The Batmobile hurtled through the rainy night like a black cannonball. Pinned to the passenger seat by his seat belt, Chen Mo felt his stomach and soul briefly lag half a beat behind.
Still an existential question.
As a normal, non-mutant human, how did Batman drive the Batmobile every day and withstand this kind of acceleration?
"So, Bats."
Chen Mo gripped the handle, trying hard not to sound like he was on a roller coaster. "Where are we going now? A late-night drive? A tour of Gotham's signature night scenery? Or have you finally decided to take me out for food? I heard there's a pretty good five-star restaurant. Can you treat me?"
Batman kept his eyes ahead, his voice as steady as if the car weren't speeding illegally down slick streets.
To answer the earlier existential question:
A suit powered by money, kid.
Iron Man next door could withstand the Iron Man Armor as an ordinary human. What was so hard about driving a car?
"The next location."
"The next what location?" Chen Mo paused. "You sound exactly like a boss saying, 'Let's talk.' Usually that means overtime or layoffs. It sounds like you want to sell me."
"The Cold Storage Sorting Point," Batman said. "Red Velvet was only one of the distribution points."
Chen Mo fell silent for two seconds, seriously digesting that statement. Then he raised a hand and pointed at himself. "So all that work just now was just uninstalling one front-end mini app from the Gotham Shady Delivery Network?"
Batman didn't correct his terrible but basically accurate analogy. "I've already taken out one base. There are at least three more."
Wearing a fabric suit made of 98 percent polyester-parentheses, patched n times-Chen Mo slowly leaned back against the seat, his face going blank as though