The sirens of the Gotham Police Department pierced the night as they drew nearer.
Several police cars with flashing red and blue lights screeched to a halt in front of the gate, and Chief Gordon led a large number of riot police officers, guns at the ready, into the gate.
However, what greeted them was not a ruthless fugitive, but a pile of rubble and three wanted criminals lying unconscious on top of each other.
The eldest son of the Wayne Enterprises was sitting on a cement block, his expensive custom-made suit covered in dust, his hands covering his head, looking like he was still in shock.
Gordon strode forward, put away his sidearm, his eyes filled with surprise and doubt.
"Mr. Wayne, are you alright?"
Bruce looked up, staring blankly at the old director, his lips trembling slightly.
"Chief Gordon, I swear I never want to attend another City Hall dinner."
"Please explain in detail who exactly subdued Mr. Freeze and Deadshot?"
"It's Batman, it must be Batman..."
Bruce gestured hesitantly with his hands, then pointed to the large hole in the ceiling above.
"That guy was at least 2.1 meters tall, with shoulders wider than a double-door the Fridge. He jumped down from a rooftop dozens of meters high, smashing through a concrete beam."
"Then what?"
"Then he started spouting nonsense, saying he was the officially licensed Batman, and then he threw Mr. Freeze like a bowling ball, slapping the burly man playing with fire so hard he was spinning around."
Bruce shrank back in fear, a chill running down his spine.
Gordon:...?
The old director looked down at the twisted alloy flamethrower on the ground, then at the cracked cement floor, and his lips twitched involuntarily.
Why are there so many freaks in Gotham?
Late at night, in the Batcave deep beneath Wayne Manor.
The supercomputer's giant screen glowed with a faint light, as countless complex calculation codes and financial chain charts scrolled down like a waterfall.
Bruce changed into a portable combat suit, his ten fingers moving like a blur on the huge keyboard.
Alfred carried a silver tray down the steps and placed a cup of black coffee on the edge of the counter.
"I must say, young master, your skill in fabricating lies is becoming increasingly refined. Chief Gordon almost thought you were scared out of your wits when he was there."
Bruce picked up his coffee and took a sip, his eyes never leaving the screen.
"That's not made up; I described exactly what Chen Mo just did."
Chen Mo, who was standing next to the machine chewing gum, rolled his eyes.
"Hey! Watch your attitude! I was just doing you a favor by showing up for you, and I didn't even ask for a performance fee!"
Bruce ignored the teasing remark and pressed the Enter key heavily.
Accompanied by a crisp system notification sound, a fund penetration chart popped up in the center of the screen.
The 80 million commission paid to Deadshot and Mr. Freeze went through seven layers of anonymous intermediaries in the Cayman Islands and Zurich before the original source account was finally revealed after peeling back the layers.
The moment the organization to which the top account belonged was seen, an eerie silence fell over the entire Batcave.
The third subsidiary trust of the Wayne Enterprises Global Philanthropic Foundation.
Alfred paused slightly as he put away the tray.
Chen Mo whistled, his face beaming with the glee of watching a good show unfold.
"This is getting interesting."
"Kidnappers kidnap Wayne Rooney, the mastermind behind it all funds a manhunt for Batman, but in the end, it's Wayne Rooney himself who foots the bill?"
So all you do is work hard as a vigilante every day, while your subordinates are busy using your money to buy your life.
Bruce's eyelids twitched, and his expression darkened.
The ability to directly mobilize so many funds, bypassing his authority and oversight, is something no ordinary person could accomplish.
There's a high-ranking mole within the group, possibly one of those veterans who sat at the same conference table as me.
"The order for this funding was sent from the Old City of Gotham, and it was isolated by special hardware, making it impossible to trace remotely."
Bruce stood up and casually pulled open the weapon rack next to him.
" Mr. Freeze and Deadshot have been transferred to Gotham City's high-security prison; they may still have leads on their employer."
He grabbed the pure black helmet with ear loops and deftly fastened it to his head; the cold, hard armor buckles snapped shut instantly.
"I need to go to the police station."
Interrogation is one of Batman's specialties.
The black cloak billowed out, the roar of the chariot engine reverberated in the tunnel, and in an instant it transformed into a black streak of light and rushed into the city.
On the first floor of the main house, in the spacious and luxurious living room.
The firewood in the fireplace burned exceptionally brightly, dispelling the chilly, damp atmosphere typical of Gotham's late nights.
Chen Mo had absolutely no interest in participating in Bruce's aggressive nighttime ghost-hunting operation.
He was lounging lazily in the expensive leather sofa, his ankles casually resting on the edge of the solid wood coffee table, and he was holding a large bowl of freshly fried hot fries that had just been brought out from the kitchen.
Click.
The golden, crispy fries were soaked in ketchup, and he chewed them so much that his mouth was full of it.
The old butler walked forward with elegant and composed steps, carrying a tray with bone china teaware.
"Mr. Chen, this is freshly brewed Darjeeling black tea, no sugar, and the temperature is just right."
Alfred bowed slightly, his demeanor displaying the refined manners unique to servants of classical noble families.
"Thanks, Alfred. Your French fries are way better than those from fast food restaurants. You've got the heat just right."
Chen Mo casually picked up his teacup and took a sip. The steaming hot black tea went down his throat, and he let out a contented sigh.
"Thank you for your compliment, sir."
Alfred put away the tray, stood beside the sofa, his expression gentle and calm.
"However, my husband seems to be in a bad mood tonight. I think those rusty iron bars on the Gotham Police Department are probably going to be in trouble again tonight."
"Anyone who discovers their money has been used to hire someone to beat them up wouldn't have a good temper."
Chen Mo swallowed the food in his mouth and smiled nonchalantly.
Before he finished speaking, he casually raised his free left hand and waved it lightly in the air.
A faint ripple, barely perceptible to the naked eye, spread across the void.
Immediately afterwards, a semi-transparent light and shadow appeared out of thin air above the fireplace, transforming into an incredibly clear image.
In the center of the image, the ventilation duct at the top of the Gotham Police Department building is silently opened.
A massive, all-black figure slid down silently like a nightmare, landing without making a sound.
Batman flicked a button, disabling the security cameras in the corridor. He then skillfully evaded the patrolling officers and sneaked straight into the underground interrogation room for hardened criminals.
The entire stealth maneuver was executed flawlessly, presented in high definition from every angle in the living room, with even the reflection on Bruce's tactical goggles clearly visible.
A hint of surprise flashed in the old butler's eyes, and his previously fluid movements paused slightly.
"Excuse my intrusion, Mr. Chen."
Alfred slowly raised his eyes, his tone carrying a hint of inquiry.
"Are you using some kind of holographic projection technology, or some kind of magic?"
Chen Mo chewed the last crispy fries in his mouth, casually wiped his mouth with a tissue, and waved his hand lazily.
"Don't overthink it, Alfred. It's just a tiny, insignificant superpower. Treat it like watching a late-night live stream."