When the blue boxes rose into the air, Chen Mo genuinely thought for a moment that nuclear warheads might pop out of them.
He could hardly be blamed for being pessimistic.
Joker himself had just finished laughing in the surveillance room and run off, deliberately leaving this pile of boxes with flashing red lights behind.
Given Gotham City's traditional specialties, even if a tactical nuke labeled "Happy birthday, Batman" popped out, he would not have found it particularly outrageous. Under certain circumstances, that would actually have counted as normal.
Gotham was still Gotham.
Batman stood beneath the boxes, scan lines sweeping through his lenses layer by layer, his shoulders and back tense. Clearly, he had reached the same thought as Chen Mo.
He might even have been preparing for something worse.
Poison gas, bombs, viruses, neurotoxins, sources of infection, miniature nuclear devices, biological samples, or some sort of "surprise party" Joker himself enjoyed.
Whatever it was, it would not be anything good.
The box casings suddenly sprang open all at once.
Click.
Click, click, click, click, click.
A series of mechanical latches snapped open throughout the warehouse. The blue lids flipped out to either side, revealing neither food nor the main bodies of bombs nor Joker's toys.
What a surprise.
They were children.
One, two, three.
Then an entire row.
They were curled up inside Wayne Enterprises Relief Food Boxes, their hands and feet bound with plastic zip ties, their mouths taped shut, small bombs connecting their chests to the bottoms of the boxes. The children were all far too thin, their knees pressed against their chests, their collarbones jutting out, their eyes abnormally large.
For a moment, Chen Mo said nothing.
What an utter lack of surprise.
The quips he had already prepared all caught in his throat, as