It's late at night.
Bane and his men left their hideout and walked the streets of Gotham City's slums.
In the imagination of ordinary people, the big villain is usually a burly man who is strong and powerful like an ox and looks like he can eat three children in one meal.
But in fact…
Yes, that's who Bane is.
But even so, some desperate people in Gotham will seek help from these ferocious freaks.
For example, now.
"Excuse me, can you save my mother?"
A little girl stared blankly at the muscular monster as big as a mountain looking down at her, and she couldn't help but timidly grab the puppet in her hand.
It was a rag doll picked up from the trash can, and it matched her tattered clothes very well.
"My mom has cancer and she needs medicine. She's in so much pain. People say only God can help her."
She trembled and looked at Bane with hopeful eyes.
"Can you help me?"
Bane stopped his men who wanted to step forward and drive the little girl away.
"Where is your home?"
The little girl pointed to the dilapidated house behind her.
Bane walked in.
A few minutes later, Bane came out, wiping the brains and blood off his hands.
"Your mother will never suffer again...bury her."
“… Stop asking for help from others rashly, or the sufferings of the world will come to you automatically.”
He raised his head slightly and saw the eastern sky, where the stars were hidden under the dark skirt.
Bain said:
"There is no God here... but Bane is here."
The night is long.
…
…
…
The night in Gotham is so quiet, full of tombstone-like peace.
Gray rain with a faint sour smell intertwined with the haze filled with industrial waste gas under the neon lights. Standing on the rooftop of the building, Deadshot saw Gotham City grinning in the misty drizzle.
On the street, a car whizzed by, splashing mud all over a passerby. The passerby immediately pulled out a submachine gun from his pocket and fired directly at the car going away, da da da da da...
The people in this city are too exaggerated.
As the Death Shooter thought this, he skillfully took out an anti-tank rocket launcher and mortar from his bag.
He gave a thumbs-up to the distant building, measuring the distance and wind speed.
"I must remind you, Death Shooter, that my mission requires that no one be killed or injured."
The employer's voice came through the headset.
"Ventriloquist, you've been a gangster for so many years, how did you come up with this superhero-like requirement of not killing people?"
"A bad guy should act like a bad guy."
Deadshot complained, setting up the mortar on the edge of the rooftop. "If you weren't a regular customer, I would have thought you were Batman's informant."
"Speaking of which, that new doll in your hand—you didn't really join Batman, did you? Didn't Batman give you a set of Robin uniform without pants?"
null!
The mortars fired, drawing deadly parabolas in the air, and the ventriloquist's voice was heard at the same time.
"Death deductions."
"Okay, okay, I get it, don't worry."
Death Shooter licked his lips and raised the anti-tank rocket launcher.
Bang!
The rocket was launched later but arrived first, giving the mortar shell a French kiss on the roof of the building.
boom!
With a loud bang, the roof of the building was torn open like an opened can and exploded into pieces, revealing the panicked enemies below who were like ants.
"See, I told you I would bring the Mad Hatter to you in one piece."
Death Shooter pulled out his sniper rifle but did not move: "But now, my employer..."
"Because of your distrust, I don't want to do this job anymore."
"? What?"
"After being frightened like this, the Mad Hatter will probably go into hiding. It will be 10 times more difficult to catch him again. Besides, Gotham is the city protected by Batman, and there are not many mercenaries willing to come here."
"Employer, you don't want the mission to fail, do you?"
"… That's enough! State your conditions directly."
Death Shooter looked up at the sky at a 45-degree angle, and said without hesitation, righteously, clearly, and with great righteousness:
"It costs extra money."
The night is long.
…
…
…
The night is like a girl taking off her clothes, lingering with the city sincerely and passionately.
The Cheshire Cat strolled gracefully through the empty corridors of Gotham Heights High School, with sirens and the panicked shouts of countless people outside the window.
"I must remind you, ma'am, that the target of this mission, Mr. Zhas, is a deadly killer just like you."
The voice of the ventriloquist came from the headset - oh no, it should be the voice of the bat doll in his left hand.
"I have no doubt that you can defeat him, but my requirement is to ensure the safety of every student hostage. So, you must first separate Zas from those female students, and then fight..."
"Oh, really?"
The Cheshire Cat's slender fingers stroked across her slender waist and the fascinating whiteness on her chest, and paused on his smiling cat face mask.
"I don't think it's worth the trouble. Do you?"
"What are you talking about—"
"She's not talking to you."
The cold moonlight mixed with the red and blue lights of the police lights shone on the killer who emerged from the shadows.
Dense scars were engraved on his muscular body.
Victor Zsasz is one of Gotham's most notorious villains.
His eyes lingered on the woman's graceful figure:
"Why don't you let me see your beauty, ma'am?"
"Oh no, you know."
The assassin turned around.
"Cat never takes off her mask—especially in front of a naked exhibitionist."
A short knife appeared in the opponent's empty palm.
The Cheshire Cat sighed, pulled out a retractable knife from the back, and then pulled out a lot of shurikens from the front, like a hamster pouring out its own food.
Then she tilted her head.
"Catfight?"
Gotham's famous exhibitionist and serial killer "Mr. Zsasz" gave a twisted smile:
"Cat Quest."
The night is long.
…
…
…
In the bat cave under Wayne Manor, Chen Tao was using the voice of a ventriloquist to remotely micro-control the mercenaries like a certain bald guy.
"… That's enough! Just state the conditions. What? I have to pay more?"
He waved his hand and said in the voice of a wealthy man: "Add more, you can add more!"
He turned around and saw the Third-generation Robin Tim Drake angrily holding a piece of paper in front of him, which read:
"Batman I still can't believe you wouldn't take me with you and instead pay those mercenaries to help you take on Bane!"
The real ventriloquist squatted in the corner with an innocent look on his face, trying to pretend that he was a real dog.
Tim felt like punching him, but it was not a good idea to beat him up in front of Batman.
So young Robin could only grit his white porcelain teeth and continued to write with grief and indignation: "Not only did you bring the bad guys home, you also called other bad guys in front of me!!!"
Batman hung up the phone and sighed.
The third generation Robin was silent for a while.
He asked:
"Is it because of Paul? (Jean Paul, the Angel of Death who was killed by Bane in the previous article)"
"Not exactly." Chen Tao replied: "Listen to me."
He turned around, grasped the other man's shoulders, and looked Robin straight in the eyes.
“I’m planning on retiring.”
"Wha...what?" This illogical answer confused Robin.
"Youth is gone, Tim. Youth is gone, gold is gone, dreams are gone. Batman was just a dream that an eight-year-old kid didn't want to wake up from... and it's time to wake up."
"I'm going to do one last thing for Gotham, and then I'm going to live the normal life that I deserve. And you too, Tim."
"You are academically successful, extremely intelligent, and have both a father and a mother."
"You have no idea how rare this is!"
"You deserve all the best things in this world. You should go to school and meet your soulmate someday."
"She'll have blond hair and ocean blue eyes, or burgundy hair... She might be Gordon, she might be Brown, but one day she'll be Drake."
"You will get to know each other and fall in love, my child... Such a young and pure love is something I will never have the chance to do again."
"It's time for us all to escape this nightmare."
With a bang, the tray in Alfred's hand fell to the ground behind them and shattered into pieces.
He covered his face and cried with joy.
"Is this real, Bruce? Am I really not dreaming - Bruce?"
The night is long.