Chapter 162: I Said Being Caught Was a Foregone Conclusion, Yet You, Er Duolong, Are Still Salt

Before the massive glass curtain wall, the city's brilliant, colorful, and scattered lights could be seen.

Gotham City rarely sees such a clear and bright night sky; the starlight and moonlight in the heavens reflect together with this city, and the white light shines through the glass exterior wall into the building, illuminating that desk and that guest chair.

There is also the Riddler lying on the ground, and the blood reflecting a dark red glow under the moonlight, flowing more and more, flowing faster and faster.

"Uh," he pressed his wound tightly, his eyes staring fixedly at the night sky beyond the glass curtain wall.

As expected, not a moment later, a pitch-black bat shadow swept across the outline of the moon.

He silently spread his wings, the huge shadow covering the moonlight and enveloping the Riddler by the glass curtain wall.

Crack—

A crisp sound of shattering glass rang out; tiny shards splashed noisily under the moonlight, shimmering with an strange luster.

He crouched beside the Riddler, looking down at his hand clutching his stomach, instantly judging the condition of the other's injuries.

"The revolver the Joker usually uses is. 45 caliber; ash and gunpowder particles seem mixed in the blood, but not on the clothes, so it was contact fire (muzzle pressed against the body); this bleeding speed indicates a large wound, and even emergency first aid cannot save him. He won't survive."

Batman quickly made a judgment in his mind and soon thought of the second question—where did the person who shot him run to?

"He has... he took my bomb."

The Riddler curled up in extreme pain, his eyes wide open, his voice weak, his speech broken and intermittent, panting from time to time: "The Joker ran... ran away with the bomb."

Should I chase the Joker immediately?

Batman made a judgment in his mind immediately; this was an extremely rational choice. The Riddler was already beyond saving, but perhaps the Joker carrying the bomb could still be stopped at this moment, which could save more people.

The Riddler gripped his wound tightly. He saw Batman stand up, his eyes lowered, concealing his smile. At the same time, he pressed his wound even harder, letting fresh blood gush out.

Smart people can often see a distant future, but they often do not look at their own noses, simply called "darkness under the lamp." Batman's experience was quite rich; he could judge his own injuries at a glance from the speed of bleeding, but at this moment he did not have much time to think, nor did he consider that a person injured by a close-range, large-caliber revolver would actively bleed himself.

So he misjudged the Riddler's injuries and wound condition, so he decided to go directly after the Joker.

Watching Batman about to leave, the Riddler began to truly press his wound hard to stop his own bleeding. After Batman left, he could get up and then escape directly in the opposite direction.

However, just at this moment, heavy footsteps suddenly rang out in the dark space.

"Ha, ha, huff! Gotham Police Department, everyone, don't move!"

Bang!

The door was suddenly pushed open, and a guy covered in sweat rushed in, still holding a fake gun in his hand.

The Riddler saw that familiar face and was instantly stunned.

Batman looked at the guy who suddenly burst into the room, examining the clothes on his body, his walking posture, and the calluses on his hands. The guy indeed seemed to have some of the aura of a police officer, but it seemed to be deliberately imitated—but this was not strange, because rookie police officers from non-traditional backgrounds all do this.

At this moment, he also found the police officer's file in the Gotham Police Department through facial recognition—sure enough, this was a newcomer who had only arrived in Gotham two days ago. Otherwise, Batman would not have failed to recognize him, because he had memorized every police officer in the Gotham Police Department.

At this moment, Ma Ma Zhaodi looked at the Riddler on the ground, then looked at Batman standing aside, sighed, and put away the gun in his hand.

"Sorry, Mr., I didn't recognize you just now—Commissioner Gordon mentioned you are an ally."

"Call an ambulance." After confirming Ma Ma Zhaodi's friendly identity, Batman immediately rushed into the darkness: "Then tell Commissioner Gordon that the Joker is nearby."

Ma Ma Zhaodi nodded.

At this moment, the Riddler lying on the ground was furious; he never dreamed that he had already found a way out of a desperate situation relying on his genius quick wit, and was about to gain freedom, only to have something like this suddenly appear halfway.

No, on what basis did you manage to track down here? Does your brain even deserve to figure out the answer? You don't even have a real gun!

No, impossible, how could a fool disrupt my plans twice? No, this guy must be very smart; he must have seen through my escape plan, and also seen through the Joker's riddle, or perhaps he has a mastermind behind him!

Having figured out this connection, the Riddler finally felt relieved, or rather, he completely could not accept the fact that an ordinary person had disrupted his genius plans twice.

But people cannot keep deceiving themselves forever; he himself knew that the assumptions he proposed were full of loopholes. If his plans had really been seen through early, the prison guards would have been replaced long ago.

"Wow, you're bleeding so much?"

Ma Ma Zhaodi's words interrupted his thinking; he crouched beside the Riddler: "You're not faking it, are you? Actually, you can still move? I suggest you hold your wound properly, just in case you die before the ambulance arrives."

"By the way, who shot you? The Joker? Why did he shoot you?"

"Can you... shut up?" The Riddler gritted his teeth, answering with difficulty, coughing up blood from time to time: "I'm dying, and you're still... acting with me? Can't you see my blood loss?"

"Acting?" Ma Ma Zhaodi looked at the blood on the ground: "Oh, quite a lot of blood, but you can still talk, right? That means it's not a big deal, then."

"You damn—huff, cough, cough..."

The Riddler opened his mouth wanting to curse, but any slightly larger movement of his lungs triggered a sharp pain, making him completely unable to curse.

"I told you, hold your wound properly. You still keep thinking about cursing. Look, you're bleeding again."

Ma Ma Zhaodi pointed the fake gun at the Riddler on the ground: "Don't move around. I still have a gun. Don't think about ambushing me."

"From the... model shop downstairs... cough, cough... mass-produced goods—you bought this gun, did you spend... cough... one hundred dollars on it?"

"Is this gun that fake? Cough, cough..."

Ma Ma Zhaodi's face showed an awkward yet polite smile; he put the fake gun back at his waist, while covering up his awkwardness: "Oh, ever since you were in prison, I could see you were smart. Look, my judgment is indeed accurate."

The Riddler's eyes already wanted to kill; he repeatedly emphasized to himself in his mind that the guy in front of him was definitely a very smart person, but every word Ma Ma Zhaodi said could pierce through his illusions, and every action seemed like that of an ordinary fool.

"Let's... make a fair deal." He struggled to even out his breathing and said to Ma Ma Zhaodi: "You answer my question, I answer your question—I ask first."

Ma Ma Zhaodi blinked: "Okay."

The Riddler took a deep breath and finally asked the question he had always been unable to figure out.

"How did you track down here?"

(End of this chapter)