Seeing the heavy weapons in Lynn's hands, the professional police officers didn't freeze in place.
"Harley Quinn, it's time you got a taste of our ultimate weapon!" Sergeant Blake snapped.
Harley Quinn laughed maniacally as she kept firing. "Hahaha! Let's see what else you cops have up your sleeves!"
They had an ultimate weapon, too?
Lynn raised his head and looked toward the officers ahead, feeling a little curious.
Under his curious gaze, the wounded Sergeant Blake led the remaining officers slowly backward.
One step at a time, and then... they just fled with their tails between their legs.
"OMG, run! Get back and ask Commissioner Gordon for backup! Their firepower is too much!"
Lynn: "..."
What happened to your ultimate weapon?
"Holy shit! Why did those cops run away?" Harley Quinn put away her pistol and leaned against Lynn, looking thoroughly annoyed.
She'd thought she could enjoy a good, wild shootout and make a name for herself as Harley Quinn. Instead, those cops had just run off.
What cowards. It was only a Gatling Gun and a rocket launcher!
Lynn put away his weapons and shook his head.
"These cops only make a few thousand bucks a month. Why would they risk their lives?"
A bar.
It was eight in the evening, and two days had passed since the Vienna Jewelry Exhibition.
Over those two days, Lynn and Harley had split up to handle things separately.
Harley had told Lynn that she'd had a close gal pal at Arkham Asylum, so this time she'd headed to Carnage Swamp to try to recruit her.
As for Lynn, he'd set his sights on an assassin who never missed, intending to lure him into the Bat Gang.
So, after leaving the assassin a clue, Lynn bought a few boxes of fried chicken at KFC, crossed several streets, and arrived at this bar.
Under the bartender's gaze, he ordered two glasses of whiskey, then... didn't leave a single cent as a tip, successfully earning an eye roll.
The bar wasn't noisy at eight. Instead, soft, lilting music played. Many gang members liked to gather at bars after work and share the latest news of the day.
Lynn found a corner by the window, sat down, and quietly waited for the assassin to arrive.
He wasn't worried that the man wouldn't be able to find him. As one of the world's best assassins, locating him would surely be a piece of cake.
Besides, Lynn had left a very obvious clue.
Time ticked by as Lynn ate fried chicken and drained every last drop of whiskey, his expression calm.
He knew that if he wanted to recruit people like assassins, he needed not only money, but also nerves of steel.
If he didn't appear calm and composed, those bastards might well make the unreasonable demand that he pay extra.
Just then, however, Lynn's phone rang.
Looking at the unfamiliar number on the screen, Lynn's lips curved into a calm, confident smile.
He answered and held the phone to his ear.
A man's low, gravelly voice came from the other end. "Shit! I've been looking for you for hours and still can't find you! Where the hell are we meeting?!"
Lynn: "..."
He began to wonder whether the man on the other end really was Deadshot.
"Didn't I leave you a clue?" he asked.
Deadshot snapped over the phone, "You fucking left me the word 'clue'! How am I supposed to find you with that?!"
Thirty minutes later.
Following the address Lynn had given him, the dark-skinned Deadshot arrived at the bar, worn out from rushing around.
He sat down across from Lynn, looked at him, then at the leftover KFC chicken bones on the table, utterly speechless.
Who the hell ate KFC in a bar?
Together with the word Lynn had left earlier, it made Deadshot wonder whether this guy was a lunatic.
"Deadshot, real name Floyd Lawton. One of the world's top mercenary assassins. Never wastes a bullet, never misses a shot. His only weakness is... his daughter, Zoe."
Lynn clasped his hands in front of him, a composed smile on his face.
"Did I get that right?"
Floyd's expression immediately stiffened.
"You investigated me?"
"No, I looked it up on Baidu Baike," Lynn replied. "And that's not all I know. I also know your home address, how many people are in your family, about your daughter, and what's happened in your household."
Floyd: ???
And you're still saying you didn't investigate me?
Though inwardly startled, Floyd was a top assassin, after all. He had thick skin... uh, strong nerves, and his expression remained composed.
"Who are you, and what exactly do you want?"
"You can call me Riddler."
"You expect me to believe that?" Floyd was a little exasperated. "Joker and Riddler's airship is right up there over Gotham City. If you're Riddler..."
As he spoke, he pointed at the television playing above the bar.
On the screen, a man wearing a green hat and a green suit covered in question marks was talking on and on.
"Then who's he?"
Lynn's expression remained placid. "I'm the real Riddler. He lost the riddle contest. He's the fake Riddler."
"I thought you'd give me your own codename, like Joker or Killer Croc..."
Floyd shook his head with a trace of disappointment. If the man had given him one of those codenames, he might have been able to gain some leverage.
After a little awkward conversation, Lynn got to the point. "Floyd, our Bat Gang needs talent like you."
A cold smile appeared on Floyd's face. Finally admitting what you're after?
He shook his head. "Sorry. I'm a neutral mercenary. Whoever pays the most gets my services."
"As far as I know, you haven't paid tax on eighty percent of the payment from every job you've taken."
Lynn wore a faint smile, looking as though he had everything under control.
"You do realize this is the United States. With that much untaxed money, what do you think will happen to you?"
"Fuck! So what if I haven't paid taxes?" Floyd raised an eyebrow. "You don't have the authority to investigate me."
As a mercenary, he naturally knew how formidable the IRS was.
Those ravenous dogs collected taxes for Congress. Not only did they have all kinds of advanced weapons, they even had plenty of specialized troops. They were downright terrifying.
But this guy pretending to be Riddler... put simply, Deadshot didn't believe he worked for the IRS.
What fucking IRS agent left the English word "clue" as a clue when trying to meet someone?
"Sorry, but it looks like I really do have the authority to investigate your tax avoidance."
Lynn calmly took his credentials from inside his clothes and placed them in front of Floyd.
They were indeed IRS agent credentials, with the IRS commissioner's seal beside them.
Floyd: "..."
You actually fucking are?
He coughed. "Ahem. Even if you're an IRS agent, using this kind of threat to make me join you... isn't exactly appropriate, is it?"
"Have you forgotten about your daughter, Zoe?" Lynn remained perfectly at ease. "If you're caught evading taxes on such a huge sum, will your daughter still be able to attend an elite high school in Gotham?"
As he spoke, he leaned forward slightly and lowered his voice.
"Floyd, you wouldn't want your daughter to lose her chance at an education, would you?"