Gotham Police Department underground.
The narrow, dimly lit ventilation ducts were filled with grime, and the dull hum of a diesel generator could be heard from outside the thin pipes.
Bruce slid down the pipe wall, his black Cloak unfolding in the air and then quickly closing again. With a light tap of his feet, he landed silently on the ground.
The electromagnetic interference device he carried flickered faintly, and the two surveillance cameras at the corner of the corridor lowered their lenses accordingly.
As a regular at the Gotham City Police Department, he knew every corner of the building like the back of his hand.
The interrogation room was at the end of the corridor, and the door required three passwords to open.
Bruce pulled a miniature decoder from his all-purpose belt and casually attached it to the top of the electronic lock's panel. The green code on the screen began to run rapidly.
Wayne Manor, Living Room.
The light screen in mid-air clearly projected Bruce's every move, and even the jumping characters on the decoder screen were clearly visible.
Chen Mo picked up two golden-brown fried potato strips, dipped them in ketchup, and popped them into his mouth, chewing them with a crunching sound.
"I must say, he's really quite skilled at scaling walls and leaping across rooftops."
Chen Mo pushed the plate towards the edge of the coffee table, looking quite pleased with himself. "But why did he insist on going through the exhaust duct instead of using the main entrance? Isn't Gordon his friend?"
Alfred stood quietly to the side and behind the sofa, his hands folded in front of his abdomen, his gaze also fixed on the light screen.
"Please understand the professional habits of someone who works the night shift year-round, Mr. Chen."
The old butler spoke gently, with just the right amount of self-deprecation, "If the master were to knock on the police station door one day saying he wanted to come in and investigate a case, Chief Gordon would probably think he'd been replaced by an alien."
"Oh, that's hard to say."
Chen Mo picked up his teacup to moisten his throat and casually joked, "What kind of alien has so much free time? Traveling all the way to Earth just to chat with a few Earth thugs in the middle of the night?"
Alfred bowed slightly, did not reply, and focused his gaze back on the screen.
The decoding went very smoothly, and the interrogation room door slid open just wide enough for one person to squeeze through sideways.
Bruce, like ink blending into the darkness, nimbly slipped in.
However, as soon as he stepped across the threshold, his brows furrowed tightly beneath the mask.
The emergency lights on both sides of the corridor emitted a ghastly white glow. Two armed police officers in front of the duty station slumped to the ground, leaning against the yellowed corner of the wall.
Bruce strode forward and quickly pressed two fingers against the sides of their necks.
His pulse was steady, his breathing was even, and there were no obvious signs of external injury; he seemed to have fallen into a very deep sleep.
However, no toxic gas or neurotoxin odor was detected in the air.
Bruce threw off his Cloak and strode towards the three interrogation rooms at the far end.
Deadshot, Mr. Freeze, and Heat Wave were each held in specially designed restraint chairs with their metal clasps intact.
But at this moment, these three usually unruly criminals all had their heads hanging down and their limbs dangling loosely.
Mr. Freeze's armored shell was removed, revealing a bare forehead with bulging veins. He looked like he was struggling to breathe, his lips slightly parted, but he could only utter meaningless groans.
The Heat Wave beside him was also completely dazed, drool dripping from his chin onto his front, oblivious to the commotion around him.
Bruce pulled a neural scanner from his waist and pressed it against the edge of Deadshot's temple. After a brief scan, the device immediately emitted a sharp alarm.
The brainwave patterns that popped up on the miniature screen were chaotic, and the activity of neurons in the prefrontal cortex had dropped to almost the shock threshold.
The brain structures of these three individuals have been interfered with by some external force, and all their recent memories have been completely and utterly disrupted.
The trail went cold.
Someone else cleared away the clues before he could.
Inside the manor hall, Alfred frowned even more as he looked at the mentally impaired criminals in the video.
Mr. Chen.
The old butler turned his head, his gaze landing on the young man who was still chewing on his fries. "In your experience, does this method seem like some kind of special supernatural force?"
Chen Mo's hand, which was holding French fries, froze in mid-air as he turned to meet the old butler's probing gaze.
" Alfred, don't think of me as an omniscient and omnipotent encyclopedia. I'm not God."
Chen Mo shrugged, his tone nonchalant. "There are too many ways to confuse someone's mind. Psychic abilities, high-frequency sound waves, or certain specially made nerve agents can all do it."
"Not to mention Gotham, a place with such a feng shui treasure; all sorts of monsters and demons roam this land, who knows who did it."
Chen Mo paused, then tossed the last half of a fries into his mouth. "But there aren't many people who have the ability to make Batman suffer."
In the isolation room in the police station's basement, Bruce had just put away the neural scanner when a blinding red light suddenly illuminated the ceiling above his head.
Waaah--! Waaah--!
A sharp, piercing air raid siren suddenly blared throughout the entire building.
The infrared cameras, which were originally offline and powered off, lit up again in unison with a slight mechanical reset sound, their green indicator lights flashing back on.
Click, click.
The sound of footsteps was chaotic and rapid, rushing up the metal staircase from afar.
The deafening crash of riot shields slamming against the gate echoed through the narrow corridor. In an instant, dozens of fully armed special police officers blocked the only exit.
Chief Gordon, pistol at the ready, strode quickly through the crowd, the hem of his coat billowing up with each rapid movement.
The old director's face was stern. His gaze swept quickly over the two guards who were unconscious in the corner, then fell on the three unconscious serious criminals, and finally stopped on the black figure in the center of the interrogation room.
Several police officers simultaneously raised their guns, the dark barrels locked directly onto Batman's chest.
Gordon's walkie-talkie was blaring, and the surveillance footage retrieved by the command center was being synchronized in real time.
The footage clearly shows a tall figure in a black Cloak leaping down from the ventilation duct, knocking out a guard with a single punch, and then forcibly breaking into the interrogation room.
Batman!
Gordon, panting heavily, gripped his gun tightly. "You crossed the line! The surveillance cameras caught it all clearly. You crippled them!"
"Give me a reasonable explanation, now, immediately!"
Bruce stood still, his lips pressed into a cold, hard line beneath his mask.
trap.
From the kidnapping at the charity gala to the mysterious funds from the Wayne Enterprises, and now the restoration of surveillance and the raid, every step has been meticulously planned.
The mastermind behind this has always been targeting Batman.
Bruce's mind raced through all the possible designers, trying to uncover the flaws in this series of coincidences.
However, the other party clearly did not intend to give him time to explain himself.
"He refuses to lay down his weapon!"
A tense-looking SWAT officer in the front row suddenly shouted.
Bang!