generally the work of small-time punks. Who had ever seen Penguin or Two-Face personally leading people out to rob someone?
Batwoman walked toward the street corner, pressed herself against the wet wall, and peeked around it. In that brief instant, she took in