The synthesized voice on the other end of the communicator, which had been relatively calm, suddenly became heavier and heavier after hearing Chen Mo's casual, perfunctory reply.
Immediately afterwards, a deafening roar erupted from the loudspeaker.
"Fake! You utterly despicable counterfeit!"
"You're not only insulting Batman! You're blaspheming Gotham's Dark Order!"
"I don't care which circus troupe you escaped from, you dare to parade around Gotham City dressed like that? You're a dead man!"
Beep, beep, beep...
The dial tone suddenly rang out.
After making a harsh statement, the communicator was abruptly cut off by the other end.
Chen Mo casually tossed the communicator in his hand and curled his lip indifferently.
"Tsk, Gotham's die-hard fans these days are really short-tempered. Why do they get so angry after just a few words?"
The Deadshot, standing two steps away, silently raised his hands even higher, not daring to even lift his eyelids.
"This... Mr Batman."
Floyd Lawton's throat tightened, and he spoke with unusual politeness, "I just threw away my gun; I'm a non-combatant who voluntarily disarmed."
Chen Mo turned his head and glanced at him.
"Mr. Lawton, your attitude of surrender is commendable."
Chen Mo extended a jet of black liquid from his fingertips, quickly swirling up several scattered guns on the ground and casually shaping them into two solid iron balls.
Deadshot's eyes narrowed, and his kneeling posture became much more standard.
"However, to prevent you from changing your mind halfway through, I'll have to make do with you sharing a table with those two on the ground."
Before he finished speaking, Chen Mo's figure traversed several meters, his palm lightly landing on the Deadshot's shoulder.
Floyd didn't utter a sound; his body went limp, and he collapsed straight onto Mr. Freeze's chest.
Three hardened criminals who had terrorized two cities were now neatly stacked together, having achieved the status of being the elite.
Chen Mo dusted off the metal shavings from his hands, then casually took Mr. Mr. Freeze's phone and dialed the Gotham City Police Department, giving them the address.
After doing all this, he even thoughtfully tucked the phone back into the gap in Mr. Freeze's breastplate.
These Gotham police officers, who are paid by taxpayers, complain about their low crime-solving rate every day. Now, three third-class merit awards have been handed to them on a silver plaque at the chemical plant. They don't even need to bother with the packaging. They should definitely give them a banner when they get back.
Chen Mo turned around and swayed as he walked to the thick cement pillar.
Beneath the pillar, Gotham, Bruce Wayne, still kept his eyes tightly closed, his chest rising and falling slightly, his hands resting on the legs of his expensive suit trousers. His professionalism in feigning death and holding his breath was astonishing.
"Alright, stop holding it in. If you keep pretending, your lungs will shrink."
The dark red and jet-black armor on Chen Mo's body quickly disintegrated and dissipated, transforming back into that dark, handmade suit.
He bent down, reached out and grabbed Bruce by the back of his collar, lifting the billionaire into his arms.
A barely perceptible, slight distortion appeared in the space.
The concrete, water, and ruins beneath their feet vanished in an instant.
The next moment, in the spacious and luxurious drawing room of the Wayne Manor, the dry firewood in the fireplace was crackling and burning.
Chen Mo casually tossed Bruce back onto the soft leather sofa.
Bruce sprang to his feet and sat up, the whole movement swift and decisive.
He didn't even bother to clean the mud and metal filings off his suit before his right hand swiftly reached into the sofa cushions and turned on the security control screen hidden beneath the base.
The miniature infrared radar and acoustic scanner started silently, spreading outwards from the reception room in layers.
Bruce's tense facial expression relaxed slightly after confirming that the infrared surveillance network inside and outside the manor was functioning normally and that no surveillance cameras had been remotely hacked.
"You're being too careful, Master Bruce. Alfred is still baking bread in the kitchen. If something were to happen, he wouldn't be so relaxed."
Chen Mo sat casually on the single sofa opposite him, and casually picked up a cold cookie from the coffee table and threw it into his mouth.
"Caution is the only reason someone can survive in Gotham until tomorrow."
Bruce straightened his disheveled tie, his voice regaining its characteristically deep and cold tone, typical of Batman.
"These people acted with incredible professionalism; it wasn't a spur-of-the-moment decision, but rather they precisely identified the security blind spots at the charity gala."
" Mr. Freeze needs money to maintain Nora's life support system, Floyd only works for high commissions, and Mick is just a madman who likes to set fires."
"To be able to simultaneously come up with 80 million in cash, recruit all three of them, and with the clear target being the Wayne Enterprises..."
Bruce frowned even more deeply, tapping his fingers lightly on his knees.
"Who did this?"
In the quagmire of Gotham, there are countless gangs that want to kidnap Bruce Wayne for ransom.
But there are very few guys in the whole city willing to spend an extra 50 million to ambush Batman, or even get furious over Batman's tone of voice during his self-introduction over a few words on the communicator.
at the same time.
Deep within a classic manor house on the outskirts of Gotham, far from the bustling city.
The heavy velvet curtains blocked out all the sounds of rain and thunder from the outside world. The room was dark and cramped, with only a few white candles burning quietly on silver candlesticks.
The candlelight flickered, casting a long, dark shadow behind the desk.
The shadowy figure raised his right hand, which was gloved with thin black leather, and pressed several keys on a modified antique telegraph machine with his slender fingertips.
A strange, distorted sound rippled through the air.
On the wide marble tabletop, three portable, encrypted miniature screens, each no bigger than the palm of your hand, lit up silently.
The screen flickered with static, then reflected three distinctly different gloomy faces.
On the left screen, a pale face was covered in glaring paint, and two twisted knife marks split the corners of its mouth. A nervous, low laugh came out intermittently from the damaged speaker.
On the screen in the middle, a short, stout middle-aged man holds a long-handled umbrella with a sharp blade, a cigar dangling from his mouth, and his single eye behind his monocle gleams with calculating cunning.
On the right-hand screen, a gaunt man wearing a green bowler hat is rapidly twirling a question mark cane in his hand, his expression arrogant and strange.
The Joker, the Penguin, the Riddler.
The dark figure sitting in the shadows slowly leaned forward, the pale candlelight illuminating the cold curve of his chin.
"Dear old friends, it's been a long time."
A deep, husky voice echoed faintly in the deathly silent study.
"I think we should sit down and have a serious talk about that new Batman who popped up in Gotham tonight."
The Joker gave a sinister reply.
"Roar?"