109-111

Chapter 109: Oh Good, It's Batman! We're Saved! 

Gotham City residents have had a lot more to talk about lately. 

Honestly, folks in this weird city are never short on things to chew over. Usually, it's the standard stuff: another gang war breaking out, some playboy doing something stupid again, new faces at the joints, or for something bigger, maybe a serial killer, a crazy psycho cooking up some grand plan to wreck Gotham. 

But the recent news? It's way off the usual script. Everyone knows bizarre stuff grabs attention, and messed-up stuff sticks in your head. And the news these days? It's both bizarre and messed up. See, starting recently, every morning, Gotham citizens have been finding people hanging from buildings by the side of the road. Every single morning, all over the city. And they're alive. Naked, living people. 

And it's not just gang members. It's lowlifes, repeat offenders, men and women, treated equally. 

The Gotham P.D. has been working overtime, knocking on doors to get them back inside, then hauling them down to the precinct. Conveniently, the homeowners end up coming along to testify, getting witness statements, evidence, and confessions all in one go. Unless the perp is a Falcone or a Maroni, it's considered a win for the department. 

That's where it gets interesting. Hanging outside naked all night might just be embarrassing for a small-time thug. But for a Falcone or Maroni guy? They become a stain on the family's honor when they get back. 

Both major mobs have taken a serious hit to their 'face' these past few days. Some family members even got directly shot by fed-up homeowners who hung them from their windowsills – because they'd pushed things way too far. 

So, all in all, Gotham's been drowning in naked butts, the mobs' authority is in the gutter, and the guy behind it all – based on piecing together the descriptions from all the victims and perps – a character has started to take shape: someone tearing through Gotham's late-night streets on an electric wheelchair, wearing a black robe, and using a blowgun. 

"You're telling me... an Indian guy in a black robe, using a blowgun, is tearing through Gotham on an electric wheelchair at 180 miles an hour, and is stripping criminals city-wide and hanging them naked on balconies?" 

Commissioner Gordon rubbed his temples. "Detective Duke, are you sober?" 

Duke looked innocent. "That's what all the confessions say, Commish. Now this freak vigilante's got a nickname. They're calling him the Perverted Wheelchair Man. Kinda sounds like an old Gotham legend, the Ghost Fire Wheelchair Man." 

Jim Gordon shook his head. "I thought Gotham couldn't get any crazier... I'm starting to miss Batman." 

"Hear about Scars Jack? The Perverted Wheelchair Man stripped him naked the other night and hung him next to the Ace Club all night. Turns out some folks inside the club the next morning weren't too picky about gender..." 

"Alright, stop talking. You're scaring me..." 

The tall, skinny gangster nervously eyed the large bag in the backseat, white brick-shaped items visible inside. Tonight was the delivery, but lately, everyone's been dodging this kind of job. 

"I'm starting to miss Batman... Yeah, the guy hits hard, but after he beats you up, at least you can brag in the family about going toe-to-toe with Batman. You know, say you're a tough guy. At least it's not humiliating." 

"Tell me about it. After Jack got hung up by that Perverted Wheelchair Man for a day, even the street kids were laughing at him. He stayed home all day yesterday, didn't dare step out. I just hope he doesn't do anything stupid..." 

Screech! Their conversation was suddenly cut short. The driver up front slammed on the brakes, stopping abruptly in the road. 

"Hank, can't you just drive the damn—" "I see it..." 

Hank's words cut off his partner cursing. He swallowed hard, staring intently at the intersection ahead, cold sweat starting to bead on his forehead, his voice laced with fear. 

"I... I saw a black wheelchair... driving past the intersection." 

After Hank said that, the atmosphere suddenly went silent. 

The four men's faces were full of terror, their bodies stiff. Four pairs of eyes were fixed intensely on the dark street outside the car. A silent dread permeated the air, eroding everyone's sanity. It felt like any moment, a crazy Indian guy on a wheelchair could burst out of the darkness, laughing maniacally, strip them naked, and hang them butt-out on a windowsill by the street. 

"Maybe... maybe we should just go back?" 

"Yeah, we could..." Hank started to answer instinctively, then quickly shook his head. "No, what about the merchandise?" 

"Tell the boss we ran into the Perverted Wheelchair Man, but we saved the goods." 

"Brother, you're a genius!" 

Just then, a black shadow flashed past the headlights. 

All four saw the incredibly fast, eerie figure. It was definitely a wheelchair! 

"Holy, holy, holy, holy—turn around! Go back!" 

"Damn it, draw your guns, draw your guns!" 

"Don't panic! Don't panic—and don't you dare block my line of fire!" 

The four men, in a frenzy, immediately turned the car around. The vehicle, loaded with goods, sped wildly through the night. No one dared imagine what would happen if they were caught. The group fired wildly into the darkness like headless chickens, but they couldn't even see the wheelchair's shadow anymore. 

Ten minutes later, the four men in the car finally calmed down. 

"Did... did we lose him?" 

"Did we shake him off?" 

Still rattled, they looked around. Suddenly, a heavy thud came from the roof of the car. 

"AAAAH—!" 

The screaming didn't last long. With the sharp sound of shattering glass, Batman, who had appeared at the car door, yanked Hank out of the driver's seat. He looked up at the four thugs, about to use his usual intimidation tactics to get information, when he saw an expression of ecstatic relief flood their eyes. 

"Holy cow! Thank God! It's Batman! We're saved!" 

Bruce knew Gotham would get messy after he left. 

Before he went, he'd asked Catwoman to keep an eye on the city, help curb the criminals. He'd promised to find what he needed to find as quickly as possible and return to Gotham right away. 

Business trips like this had happened plenty of times before. If he was only gone for a few days, Catwoman could handle it alone. Maybe not perfectly, but at least there wouldn't be any major incidents. That was his experience. 

He thought this time would be no different. So, just now, he'd rushed off the plane, headed straight back to the Batcave, politely declined Alfred's Bat-sandwich, changed into his suit, and hurried out. 

He'd planned to check the recent news briefs on the Bat-jet, but he spotted a car on the road firing indiscriminately. 

So he locked onto the vehicle directly, followed them onto a street with no side roads, and made his move. 

He'd done this countless times: control the driver, stop the car, intimidate the criminals, break some bones, notify the police. 

But just now, he realized Gotham these past few days might be crazier than he thought. 

Because as he threw a punch, those four thugs yelled that line at him, full of ecstatic relief. 

"Holy cow! Thank God! It's Batman! We're saved!" 

Chapter 110: Cody Isn't Sleeping Either 

Gotham City, midnight, in Cody's little place. 

Cody's deep sleep was rudely interrupted by the Bat-freak. This was a side effect of his skill – boosted sleep quality, sure, but also kept him on high alert. 

"You wanna bet I superglue this window shut tomorrow?" 

Batman, who had suddenly appeared inside the room, just looked at the visibly annoyed Cody and didn't answer. 

"There was a super-fast wheelchair seen in Gotham City recently." 

"Yeah, that was me. So what? Everything that's happened lately? That was me." 

Batman stared at Cody, who admitted it in the blink of an eye, even seeming a little proud of it. For half a second, he just blinked. What exactly are you proud of? 

"Vigilantism is dangerous work, you shouldn't—" 

"Hold it right there." Cody immediately waved a hand. "Who said I'm trying to be a vigilante?" 

"If I could just stay home and get some decent sleep, why would I run around hanging people in the middle of the night? You think this is fun?" 

Batman looked at Cody, who had a serious expression but was desperately trying to suppress a grin, like he was constipated. Batman just remained silent. 

Maybe not everyone, but Cody? He probably was having fun. 

"The thing is, all night long I got plants and animals talking right next to my ear. Gunfight over here, ice being sold over there, somewhere else there's a robbery, some thug wants to kill someone—I want to sleep, but who could possibly sleep with all that going on?" 

He can talk to animals, Batman thought, making a mental note of this new piece of intel, useful for planning countermeasures. 

"Even if the sounds aren't loud, they're still noise, you get it? There's a classic line that belongs in some 'idiot quotes' hall of fame: 'It's not a loud sound that's noise, it's a sound that annoys you that's noise'—Have you ever tried sleeping in a dorm while your roommate gets up in the middle of the night and flips through books? Change that to keyboard noise, and I could sleep till noon tomorrow." 

Batman went silent again. Because when he was in school, he'd just bought a house next to the campus. He hadn't exactly experienced the sound of a roommate flipping through books. 

Having a subject who talks too much... sometimes it's not exactly helpful. 

"Anyway," Cody concluded, "Now that you're back, I don't need to get up in the middle of the night to do things. Now I need to sleep, and you need to go to work—go work!" 

The black-clad, chin-baring Batman ignored his dark humor. He continued, "One more thing." 

"What is it?" 

"That rapid healing ability you used when you fought the Joker—I have a plan that needs it." 

"Oh, the fruit candy," Cody casually pulled a few from his pocket and tossed them over. "Who are you fighting? Getting ready for something bad?" 

"You also mentioned a cross—" "That's gone. Got broken fighting the Joker," Cody answered. "But I've got something similar, just not as powerful—So what exactly are you up to?" 

"I'll tell you when the plan is about to start." 

With that, Batman vanished into the darkness. 

Maybe it was just a feeling, but Commissioner Gordon seemed to sense a strange, peaceful serenity among the inmates with broken bones in Gotham's prisons lately, almost as if they were cherishing the time Batman was back. 

At the same time, the Perverted Wheelchair Man, who'd been hanging people all over the city, finally disappeared, and Gotham returned to its usual quiet. This made Gordon feel much more at ease. 

But the peace didn't last long, because Batman actively sought him out. 

"I have some theories about the Holiday Killer... It's June. Father's Day is coming up, and I have a plan." 

Commissioner Gordon took a long drag from his cigarette. 

"Thank God," he said. "That's the least headache-inducing good news I've heard in days." 

On Father's Day in Gotham City, it had rained the night before. 

Two figures walked through a lush orchard. After being washed by yesterday's rain, the reds and greens here looked even more vibrant. 

"Carmine Falcone." 

The burly, white-haired old man reached out and plucked a bright red, juicy fruit still glistening with raindrops. "I should have cut the head off that snake years ago. The fool took five bullets to the chest and still lived. If he had died, things would have been different..." 

Sal Maroni stood beside him, respectfully watching the old man with white hair. Because this man was not only his father but also the previous head of the Maroni family. Back when Sal and Carmine were young, the two men who dominated Gotham City were the one before him, Luigi Maroni, and Carmine Falcone's father—Vincent Falcone. 

It was Sal and Carmine who took over the reins of the mob families from their fathers, Luigi and Vincent, growing into the Maroni and 'The Roman' we know today. 

Sal continued his father's thought. "Because of that idiot Holiday Killer, all my reliable men are dead... Father, how am I supposed to clean up this mess?" 

"You have to act like a man." 

Luigi's face showed a flash of killing intent. "The key to this is still Falcone. Before he takes care of you, you have to take care of The Roman." 

Just then, a hyena in the orchard suddenly lifted its head, sniffing at a bush, as if sensing something. 

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! 

Four gunshots abruptly rang out from the bushes. Luigi and Sal immediately clutched their chests in pain. The shooter's aim was precise; the four bullets hit both former Maroni heads directly in the heart. It was so fast they didn't even have time to draw their guns. 

The black hounds howled and chased towards the orchard gate, where a figure in a trench coat and hat had briefly appeared before vanishing. 

And behind the bush, a tie meant for a father, a .22 caliber handgun, a baby pacifier, and four metal casings lay silently on the ground. 

"I got them." 

The man sprinting out of the Maroni family orchard thought to himself, Finally, I got them. 

Easy. Just as expected. 

Both Maronis, the entire core leadership of the Maroni family, all dead. Starting today, the Maroni family would officially be erased from Gotham's history—I have finally ended the generations-long feud for my father. From now on, the Falcone family will unify all the mobs in Gotham, big and small. 'The Roman' will be the most powerful name in Gotham City. 

At this moment, he felt like bursting into maniacal laughter. An ordinary, unremarkable fringe character, stirring up trouble in Gotham City, becoming the focus of everyone's attention, and directly wiping out a mob family—This is the life I wanted. 

Hmm? Strange, what's that sound? 

He turned his head and saw a dazzling, multicolored stream of light, accompanied by cheers, hurtling directly towards him. 

The cheers seemed to carry four parts excitement, three parts happiness, two parts relaxation, and one part nostalgia. 

Nostalgia for what, for God's sake?! 

"Is that... a glowing wheelchair?!!" 

Chapter 111: A Corrupt Official Needs to Be Smart, A Clean Official Needs to Be Even Smarter 

"Alberto! Don't run! Charge towards the wheelchair!" 

Alberto Falcone's face beneath the Holiday Killer mask was a mask of sheer terror. Hearing Cody's shout only made his legs pump faster. 

Are you kidding me? If he didn't run now, he'd be flattened by a wheelchair. 

And who in the world was this guy? How did he know his identity? 

But it was too late. How could human legs outrun a wheelchair moving at super-high speed? The Holiday Killer only heard the whooshing sound of the wheelchair and the man's singing getting closer and closer, until they were practically glued to his back. 

"Stumbling, I rush towards you—" 

Thud. 

A strong pushing sensation hit him from behind. For the first time in his life, the Holiday Killer had the illusion of growing wings on his back. 

After all, he really did fly a short distance. 

But he wasn't hurt. A figure lunged forward, stopping him and tumbling with him across the ground for several turns, rolling away most of the impact. 

Alberto, however, was in no mood for gratitude. Because as soon as the figure landed, he effortlessly produced a hand and immediately cuffed him in place. And then he saw the figure clearly – it was Batman, dressed all in black. 

Alberto's mind was racing. From the moment he'd run out of the orchard gate, heavy information had started flooding into his brain, leaving him completely on the defensive. But he was smart; he just needed a little time to immediately sort out the situation. 

A stranger in a flashy, high-speed wheelchair shouted his real identity, then launched him away, and then Batman caught him and promptly cuffed him – stripping away the distracting bells and whistles. 

He had been ambushed by the 'wheelchair guy' and Batman, waiting like hunters. Not only that, they had even figured out his identity. 

Batman's trap – a brilliant trap. Allow him to kill the two heads of the Maroni family, removing one crime family from Gotham. Then, capture the Holiday Killer on the spot, removing another pathological criminal from Gotham. 

What a shame. Batman shouldn't have arrested him directly, because there were still people he wanted to kill. Carmine Viti, who had once tried to challenge Roman's authority, the fence-sitters within the family who weren't completely loyal to his father, and other crime families from outside Gotham trying to muscle in... 

Ah, it was such a pity. He still wanted to clear more obstacles for his father. He wondered if his father would scold him when he came to visit him in prison. 

But if he had to do it again, he might still do the same thing. I am Falcone's son, not some gentle, good child. I am someone worthy of standing beside my father, not just someone who happened to be born next to him. 

And besides, the feeling of being at the center of the storm was incredibly exhilarating. In his life of over a decade, he had never been so noticeable before. Single-handedly destroying one of Gotham City's black families – it was a feeling of having removed constraints, breaking free from the limitations of his life. It transcended all old, stale rules, intoxicating and joyful. 

Seemingly putting on the mask named "Holiday Killer," in reality, he was taking off the mask named "Alberto." 

Just by using this outsider identity, he could completely destroy the intricate chess game called 'crime families,' built upon bloody rules, personal connections, and codes of honor – someone who doesn't play by the rules of the board, of course, gains more advantages than someone who rigidly adheres to them. 

While Alberto's thoughts flashed, Batman had already called Commissioner Gordon. But strangely, there were no police cars around. 

"They still need me," Alberto concluded immediately. 

Right after that, two unexpected figures appeared before his eyes. 

"Bah! Falcone's brats are truly no good!" 

"We should just pull a gun and kill you now!" 

The white-haired Luigi and the black-haired Sal, the two generations of Maroni family leaders, cursed and walked over, their chest clothing ripped open to reveal the Kevlar bulletproof vests underneath. 

"Damn it, almost died at the hands of this little bastard!" 

Perhaps the Maroni family could get bulletproof vests, but these two were clearly from the police department. 

The police markings on them were very obvious. 

"Shit." 

The relatively calm Alberto couldn't help but let out a curse at this moment. Only now did he realize he had underestimated Batman's stubbornness. Batman would never tacitly allow criminals to be killed in front of him. As long as someone was alive, he wouldn't stand by and watch them die – not even blood-soaked crime bosses like Sal and Luigi. 

Letting them wear bulletproof vests in advance meant telling them the plan beforehand. This added unnecessary risk to the plan, requiring measures to prevent them from privately deploying manpower after learning of the Holiday Killer's movements, and also to prevent them from showing any cracks in their daily lives. 

As long as Alberto had detected extra arrangements around his assassination targets, or seen that the two were acting to bait him, he could have escaped today. This was also the reason Commissioner Gordon hadn't led a team to the scene. 

"You're truly a complete lunatic! If you had just let them die, you wouldn't have needed all these extra arrangements! Didn't you consider I might aim for the head?" 

"Given Sal and his father's caution, you wouldn't have gotten close enough. And you are equally cautious, so you would only choose the easier-to-hit torso, and you would shoot twice. Though we didn't expect you to actually choose Father's Day to kill father and son; we thought you'd only kill the father." 

Cody walked over while explaining, though he was still wearing his black robe. He didn't want Alberto to remember him. 

"What if? If I had aimed for the head, they'd be dead by now." 

"Then you should have aimed for the head, you little punk," Luigi sneered. 

Cody shrugged. If Alberto had really aimed for the head, even if he hit, he would have found that the Maroni father and son's bulletproof vests weren't actually the strongest insurance policy. 

[Life Grilled Mushroom Skewers Price: Five Thousand Dollars. Notes: I really, really don't want to eat durian anymore—Link] 

The effect of the mushroom skewers was to increase temporary health by 8 points. Comparing this value to a normal person, who only has 1 to 2 health points, in other words, this skewer could make a person's vitality reach cockroach levels for a short time. 

The Maroni father and son didn't know why there was an extra grilled skewer in their breakfast, but they truly liked this fragrant mushroom dish. Batman personally watched them eat the two mushroom skewers. 

At this moment, Harvey Dent and Commissioner Gordon also arrived on the scene. 

"As we agreed before, Mr. Maroni, you need to lend us a hand." 

"Of course," Sal Maroni replied. "I will help you prosecute Roman—" "—and bring down the Falcone family."