Chapter 110: Thank Goodness, It's Batman, We're Saved!

The residents of Gotham City have had plenty to talk about lately.

In truth, in this bizarre city, there was never a shortage of things to discuss; usually, it was just the gangs clashing again, the playboy acting like a fool, or a new face at a pleasure house. As for bigger news, it was nothing more than a serial killer or some deranged lunatic cooking up a grand plan to destroy Gotham.

The recent news is different from the usual routine. As everyone knows, the bizarre is easy to notice, and the perverted is easy to remember, and the recent news can be described as both bizarre and perverted—starting recently, every morning, Gotham citizens find people hanging from the buildings along the road. It happens every morning, scattered across every district of the city, and they are living people—living people with their bare asses exposed.

And they aren't just gang members; they are habitual thugs, men and women alike, treated with equal indifference.

The Gotham Police Department is kept busy, knocking on doors one by one to retrieve them, then bringing them to the station. It just so happens that the homeowners follow along to testify, so the witness, the evidence, and the confession are all handled at once. Unless the criminal is a member of the Falcone or Ma Luoni families, it all counts as the police department's performance.

The interesting part lies right here: small-time gang members might just feel humiliated after being hung out with their asses exposed all night, but if they are people from the Falcone or Ma Luoni families, they become a stain on their gang once they return.

The reputation of the two major gangs has suffered severely in these past few days, and some family members have even been shot and executed by homeowners who could no longer tolerate them—this is because they went too far.

In short, in Gotham these past few days, asses are running rampant and gang dignity has been swept into the dust. As for the culprit—according to the impressions pieced together from all the victims and criminals, an image has gradually emerged of a figure speeding through the streets of Gotham in the dead of night on an electric wheelchair, wearing a black robe, and using a blowpipe to fire darts.

"Are you trying to tell me that an Indian wearing a black robe and using a blowpipe is tearing through Gotham in the dead of night at 180 on an electric wheelchair, and hanging criminals from all over the city naked on balconies to air out their asses?"

Commissioner Gordon rubbed his brow: "Detective Du Ke, are you sober?"

Du Ke looked innocent: "That's what their statements all say. Now that freak vigilante already has a nickname: the Perverted Wheelchair Hero. This title is quite similar to a previous Gotham legend—the Ghost Fire Wheelchair Man."

Jim Gordon shook his head: "I used to think Gotham couldn't get any crazier. I'm starting to miss Batman a little."

"Did you hear? The day before yesterday, Scar Jack was stripped naked by that Perverted Wheelchair Hero and hung next to the Ace Club for the whole night. By the next morning, everyone discovered that some people in the club don't seem to be picky about gender..."

"Stop talking, I'm getting a little scared..."

The tall, thin gang member looked uneasily at the large bag in the back seat, which revealed white, brick-shaped items—tonight was the time for delivery, but lately, everyone has been avoiding this kind of work.

"I'm starting to miss Batman a little. Although that guy hits hard, after getting beaten up by him, you could still brag about it in the family, saying you were a tough guy who had fought Batman; at least it wasn't shameful."

"Who's to say otherwise? After Jack was hung up by that Perverted Wheelchair Hero for a day, even the street thugs dared to laugh at him. He spent all of yesterday huddled at home, not daring to go out. I really hope he doesn't do anything stupid..."

Screech—

The conversation between the two was suddenly interrupted as the driver in the front row slammed on the brakes, stopping abruptly on the road.

"Hank, can you even drive—"

"I saw it."

Hank interrupted his teammate's scolding. He swallowed hard, staring fixedly at the intersection ahead. Cold sweat began to seep from his temples, and his voice was laced with fear.

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

After Hank finished this sentence, the atmosphere suddenly went quiet.

The four of them looked terrified, their bodies stiff. Four pairs of eyes stared tightly at the dark street outside the car. A silent sense of fear permeated the air, eroding everyone's sanity. It seemed as if an Indian pervert on a wheelchair might burst out of the darkness at any moment, laughing wildly as he stripped them naked and hung them on the street-side windows with their asses facing out.

"Should we go back?"

"That's not impossible..." After answering subconsciously, Hank hurriedly shook his head: "No, what about the goods?"

"Tell the boss we ran into the Perverted Wheelchair Hero and still managed to keep the goods."

"Brother, you're a genius!"

Just then, a black shadow flashed in front of the headlights.

All four of them saw the incredibly fast, eerie shadow, and it was—a wheelchair!

"F***, f***, f***, f***—turn around! Drive back!"

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

"Don't panic! Don't panic—don't f***ing block my line of fire!"

The four panicked men immediately turned around. The car loaded with goods sped wildly through the night. No one dared to imagine what would happen if they were caught. They fired into the darkness like headless flies, but they couldn't even see the shadow of the wheelchair anymore.

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

"Did we... shake him off?"

"Did we lose him?"

The shaken men looked around, and suddenly, a dull, loud thud came from the roof of the car.

"Ahhh—!"

The screaming didn't last long. With the crisp sound of shattering glass, Batman, who had flashed to the car door, dragged Hank from the driver's seat out of the car. He looked up at the four thugs, intending to use his usual intimidation tactics to force a confession, but instead saw a surge of ecstatic relief in their eyes.

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

Bruce knew that after he left Gotham, this city would surely become chaotic.

Before leaving, he had asked Catwoman to help keep an eye on Gotham City and contain the criminals. He would find out everything he wanted to know as quickly as possible and then return to Gotham immediately.

Business trips like this had happened many times before. If he only left for a few days, Catwoman could handle it alone. Although she might not be able to cover everything, at least there wouldn't be any major, malicious incidents. This was his experience.

He had originally thought this time would be no exception. So, just now, he had hurriedly gotten off the plane, rushed back to the Batcave, declined Alfred's bat-sandwich, changed into his suit, and rushed out. He had intended to look at the news briefings of the past few days on the Batwing, but instead found a car on the road firing wildly in all directions.

So he locked onto the car, followed them to a road without any turnoffs, and then decisively struck.

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

But just now, he realized that Gotham these past few days might be even more chaotic than he had imagined.

Because just as he swung his fist, the four thugs ecstatically shouted that sentence at him.

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

PS: Some readers suggested posting two chapters together in the future so it's more enjoyable to read, so I'm posting one chapter this morning to ask about this.

(End of chapter)