The kicked-open solid wood door fell onto the thick carpet, kicking up a cloud of choking, black smoke.
The city hall security personnel standing guard on both sides of the gate had just drawn their pistols, and before they even had time to pull the safety, they were thrown off balance by two waves of extreme heat rushing towards them.
The man at the head of the group was burly and clad in heavy silver-gray armor. Beneath his transparent, hemispherical helmet was a face as cold as ice.
Mr. Freeze. Victor Fries
He carried the extended-barreled extreme cold spray gun in one hand, his red goggles coldly sweeping across the spacious, brightly lit banquet hall.
Sizzle--!
A deep blue, misty jet of freezing air swept across the hall, instantly covering the main entrance and the emergency exits on both sides with a hard ice shell more than half a meter thick.
Several bodyguards who tried to escape in the chaos were a beat too slow; their shoes and calves froze on the spot, accompanied by the cracking of bones and pitiful screams that echoed throughout the banquet hall.
Beside Mr. Freeze, a man wearing a dirty fireproof suit and a gas mask was grinning grotesquely.
Mick Rory, a notorious criminal from Central City, brandished the heavy flamethrower in his hand, turned the valve to its maximum, and a blazing orange column of flame shot up the ceiling and headed toward the exhaust vent.
"Hahaha, this wretched place is way more impressive than the Central City! There's plenty of good-burning rotten wood everywhere!"
As the Heat Wave ignited the fire, it kicked a champagne cart full of glass, sending it flying. The sounds of shattering glass and rising flames mingled together, instantly transforming the entire hall into a cage of ice and fire.
In the center of the hall, Deadshot Floyd Lawton, clad in a red and black bulletproof suit, slowly stepped across the broken ice, his electronic sight on his right eye spinning rapidly.
Bang! Bang!
Two precise bullets left the barrel, and the high-definition surveillance camera in the corner of the hall and the giant Crystal chandelier hanging in the center shattered instantly.
The enormous Crystal chandelier crashed to the ground with a whoosh, creating a large crater in the marble floor. Dazzling fragments flew everywhere, startling the socialites and politicians who had been gathered together, causing them to scream and clutch their heads in fright.
"Quiet down, ladies and gentlemen. My bullets can't tell how many zeros your custom-made dresses are worth."
The Deadshot raised the specially made submachine gun on his wrist, his tone flat and devoid of any inflection, and even glanced down at the timer.
"We only took one job tonight, we won't waste ammunition on your superfluous heads."
"So, can any of you tell me where that young master of the Wayne Enterprises is hiding right now?"
Upon hearing the kidnappers specifically name Bruce, an even more chaotic shoving erupted from the crowd. Several spoiled brats who usually called Wayne their brothers were so frightened that they lay on the ground, not daring to lift their heads.
The assistant to the chairman of Kane Shipping, standing next to Chen Mo, was already terrified. His high heel broke at the edge of the red carpet, and he slid to the ground, trembling as he grabbed a Roman column.
However, while the hundreds of people in the audience were in complete chaos, Bruce Wayne, who should have been the highlight of the event, had long since disappeared.
Inside the temporary food preparation room at the back of the hall, where tableware is piled up.
Behind the heavy mahogany cabinet, Bruce, who had shed his frivolous facade, crouched in the shadows, his expression as serious as a sculpture.
He raised his left hand and gently pressed the signal generator hidden in his sleeve, his fingertips rapidly tapping out a complex Morse code on the watch face.
Several kilometers away over Gotham Bay, the stealthy Batplane, which was cruising stealthily, instantly received its master's command and its turbocharged engines quietly switched to silent Overload Mode.
Inside the underground passages of the Wayne Manor, the Batmobile's suspension system automatically inflated and rose, speeding along the underground tracks towards City Hall.
While recording the positions and weapon parameters of the three supervillains through his embedded monocle, Bruce mentally calculated the best angle for his attack.
Mr. Freeze's power core is on his back, and his weak point is the deflector tube; Heat Wave's fuel tanks don't have explosion-proof barriers, but there are too many people here, so extra caution is needed; Deadshot in conjunction with these two, and there will be blind spots after they fire.
But these are not the key issues. The key issue is Chen Mo's reaction. If he were to go on a killing spree here, the situation would become uncontrollable.
However, Bruce fell silent when his gaze passed through the ventilation blinds of the storeroom and landed beside the marble Roman column in the center of the hall.
Bruce:...?
Beside that magnificent pillar, Chen Mo remained calm and composed.
He held the silver fork, calmly prying open the charred lobster shell, dipped a large piece of snow-white lobster meat in the rich black truffle sauce at the bottom of the plate, and slowly put it into his mouth.
"It smells amazing! There's even a performance. No wonder it's high society."
Chen Mo swallowed the lobster meat in his mouth, then casually grabbed a bottle of unopened red wine from the rickety long table next to him, popped the cork with one hand, and took a big gulp.
The female assistant in the black dress, who was squatting on the ground trembling, raised her head and stared blankly at the so-called manor chef, her tongue tied in knots.
"Sir... they're carrying freeze guns and flamethrowers..."
"I see, the cooling effect is quite good, the red wine is perfectly chilled to the optimal drinking temperature."
Chen Mo smiled and shook the bottle, his eyes showing no sign of panic, but rather a leisurely air of watching a show on the street.
Gotham truly lives up to its reputation. We'd only been in the banquet hall for less than half an hour when three talented individuals, through a mix of acting and physical prowess, were delivered right to our doorstep.
The Deadshot at the front of the hall twitched his ears; his special scope caught the untimely chewing sound, and his brows furrowed beneath his mask.
He turned his head, his gaze piercing through the billowing smoke, and locked onto the young Asian man who was eating a large meal with his mouth greasy.
Heat Wave followed his partner's gaze, the flames of his flamethrower hissing, his tone full of impatience.
" Floyd, is that kid deaf?"
"When I was robbing a bank in Central City, even the Flash had to give me a heads-up, and he was just gnawing on a bone?"
Mr. Freeze's eyes shifted slightly, vaguely shielding Deadshot and the Heat Wave in front of him, as he slowly adjusted the direction of his gun.
"Strange guy, we'd better be careful. Gotham has no shortage of freaks."
The Deadshot raised the silenced barrel on his wrist, leveled the muzzle, and locked the sights firmly between Chen Mo's eyebrows.
"Hey kid, who are you? Do you know where Bruce Wayne is?"
Chen Mo calmly forked the last two-finger-thick piece of black truffle steak from the plate, put it in his mouth and took a bite. Juice spilled from the corner of his mouth, and he casually pointed to the storage room behind him with his other hand.
"Don't be so quick to shoot, you can't afford to pay for the spilled steak."
"As for young master Wayne, as soon as the lights went out, he said he needed to go to the bathroom to touch up his makeup. He's probably sitting on the toilet trembling right now."
Bruce:...?!?